Stray Witch
Author: Eva Alton
Date: 2000-01-01 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fantasy; Romance; Vampires; Paranormal Romance; Magical Realism; Magic; Witches; Paranormal; Urban Fantasy
Description: Magic, love and a secret vampire nest beneath a graveyard... Alba is running away from a bad marriage and is about to lose everything. The good part? She’s a witch. The bad one? She doesn’t know it. But the vampires of Emberbury are about to turn her whole world upside down. And Alba is about to find out that, sometimes, the scariest monster isn’t the one with fangs... A story about a lost witch recovering her self-esteem, a seemingly cheerful vampire with a tortured past, and finding love in the most unexpected of places. Stray Witch is a Vampire and Witch Urban Fantasy and Romance novel for

THE COMPLETE SERIES

THE VAMPIRES OF EMBERBURY BOOKS 1-4
by Eva Alton

Stray Witch: The Complete Series

The Vampires of Emberbury Books 1-4

Copyright © 2022 Eva Alton

All rights reserved.

First Edition.

Independently published

Editing services provided by E. Latoria and B. Branch.

It is forbidden to copy, reproduce, transmit or adapt it by any means, electronic or mechanical, unless you obtain express permission from the author. This is an independent publication.

This is a work of fiction and any names or circumstances that save resemblance to reality or with real subjects are purely coincidental. Names, places and events are the product of the author’s imagination or have been used fictitiously.

We thank all the artists who created the fonts and images included in this book and its cover.

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

Stray Witch The Complete Series

BOOK 1: Stray Witch

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Epilogue

BOOK 2: Witch’s Mirror

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Epilogue

BOOK 3: Witches’ Masquerade

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Epilogue

BOOK 4: Witches’ Elements

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Epilogue

A final word from the author

Acknowledgements

BOOK 1: Stray Witch

“That path has no returning. For already Love and his strength drag you on and now henceforth forever never shall you know joy without pain again (...). In that cup you have drunk not love alone, but love and death together.”

Brangien

The Romance Of Tristan And Iseult, M. Joseph Bédier

Prologue

Clarence

One of the rare perks of being a creature of darkness was the remarkable ability to behold the city from above, with its buildings glistening under the blazing sun like jewels strung in a necklace. If I spread my wings, I could soar above the silver streets and study the habits of the busy, distracted humans, who went about their days in oblivious bliss.

A long time ago, I had been one of them.

Unfortunately, I didn’t hold many fond memories of those days, and flying kept my mind busy enough to forget, at least for the brief duration of each journey, the misfortunes and depravities of my past. So much blood had been shed to feed the monsters―the monsters like us.

Volunteering for the search had allowed me many years of perfect distraction, for it wasn’t a light task: some in The Cloister said there were no strays left, and whined that the quest would be in vain. But I had been gifted with the patience of the immortal, and I pursued my goal until, one day, the wind brought me the bitter scent of witches’ blood. Feelings of ambivalence flooded my chest when I realized my work would soon be done.

There she was, so lovely in her humble simplicity. So ordinary, so frail. Not for long, I told myself.

I turned back to The Cloister to relay my news to the others. They would be relieved. But I? Not so much. I enjoyed the thrill of a good quest. And I hated idleness.

When I knocked on the queen’s door, she was already expecting me.

“I found her,” I said with a slight bow.

Elizabeth nodded and started to get ready for the new guest.

“We need to act fast,” she said. “Before anyone else finds her, too.”

Chapter 1

Alba

“I want a divorce,” Mark said, smoothing the silk tie which peeped out of his perfectly tailored blazer. “Actually, I just filed the paperwork this morning.”

Despite the warm summer morning, I felt something turn to ice inside my chest. Divorce had been on his lips many times before, but I hadn’t expected him to just go and file the paperwork without telling me first.

Not that he hadn’t mentioned it before―he used divorce threats as the ultimate approach to get his way. But Mark was an attorney, after all, so I had always thought that marriage termination must be a natural and intrinsic part of his life; a singular kind of small-talk reserved for those who paced the halls of courthouses with coffee in paper cups and watches which cost more than an average person’s car.

Still, it took me by surprise because the pressure had dropped for a while, as I had tried really hard to please him, foregoing my own wishes and naively believing we could reach a truce and be happy again.

Although again was a bit of a stretch. I couldn’t really recall one single happy day in this doomed union of ours. And somehow, I sensed it was my fault for not being the beautiful, patient, sexy creature he had expected. I had fooled him with my ephemeral youth and carelessness, and he was good at reminding me about it every single day.

Mark left the room, closing the door carefully. Things should be treated with respect, he used to say.

A cool draft swept across the room as the door clicked into place. It carried the smell of freshly cut pinewood and rusty iron. A raven had been sitting on a branch of the magnolia tree in our garden while Mark spoke. I closed the window, feeling cold and somehow spied upon by the silent dark bird. I had seen it before, and it had bizarre eyes. Too profound and bright for a simple bird, so much so that it made me think of grandma’s stories about ghosts and demons inhabiting foreign bodies.

I startled as I tripped on a naked, legless Barbie, then bent down to pick it up, mulling absentmindedly about how much Mark hated finding toys lying on the floor. He always got edgy and raised his voice, or worse. A good way to keep our frail, homely harmony was to find bothersome items before he did.

So that was it. Mark had finally thrown the dreaded D-bomb at me, not caring that I stood in front of an ironing board holding one of his luxurious French couture shirts, the one he would wear tonight in order to impress his boss. My hand lingered on the iron for a couple of seconds too long, and the satisfying smell of burned fabric filled the room, as a brownish triangular mark formed on the back of the garment. It had cute, symmetrical rows of dots on each side: almost too nice. I wished I could just breathe fire like a dragon and burn his whole business wardrobe at once, forcing him to present himself in front of his colleagues wearing a greasy paper bag. My fingertips started to tingle with excitement at the thought, as they usually did when I held back my anger.

In my late twenties, I was almost too young to grow gray hairs. Still, I had a few: a mute testimony of the hundreds of arguments it had taken to remain sane in my better half’s company.

I could envision Mark’s fury when he found out about the shirt later that evening, and my pulse accelerated, fearing his reaction.

Breathe, Alba, breathe.

He’s just a man. An ordinary human, just like you. The law doesn’t allow him to harm you. And you know that Law is his only true love.

I counted up to eight with each exhale.

There were other forms of torture which didn’t leave marks, and my darling husband excelled at all of them.

“I’ll find a way,” I told myself.

I sat on the bed, reaching for my phone, just to throw it back among the pillows as I realized I had nobody to call. I was about to divorce an attorney at law, and one who wanted to destroy my life at that. My worst nightmares looked like fairy tales in comparison.

Just as I was digging through a drawer in search of a tissue to blow my nose―not that I was crying, but the magnolias were in full bloom and spreading nasty pollen all over Emberbury―my five-year-old daughter, Katie, came into the room. Her arms were full of the remainders of a torn book, and she was followed by a black stray cat that she and her sister had found a couple of weeks ago, roaming in the garden.

The animal had gold and purple eyes, an uncommon trait in black cats. I figured it must be a very rare and expensive cat breed―like that hairless beast my neighbor, May, had bought her son for the price of a spa weekend in Bali―and someone must be searching frantically for it in our fine neighborhood.

“Mommy, Iris tore the cover of my favorite book. Can you glue it back?”

“Let me see, maybe I can,” I said, caressing my girl’s head as I inconspicuously wiped my nose right after hers, with the same tissue.

The book was a glitter hardback monstrosity, full of pink and purple illustrations of witches and fairies. I found some glue in a drawer, put the pieces together and pressed them firmly. “Now we wait for it to get dry, okay?”

I eyed the black cat, which had jumped on Mark’s shirts and was purring and kneading them. Hopefully, it would leave plenty of claw marks all over the costly Egyptian cotton.

“Did you name it already?” I asked, telling myself we had to adopt that animal, if only to upset Mark.

“Yes, mommy! She’s Miss Jilly now. Like the witch from my book.”

“Great name!”

“Thank you, mommy,” Katie said, kissing my cheek. “You know,” she said, giving me a mysterious look. “I think you are just like Miss Jilly. The witch, not the kitty.” She pointed at the cat, who was now trying to remove a button from one of the shirts with its bare teeth. I considered the possibility of stopping her, but I was enjoying the sight too much.

“Oh, really?” I smiled at the occurrence. I had yet to grow warts on my nose and get myself a flying broom, but hey, why not? At least I didn’t remind her of a gryphon.

“Yes, you always make everything good again. I love you, mommy.”

Then she hugged me with her tiny arms and left with the book.

“Almost everything,” I said quietly to myself, as I daydreamed about being Miss Jilly and fixing my life with a magic wand. “But sadly, magic wands don’t exist in the real world,” I mumbled absentmindedly.

I sprang to my feet when the raven on the magnolia shrieked really loud in reply. I would have sworn it was trying to tell me that it didn’t agree with my opinion.

Chapter 2

Alba

“So, Mrs. Andersson, tell me about your work experience.”

The woman wore an expensive suit and was rattling nervously with her pencil, which had been engraved with the rubric MSTDA Engineering. I was probably the fifth candidate she was interviewing that day, and she was visibly fed up to the back teeth.

I swallowed, raking my mind for an elegant answer. I had an engineering degree, but my résumé was emptier than my spouse’s heart. Back in the day when I still thought he cared for me, Mark had suggested I should find a more ladylike career―his words, not mine―away from slush-drenched boots, concrete and shadily shirtless construction workers. Maybe try to work from home, so I could take proper care of our family. Over the years, this had led me to many failed attempts to sell all sorts of useless things to my scarce and distant relatives, who had acquired some of that crap out of sheer pity. Now my parents were dead, and I still had a garage full of essential oils, sports apparel and allegedly natural cosmetics which had probably gone rancid in the meanwhile.

“I’m a civil engineer,” I said in a quiet voice, my eyes fixed on the table. My pencil skirt, a remnant of long-gone office days, had become too tight around my waist after two kids. That was why I was trying to breathe as shallowly as possible, in case the zipper burst and poked the interviewer’s eye out.

“Sorry for asking this question, but do you have any children?” she said, not looking sorry in the least.

“It’s all right.” I sighed. “I have two daughters. One is three, and the other is five years old.”

She nodded, her lips pursing into a fine line as she wrote something into her file.

There we go again. Kids get sick all the time, and mothers miss work because of that. Particularly, soon-to-be-divorced mothers were a very much feared species among employers.

“I see,” she continued. “Tell me, Mrs. Andersson, why do you want this position?”

A simple question I didn’t feel like answering, frankly.

“Because my soon-to-be-ex-husband is an elite solicitor who has threatened to use all his knowledge and connections to rob me of everything I own and love.”

The truth somehow didn’t sound right, so I sugarcoated it a bit. “I have been idle for too long, and I miss feeling useful to society,” I uttered proudly. “I used to work for Reismann and Reismann, and I enjoyed that job very much.”

The woman raised an eyebrow.

“You mean the Reismann and Reismann that closed down five years ago?”

“That one, yes,” I answered, squirming in the chair.

“And after that?”

I remained silent. What was I supposed to say? “I sold essential oils on a godforsaken website?” “I nagged all my neighbors to buy moisturizer from me?”

“I was a stay-at-home mom,” I said, shrugging, well-aware of the repelling effect this answer usually had on interviewers. This wasn’t my first interview after Mark’s divorce notice, and not even the worst one.

I glanced around the sleek and sterile office, with large floor-to-ceiling windows which overlooked Emberbury’s modestly sized business district. My stomach rumbled, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten anything since dinner, apart from a few spoonfuls of mushy cornflakes the kids had left in their bowls after breakfast. I had given instructions to the nanny and spent one hour trying on corporate clothes that a) were too tight or b) were out of fashion, or c) lacked buttons. All of that just to be left to wait for forty-five minutes and be asked how many children I had and why the company I used to work for had been closed for more than five years.

The interviewer’s cell phone rang, and she excused herself. I stood up and admired the view of the city: we were on the eighteenth floor, and for someone like me, used to living in a suburban home, the feeling was akin to traveling by plane. Tall glass skyscrapers reflected the early morning sun, blinding me. Many feet down, people walked, all in a hurry and all minding their own business.

All except for two.

There were two men dressed in black right in front of the entrance to MSTDA Engineering, and they were both looking up in my direction. I recoiled as a strange energy buzzed over the back of my neck. I’d seen them somewhere before, but where? After a second, I shook my head. There was no way they could be watching me through the mirror glass, especially when I was so high above them. The situation with Mark was starting to get to me, and I had begun to see danger behind every corner.

When the interviewer came back, she went through a couple more customary questions, then checked her watch, widened her eyes with feigned surprise and opened the door for me.

“Time’s up, but thank you for your time, Mrs. Andersson,” she said, waving me towards the exit. “We will let you know about our decision very quickly.”

Probably as quickly as one could write the word “rejected.”

***

WALKING IN BROAD DAYLIGHT, I strained to focus on my fellow pedestrians and traffic lights but couldn’t help shambling like a drunk ostrich. The problem was that I could only focus on one thought: how was I going to keep my children if Mark was determined to use all his powers to take them away from me?

After finding out what had happened to his favorite shirt, Mark had been oddly calm. I had expected a storm, but he had embraced my audacity with a single evil smirk.

“I thought you’d like to know that I’m going to fight for custody of the girls,” he had said, the smile never leaving his lips as he unbuttoned his double cuffs. “Those post-partum depression records... and all that yelling, you know... I think they’d be safer staying with me three weeks out of four... or just permanently, don’t you think? That way, you’d have enough time to sort out your deeply messed up existence. And hair.”

Always a beautiful remark from him.

Mark had never expressed much interest in child rearing, so his suggestion could only have one explanation: he hated me so much that he had decided to sink me. But why? When I had met him, he had been all charm and attentions. But then, his charismatic façade had slowly collapsed. Behind closed doors, he had become nothing short of a monster.

I wondered how I would fight someone like him. And I didn’t even have a job to cover the expenses.

A loud horn restored me to reality: I had just walked in front of a moving bus. The driver was yelling at me, his eyes almost bulging out of the sockets. I didn’t blame him. I was so distracted that I hadn’t even noticed stepping over the curb.

I had to pull myself together.

My first priority was finding a way to sustain myself until things became clearer; maybe an apartment in case he also took away the house as he had hinted. Even something temporary would do, just to start filling in that flagrantly blank résumé. I would get myself a good attorney―hopefully one who wasn’t Mark’s friend―and fight for custody of the kids.

He counted on me giving up, as always.

I was in the middle of my silent self-pep-talk when a big black bird crossed my path, blocking it.

That raven again. Those fiery, clever eyes were hard to miss. It had to be the same one that often loitered around our magnolia tree.

I tried to scare it off, but it just sat in the middle of the sidewalk. It didn’t even bat an eyelid. Did ravens ever blink? And weren’t they supposed to be afraid of scarecrows?

Seeing that the creature didn’t intend to move, I decided to bypass it, shaking my head at its audacity.

I was about to keep walking towards the bus stop when I noticed that the bird was holding something shiny in its beak: it looked like a decently sized engagement ring.

My engagement ring!

“Wait!” I shouted, turning around towards the raven. But the bird took off and started to fly toward a nearby park.

“Hey, stop! Give that back!”

I ran after it, pushing away anyone who stood in my way and ignoring their surprised stares. The bird had stolen my engagement ring, which I had planned to pawn to get some backup money.

There was no way on earth I was allowing him to get away with that.

***

THE RAVEN FLEW ACROSS the street into a thicket of trees. I jumped over a tree stump just in time to avoid falling on my nose. The bird was faster than I, but just the thought of losing sight of that expensive ring was enough to make my legs gallop. I couldn’t afford to lose such a valuable jewel just because of a stupid animal who had a fancy for sparkly things.

“Stop!” I yelled, not that I expected the bird to understand me. But oddly enough, the raven turned its head around and waited for me. “You thief! Give that back right now!”

I lifted my fist in anger. Oh, come on. This was unbelievable. I was not in a position to lose even one penny.

Then, my feet sunk into the ground. I stepped on what I thought was just a bunch of dry branches, but the ground gave way, and an invisible hole sucked me into the earth.

I fell.

I screamed until my lungs emptied of air.

Then my body smashed into the hard, cold ground. The darkness of the hole swallowed me, ushering me into unconsciousness.

Chapter 3

Alba

When I came to, my head was pounding and my vision spun. I remembered falling, then blackness. Someone must have covered me with a soft velvet sheet, taken off my shoes and set them neatly by my side. But currently, there was no one in sight.

The walls of the hole―no, it was rather a cave―were made of reddish glass full of tiny bubbles that glittered faintly with a light of their own. The whole underground space I had plummeted into had an unnerving aura of mystery and wizardry. As my eyes grew acclimated to the dim light, I spied nerved, pointed vaults over my head and carved arcades which ran over the cherry crystal walls, reminding me vaguely of European religious architecture.

Fear started to flood me as I recalled the black raven, and how I had stepped into a shaft hidden among the foliage. I flexed my limbs tentatively, checking for injuries. My head hurt, but the rest was fine. I stood up and cautiously walked toward the walls of the cave, trying to find the opening I had fallen through. There was nothing there, just darkness.

Keeping still, I listened to my surroundings.

Dripping.

The very distant buzz of the traffic outside.

And... steps? Very light, graceful steps.

“Hello?” I whispered, not sure whether I’d prefer someone to answer... or rather not.

A bright orange glow was coming from the furthest end of the cave, which was very long and wide. It might have been a candle, or a small fire. I picked my way carefully in its direction, and my steps echoed in the empty space like they would in an ancient cathedral. The whole place smelled of mildew, damp soil and something else which felt familiar, but I couldn’t quite trace.

Steps.

Now I had no doubt: someone was approaching.

“Is anybody there?” I demanded in a quivering voice, as I rubbed my arms with my hands. It was chilly. I scanned the cave for an exit or at least a place to hide, but there was nothing. Just a corridor where the bright glow originated from. But the steps were coming from that direction, too.

Whoever it was, I had no other choice but face them.

I stood still, and a deep sense of panic flooded me. In an impulse, I grabbed one of my shoes and held it with the heel out. Not as good as a gun, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

“Emberbury’s red amber is captivating, isn’t it?” said a deep voice with a British accent. “And some say it has magical properties, too. Do you believe in that?”

Terror paralyzed me as the man stepped into view, filling the hallway. He was standing in front of me, dark and tall. I wanted to scream, but my throat just closed.

The first thought which struck me was how peculiar and dazzling he looked.

The second was the primal certainty that I would not survive this bewildering encounter.

***

THE MAN’S FEATURES were finely chiseled, but his face was oddly pale―paler than death, was my first thought. He wore a Victorian-looking, lacy white shirt and a silk vest, both perfectly tailored around his broad shoulders. A bronze candlestick shone in his hand, and I guessed he must be in his middle to late thirties, judging by the silvery strands in his raven black hair, which was slightly too long and cut in an old-fashioned style.

“What’s this place? Why am I here?” I asked in a shaky voice, stepping back toward the red glass wall, which was surprisingly warm to the touch. As stunning as the stranger might look, his presence in the cave was terrifying. It might have been the way he kept looking at my neck, or the scent which had entered the cave at the same time as him: a familiar earthy aroma, which reminded me of autumn walks in the forest, and, and...

... and blood.

Running away was out of the question: there was no exit and nobody around to help me. I hid the shoe behind my back, caressing its sharp heel with my thumb.

Think, Alba, think. Should I scream? Or would that make him kill me faster?

“Excuse me. I should introduce myself.” He gave me a half bow. “My name is Clarence Auberon, and this is... my humble home.” He observed me with a crooked smile and a tilted head. “And you must be Mrs. Alba Lumin.”

“Andersson. Alba Andersson,” I corrected him, feeling automatically foolish. What kind of idiot—apart from me—would volunteer her surname to a potentially dangerous stranger? But he had called me by my grandma’s maiden name, and that had thrown me off balance.

“As you please,” he said, cryptically. “I’m sorry we had to meet in this distressing manner, but I assure you I tried to find a better way, to no avail.” He shook his head, and his voice softened. “Please don’t be afraid of me. I’m not here to harm you.”

I inhaled deeply, reluctant to believe his words, but somehow sensing the truth in them. No, he wasn't there to kill me. At least, not yet.

“The queen is waiting for you. If you follow me, I’ll lead you to our conference room so you can meet her,” he said.

The man extended his hand and waited for me to take it, but I stepped back and refused it. He nodded with silent understanding. For lack of a better plan, I started to walk beside him, holding on to my sharp-heeled shoes.

I wondered whether the raven I had been chasing could be associated with this man in some way. He didn’t seem surprised to find me in that cave, so he must have had something to do with it.

As we marched down a dark stone corridor, he maintained a healthy amount of space between us, like he was trying to prove his good intentions. The floor was full of invisible but quite sharp pebbles, which dug painfully into the soles of my bare feet. I winced.

“Maybe you’d rather put your shoes on?” the man commented, pointing at the one hidden behind my back. He glanced sympathetically at my ridiculous choice of weapon. “We have proper flooring in the main areas, but I had to bring you through the back entrance. I wouldn’t want your feet to end up covered in sores because of me.”

“I... I’m fine, thanks,” I said, staggering a little and rubbing my sore head.

“I’m so sorry you fell the way you did,” he said, pointing at the bump on my head. “I wish I could have caught you in a timely manner, but I missed you for a second.”

He what?

Come to think of it, I vaguely remembered something―someone?―dampening the fall, someone who had disappeared afterwards and wasn’t there when I came to, but was kind enough to cover me with a sheet.

“I was chasing a black bird,” I said slowly, hoping he would explain to me what was going on. The uncertainty of where he was leading me to and what awaited me there was about to kill me.

“A raven.” He nodded, studying me with curiosity.

Clearly, he wasn’t going to say anything else about that matter. Knowing I had no way to escape, I gave in to my fate and followed the stranger. Maybe, at the end of the corridor, I would find a door and get a chance to escape that dark and mysterious place.

“I can smell your fear,” he said conversationally, “but I promise there’s nothing here for you to be afraid of.”

We walked for several more minutes along a dark, narrow passageway. The only illumination was the single candlestick in his hand. After a while, the rustic stone floor turned into hardwood flooring, and finally, a massive carved door appeared at the end of the hallway right in front of us. The man knocked, and the door opened on its own with a loud creak.

“Welcome to The Cloister,” he said, and held the door open for me with old-fashioned ease.

Chapter 4

Alba

The first thing that caught my attention as I stepped in was the majestic candle tree hanging from the ceiling, which was as high as the vaults of a middle-sized church. The spacious underground room we were standing in was proof of how deep those long tunnels must have brought us into the bowels of the earth. The walls were covered in sumptuous red and gold damask fabric; in the middle of the room there was a heavy oak table, surrounded by ten burgundy armchairs. Only five of them were occupied, and the attendants of the small meeting we had just interrupted were dressed like the colonial tour guides one could find when strolling around downtown Boston.

“I brought you Alba Andersson, from the Lumin witches,” the man said to the audience, clearing his throat to get their attention.

Everyone stood up and greeted us with a nod. There were two men and three women, ranging from twenty to maybe fifty years old, and all of them had perfectly smooth skin and luscious hair.

“It was about time,” one of the women said with an impatient sigh. She was a middle-aged, cinnamon-skinned lady, who wore her hair in an intricate updo with hundreds of tiny braids, which looked like a mixture between a French pastry and a snake nest.

My knees shook, threatening to bend under the stress. The place looked like a secret club for Victorian-loving eccentrics. All the women wore tightly fit dresses with corsets and petticoats, and the men sat in classy suits adorned with waterfall cravats. My plain skirt and blouse made me feel out of place―even more so because I was still barefoot.

“My name is Elizabeth Swamp,” the woman with the tiny braids stood up and introduced herself. “I’m the queen of the vampires of Emberbury, and I thank you for coming here today. I also apologize for the rough journey you had to endure. Please understand that we are creatures of the darkness, which makes it hard for us to establish contact with outsiders during daylight hours.”

I shuddered. What on earth was that woman talking about? The queen of the vampires? The way she spoke, it sounded like she believed every single word, and none of the other ones had even flinched at her explanation.

Seeing the fear and doubt in my eyes, Elizabeth glanced at the man who had brought me there. He was standing silently behind me, in an awkwardly protective stance.

“I suppose Clarence already explained everything to you,” she snapped.

I shook my head and swallowed, not willing to argue with the self-designated queen.

“Elizabeth, I’m so sorry,” the man said. “Our first meeting didn’t go exactly as planned. I should have told her, but everything was so rushed. Let’s just do it together, shall we?”

“Very well. Take a seat,” said the lady―Elizabeth, pointing at the chair to her left. “This one will be yours from now on.”

“I’m... I’m sorry,” I stuttered, squirming on the cold floor and reluctant to take the offered seat. My seat. “This must be a misunderstanding. I just... I have no idea what you are talking about.”

Elizabeth parted her lips in a joyless smile. As she bared her teeth, I noticed they were shiny and slightly irregular. Not only that: for a second, I thought her canine teeth had turned into fangs. Nevertheless, the next moment I looked they weren’t there anymore. Oh, the power of fear and suggestion. I needed to get out of there quickly, or I’d end up as insane as these people seemed to be.

“For crying out loud, Clarence, how could you bring me this witch without giving her basic notions of The Cloister first?” She turned to the man behind me, rolling her eyes with exasperation, and he just grinned in some sort of apology.

Still standing there, I rubbed my temples, trying to muster enough aplomb to form a coherent sentence. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Swamp,” I managed to say, swallowing slowly. “I can’t stay. I don’t even know why I’m here.”

“Do you believe in vampires, Mrs. Andersson?” the woman asked me, crossing her arms in defiance.

I stared at her, open-mouthed, not knowing what to answer. Of course, I didn’t. But seemingly, she did.

The fangs. This time, I was sure I had seen them. They elongated slowly, perfectly white and shiny, and she didn’t make any effort to hide them.

“Skeptics exhaust me.” She exhaled with irritation. “But there are ways to prove we are earnest.” A threatening gleam flooded her eyes, and I bit my lip with nervousness.

“Come on, please, Elizabeth,” Clarence said in a scolding tone from behind me, as he put an ice-cold hand on my shoulder. “You are scaring her!” When he looked down at me, his eyes were a rare maroon shade I had never seen before. “Mrs. Andersson, would you be so kind as to sit down and listen to what we have to tell you, please?”

Giving up, I obeyed silently and took the offered armchair. I raked my fingers through my hair in frustration, aware that there was no way for me to get out of that place if they didn’t want me to.

Then, the man looked at me with a mixture of compassion and playfulness and said, “Don’t worry, Mrs. Andersson: we don’t bite.”

His comment was followed by a distressing roar of laughter, which spread among the rest of attendants like a fire.

“Silence!” Elizabeth ordered, knocking on the table and gesturing towards the others. Once they pulled themselves together, she threw a glance to Clarence, who had taken a seat right next to me.

“Very well, Clarence,” she said, “let’s open this session with a summary of how you found this stray―” She pointed at me, and I widened my eyes at the insulting term. “―And continue with a strategy to reach a mutually advantageous compromise.”

Chapter 5

Clarence

The stray witch was so terrified, I could taste her fear on my lips. I found myself feeling strangely rueful for her misery; maybe because the way I had brought her to The Cloister hadn’t been the most courteous. I would have much preferred presenting our arguments during a quiet, private conversation over a cup of tea―or whatever it was they were drinking in this century―instead of exposing her to Elizabeth’s impatience right from the start. But daylight had got in the way, as usual. Yet another reason why we needed a witch on our side.

“It has come to our attention that you are looking for work, Mrs. Andersson,” Elizabeth was saying. I had spent months researching the new candidate and provided Elizabeth with a comprehensive dossier. She was thumbing through it right now.

“I might be, yes,” the witch answered. She didn’t seem to know anything about her roots. Just like Julia. Such a pity, so much unused potential. But maybe we would be able to remedy that.

Elizabeth continued, “I hear you have children, Mrs. Andersson. One daughter, is that right?”

The witch frowned, a defensive scowl on her face. “I’d prefer to keep that private, thank you.”

“Mrs. Andersson has two daughters,” I offered, and she cringed, eyeing me with fury. Sorry, witch, I tried to tell her silently, this is our little sanctuary. I had to make sure you were who we thought you were before I brought you here.

“That can’t be right,” Elizabeth said in an alarmed tone. “Everyone knows true witches can only have one child. If it’s a boy, their bloodline ends; if it’s a girl, the magic is passed on.”

“And if they have two?” Lillian asked from the back with an amused yawn, throwing her red locks behind her shoulder. Oh, Lillian. She really lived under a rock, that one.

“A second daughter would die at birth, and so would the mother. So, if this woman were a witch, as Clarence claims, she should be dead by now,” Elizabeth stated dryly.

“Why do you keep calling me a witch?” Mrs. Andersson said in a weary voice, crossing her arms. “I’m not any such thing. I don’t know who told you that, but it’s wrong.”

“I did,” I said, “and it’s certainly true.”

“So, do you have one or two daughters, Mrs. Andersson?” Elizabeth asked, rolling her eyes.

“Well, if you really have to know, yes, your... spy is right, I have two daughters,” she glanced at me warily, and I smiled at the word spy. It was much more amusing than most things I had been called throughout the decades. “So, seemingly, this proves I’m not a witch.” She held her head with both hands. “I don’t even believe witches exist. This can’t be happening.”

“Did you check her background reports properly, Clarence?” Elizabeth asked, pointing an accusing finger toward me.

“Of course, I did,” I retorted. “There's no doubt, she is a witch’s great-granddaughter. It can't be any other way. Can’t you... smell it, anyway?”

Mrs. Andersson let out a loud sigh. Beneath her fear, I caught a glimpse of anger when she said, in a faltering voice, “If I were a witch, I suppose I would know? This is... ridiculous.”

“The lady says she has two daughters.” Elizabeth tapped her finger against the dossier. “I’m starting to think this meeting was a ridiculous idea, too. Come to think of it, I think I agree with her. She can’t be a witch because she would have died in childbirth. No sensible witch would risk doing such a stupid thing as having a second child. Most imprudent if you ask me.”

At that moment, Mrs. Andersson became very quiet and seemed lost in her thoughts. Her head was tilted, her shirt not entirely tucked in at the back and chestnut waves of mussed hair fell over her left shoulder. She looked like someone who had just stood up from bed, and her dishevelment warmed my icy insides. She made a lovely sight, despite the disarray caused by the fall into the amber shaft. No, actually because of it. Surrounded by eternal perfection as I was, I couldn’t help but love the stray drop of paint fallen accidentally on a canvas. Or into a secluded vampire nest.

I rid myself of such thoughts, remembering what she was. I needed to get my feet on the ground, or Elizabeth would be displeased. Even more than she already was.

“Is there anything you’d like to share with us, Mrs. Andersson?” I told her as kindly as I could, hoping to reassure her. “Anything related to why you are still alive, despite having two daughters?”

At first, she seemed paralyzed by shock, but then, to my surprise, she started to speak, “Well, this is very strange...” Her voice wasn’t more than a whisper, like she were talking to herself. “Because I almost died giving birth to my second daughter. Actually, I’m alive thanks to science.”

I knew it. There had to be an explanation.

I let out a long-held breath. “You see?” I told Elizabeth. “Three cheers for science, then!” I clapped my hands and tried to dispel the suddenly gloomy atmosphere which had fallen over the room. “I told you, she's a witch's granddaughter. Now, can we proceed with the meeting?”

Elizabeth frowned. “Science is not something to cheer about, Clarence.” Elizabeth’s dislike of science was well known in The Cloister, and not entirely unfounded. “Still,” she continued, “I will assume that she does have witch’s blood, mostly because I can perceive her stench from here. Even if she had two children for the strangest reason.”

I could feel it, too. It wasn’t so much of a stench, but the smell was absolutely distinct from other humans. If normal warmbloods tasted syrupy, like strawberries and dates, witches usually smelled slightly bitter, or acid: a mixture of limes and ginger with a touch of cayenne pepper. Not something most vampires would gladly drink if given a choice―although we could if we had to.

“We have a proposal for you, Mrs. Andersson. One we hope you won’t decline.” Elizabeth’s eyes gleamed.

The witch frowned and leaned back in her chair, pursing her lips with suspicion and staring guardedly at each one of us.

I crossed my fingers and hoped she would say yes. I was sure all the others were doing exactly the same under the table.

“I suppose you went looking for a job today,” I said. I had followed her to that office building: if it was a job she wanted, we could provide that. And a much better one at that.

“A job?” she seemed puzzled by my question but lifted her head from her hands with interest.

“Yes. Didn’t you have an interview at an engineering firm?” I asked.

“How do you know that?” she sounded scandalized.

“I’m an outside scout.” I shrugged. “Part of my job was to find you... and bring you here, so we could talk about our proposal.”

“So, let’s cut this short.” Elizabeth said with exasperation. She was holding her favorite gold nib, and it had started to drip red ink on the dossier. “Just tell me what they’ll pay you there, please.”

Mrs. Andersson stared blankly at Elizabeth. “W-what?” she muttered. “Where?”

I had the feeling that Elizabeth wasn’t well acquainted with modern human resources recruiting. She probably thought Mrs. Andersson had closed the deal on her first visit to that company.

“Our dear Elizabeth here, would just like to know about the salary you’d expect to earn at MSTDA Engineering,” I explained.

Mrs. Andersson blinked a couple of times and finally spoke, like waking up from a dream, “Well. I was hoping four, maybe five thousand dollars per month.”

“Fine,” Elizabeth answered. “We’d like to hire you, and we’ll double their offer.”

Mrs. Andersson’s eyes widened. “Why would you offer me that? For what? What kind of job is this?” Instead of sounding happy, she was clearly terrified.

“We need an... assistant,” Elizabeth said. I nodded in agreement, and the rest of the clan followed suit. “Our curse doesn’t allow us to get outside in bright daylight. We can shift into ravens during the day, but it’s dangerous, and mostly unpractical. And this is where you, Mrs. Andersson, would come in quite handy.”

Chapter 6

Alba

This had to be a sect. Or a scam. Or maybe a bit of both. For some bizarre reason, these people thought MSTDA Engineering was going to hire me, and they wanted to offer me a job, too. Could that be true? The circumstances surrounding our meeting weren’t exactly reassuring. And why would they be willing to offer me such a high salary? That was probably more than Mark made in a month; and one thing experience had taught me―apart from the fact that marrying at twenty-one is a stupid life choice and that one should never believe in emails from outcast Russian heiresses―was that, if something looked too good to be true, it probably was.

Unless they expected me to kill someone. In that case, it might make sense. But I wasn’t that desperate for work just yet.

“Okay,” I said, taking a deep breath and swallowing, “and what exactly would I have to do to earn this position?”

Six pairs of eyes followed my every move. These people reminded me of lions in a zoo. Only I wasn’t a visitor on the other side of the fence, but a mouse unwillingly thrown into their cage.

“Everything is very straightforward,” Clarence said. “You’d start with simple things, such as going to the bank, posting documents, purchasing goods, having meetings with our clients...” As he spoke, he extended one long finger for each task I was supposed to fulfill. His hands were wide but surprisingly delicate for such a tall man. The hands of a pianist or an artist. “As you can see, just ordinary administrative tasks one would expect from a...” he paused and licked his lips, “...from a regular vampire firm.”

I sighed in desperation at the recurring mention of the word vampire.

“Excuse me?” I lifted my head to scrutinize the man’s eyes, searching for clues of their real intentions. He blinked just once in all the time I stared at him. “All this talk about witches and vampires is baffling. But the idea that someone would pay me thousands of dollars for going to the post office...? That makes absolutely no sense. I’m really sorry, but I think I’ll have to refuse your kind... offer.”

Elizabeth flared her nostrils. “Incredible,” she muttered.

“I... Mrs. Swamp, please understand me. I need to go home. My family must be waiting for me.”

Tentatively, I stood up from the table and observed their reaction―would they try to stop me? I pushed the chair against the table, holding Clarence’s gaze. Of all those people, he seemed to be the least intimidating. They all remained still, and I took two slow steps back. Then, I waited for their response. I smoothed my white blouse and realized I had lost the middle button: it now sagged open in a very inelegant fashion, so I had to pull at the sides to hold it in place; all while I put on my shoes with as much dignity as I could muster. Walking backwards, I stopped by the entrance and lay a hand on the heavy handle. To my surprise, they all stayed seated, watching me like hawks.

Elizabeth squinted through her thick black eyelashes. “Fine,” she said, “if you insist, we won’t keep you here against your will.” Then she snapped her fingers, and with a mysterious look aimed at the dark haired man, she added, “Clarence, will you please escort Mrs. Andersson outside?”

***

CLARENCE SEEMED LOST in his thoughts as he guided me through yet another labyrinth of underground corridors. At first, we walked along wider halls, lavishly decorated with paintings and candelabra on the walls; but as we advanced, the surfaces became plainer. All the corridors were dark, though, which made it hard not to trip on the deep cracks of the old stone floor.

After a while, a long flight of stone stairs appeared in front of us, and high above our heads, I glimpsed a reassuring slit of light.

The outside world. Hallelujah.

“This is the main exit,” Clarence said, showing me a key, which he hung on a hook on the wall at my reach. “I’m leaving the key here, where you can reach it. We won’t hold you hostage if you don’t want to stay. I’ll go out with you. Just give me a second so I can... shift.”

“So you can what?” Maybe he meant change his clothes into something more normal.

“I mean that I’m not interested in becoming vampire toast, and for some inexplicable reason, turning into a black bird helps against that.” He shrugged innocently. “But don’t worry, I’ll be right back. The only drawback is once I do it, I won’t be able to talk to you. Just... caw.”

I stared at him blankly.

Completely nuts.

Such a waste of an otherwise good-looking guy.

“You still don’t believe anything, do you?” Clarence said with a knowing smile. “You think vampires and witches only live in fairy tales. You think we are all insane.”

Something in the cordial way he spoke to me, together with the closeness of the exit, gave me enough courage to answer.

“You’ll have to excuse me,” I said slowly, “but the last time I checked, there were no castles on top of the beanstalks in my garden.”

“Of course.” He slapped his forehead theatrically. “You are an engineer, aren’t you? An interesting career choice for a witch’s granddaughter. One would have expected you to become an herbalist or a psychic. Maybe a midwife? But... an engineer? You are an interesting creature, Alba Andersson, if I may say so, and I figure life still has many surprises in store for you. But why can’t you have just a little faith?”

“Faith,” I repeated, holding his gaze, surprised by my startling desire to continue the conversation, “that’s something I lost a long time ago. Since then, I abide by the principle, ‘if I can't see it, it doesn't exist.’”

He sighed, and the corners of his mouth lifted slightly. “Can you see an atom?”

“I suppose I could, with a good microscope.” I crossed my arms, accepting the challenge.

“Can you see love?”

His unexpected question nearly made me choke. It was totally out of place.

“Are you seriously asking me that, Mr. Auberon?”

But he insisted, “Can you see whatever makes the difference between a living person and a dead one?”

I blinked, feeling personally attacked by the direction the discussion was heading. “Sorry, Mr. Auberon. I’m not in the mood to discuss the nature of love with someone I just met, let alone dead people. What are you trying to tell me?”

Outside, an ambulance passed by, and Clarence waited for the siren sounds to fade off before continuing.

“You can’t see a human soul, but you know it’s there―because you know when it’s gone, and someone is dead. Which proves that sometimes, there’s more than the eye can see. Sometimes, a leap of faith is necessary. And I’m asking you to consider the possibility, that’s it.”

His voice was warm and charming, and stirred a rebellious part of me which had lain dormant for many years.

“I’m not leaping anywhere except out of this hole you threw me into,” I protested, but my voice came out weaker than expected.

“Very well, Mrs. Andersson.” He smiled at my stubbornness. “In that case, there’s just one more thing, before you leave us for good.” He looked aside with hesitation. “If you are thinking about going to the police and telling them about this place, I beg you, please don't. I’m sorry you fell into that shaft, but understand that we strive for maximum discretion here in The Cloister.”

That was exactly the first thing I had intended to do. I wondered whether he was able to read my mind or if I was simply so predictable.

“Being uncovered would be very troublesome for us... privacy is the thing we vampires cherish the most. Apart from fresh blood, but that’s another story entirely.” He laughed at his own terrible joke. I winced, and he stopped.

“Look, I know I’m asking a lot of you,” he continued, leaning towards me and lowering his tone. “But it might take us ten years or more to find another witch descendant willing to work here. Our businesses won’t survive forever without basic housekeeping. Elizabeth needs you. We need you.”

I wasn’t used to people asking for things so kindly. The man was bizarre, but didn’t seem so menacing anymore. Pensively, I took the ancient-looking iron key and weighed it in my hand. It was cold and heavy, and holding it made me feel safe.

“Are you really sure you want to refuse this chance at a new life?” He tilted his head and raised his eyebrows. “Maybe there’s a way I can earn your trust and make you stay.”

“You need to understand that it’s hard to trust someone who keeps talking about drinking blood and knows slightly too much about me,” I said, surprising myself with my boldness. “How did you know about my daughters? About my grandmother’s surname, about my job interview? It’s almost like you were spying on me.”

“Nooo,” he drawled funnily, “that was not spying. Just professional research.” He leaned back against the stone wall and crossed one leg over the other. “We needed to make sure you were the right candidate for this job. You can imagine we can’t just put up an ad in the papers; can you picture that? Live-in vampire assistant needed for help with paperwork. Witch blood is a safety requirement. Experience with document forfeiting is a bonus.”

I almost laughed at the thought, but then... “Wait a second,” I said, lifting a finger, “did you just admit openly to snooping on me? And why is witch blood a safety requirement?”

Clarence scratched the back of his head, putting on a mask of childish innocence. “Witch blood is the least palatable on earth,” he said, and it almost sounded like an apology. “It will help keep you alive and healthy around us. And witches have other side advantages, too.”

“Oh?” I blinked. “Interesting. But what about the spying?”

He threw me yet another long, guilty glance and remained completely silent.

“What else do you know about me?” I asked, pressing the key against my chest as the unease started to crawl back. “Don’t tell me you know where I live.”

“Perhaps?”

“Jesus, you are creepy.”

“I was planning to knock on your door if everything else failed.”

“Good that you didn’t, because I wouldn’t have opened it. I hate talking to strangers.”

I took a step toward the stairs and squinted back at him.

“I have noticed,” he grinned.

“Hopefully, now that we have had this conversation, you and your friends will stop with the stalking?” I let out a deep breath and started to climb the stairs.

“My friends?” he said, lifting his head and gazing at me, confused. “What friends exactly?”

Still clutching the key, I leaned against the stone wall and faced him. As soon as I did it, the back of my blouse dampened, and I regretted it. “Two men have been following me around. I saw them from the window of the engineering firm this morning. I suppose you sent them to spy on me?”

Clarence frowned. “No, I didn’t do such a thing.”

“Strange. Okay, maybe I’ve been just imagining things. I have a lot on my plate at the moment.”

He didn’t answer, but kept glaring at me in an extremely disturbing way. It seemed like he wanted to add something, but he wasn’t sure whether to disclose it or not.

“Yes?” I asked, tilting my head.

“Mrs. Andersson, just trust that I know things about you that you don’t know yourself. And there’s so much we could do for you.”

“Excuse me, but that sounds a bit like bragging to me,” I said in frustration. “I think you just want to look mysterious.”

“I definitely do.” He beamed. “I enjoy bragging when I can. And missing this chance might be the worst mistake you’ll ever make. I can understand how hard it must be for you to believe what I’m saying; I didn’t believe in vampires when I was your age, either.”

“And when was that? Three years ago?”

Clarence laughed: a genuine, vibrant laugh. He looked exactly the way I would have devised a vampire: handsome, pale and enigmatic. But of course, he couldn’t be one. Vampires didn’t laugh like that, for a start; nor did they have a sense of humor at all. They were supposed to be broody and tragic, as far as I knew.

“You are not a vampire,” I said, crossing my arms. “You are just a geek in Victorian attire with weird extensible dentures.”

Oddly, he seemed to enjoy my remark.

“Let me see,” he said in a pensive tone. “I’m sure there’s a way to refute that. I could bite you, of course, but that’s against the rules of social etiquette, especially being our guest of honor. But still, I’m sure you know that geeks in Victorian attire, as you call me―” as he said that, he wiggled his eyebrows and flashed his fangs, which were now just slightly longer than any normal person’s, “can’t turn into majestic ravens at will.”

I remained silent. My head was spinning. If he was lying to me, there was a very quick way to make it evident.

“Okay. Prove it.”

Clarence tilted his head, a half smile leaving a dimple on one side of his chin.

“I will, Mrs. Andersson,” he said, bowing theatrically. “Gladly.”

He snapped his fingers quietly, and the clicking sound reverberated on the stone walls.

For a couple of seconds, he just glared into my eyes with an amused look, but nothing else happened. I was about to clap my hands and turn to the exit when a gray cloud enveloped him, becoming thicker and denser, then started to contract into a small ball of black steam. As the vapor retreated, no traces of the cloaked man remained. Once the mist was gone, a black raven darted out of it and flew in circles over my head, soaring toward the top of the stairs as I looked at it with sheer astonishment.

“That was a really good trick,” I gasped, scanning the space and wondering where the man had gone. But there were no nooks, no corners. Just straight stone walls and a flight of stairs which led to the outside world. “Hello? Mr. Auberon, where are you? You can come out now.”

The raven glided expertly, then perched on my arm, which was extended against the railing. I flinched, expecting to feel the sharp claws sinking into my skin, but the bird landed softly, with utmost care. Finally, with a graceful skip, the raven jumped into the air and disappeared in yet another black cloud, out of which came back Clarence, smirking proudly and smoothing his suit.

I gave out a shocked yelp, as my jaw fell open in disbelief.

“Do you believe me now?” he said, and took an impossible vertical leap, which catapulted him to the middle of the stairs like a rocket.

I gulped. I tried to speak, but my mouth opened and closed, and nothing came out. The shock lasted for a couple of minutes, until the man, or whatever that creature was, walked up to me and started to study my pupils with worry.

“No way,” I managed to croak.

“Are you alright?” he asked, sniffing the air around me. “You seem a bit distraught.”

Again, my throat became dry, and my vocal chords disconnected from my brain. After an eternity, a deep sigh left my lungs, and a hysterical giggle started to rock my body. I cackled like a madwoman, and he stood next to me patiently until the attack eventually subsided. Then he handed me an expensive-looking lace handkerchief and helped me wipe my eyes with it.

“So?” he said, nodding.

“I’m not really sure of anything anymore,” I said, eyeing the man and the exit alternatively.

“You are fascinated. Confess it.”

“Maybe?”

“Stay,” he said firmly. “Stay and listen to Elizabeth’s offer till the end. It will be advantageous for all of us. I promise.”

“I really can’t think straight right now.”

“That’s fine. Take your time. I understand.”

Clarence sat down on the stairs and joined the tips of his fingers together. After a while, my brain started to function normally again, and a myriad of questions started to flood me, the first of them connected to sheer survival.

“How do I know for sure you are not trying to kill me, or kidnap me, or use me for whatever satanic cult is going on here?”

“No satanic anything, rest assured.” He put his palm out solemnly, like taking an oath. “If I wanted to kill you, or kidnap you, or any of those things you just named―trust me, I would have done it already. But you are too valuable of an asset for The Cloister, Mrs. Andersson, so we’re not going to cause you any harm. We are just a bunch of eternally cursed individuals seeking a discreet way to maintain the cash-flow in a human-ruled world.”

I swallowed slowly, trying to clear my mind. A secret part of me was utterly fascinated by what I had just witnessed. My grandma had often talked about the supernatural world with ease, and I had listened to her stories with delight. All of a sudden, a baffling―and possibly deadly―bout of curiosity overwhelmed me.

“Okay,” I said, taking a hesitant step back toward the corridor we had come from and sticking the key in my handbag. “Take me back to that room, and I’ll talk to Mrs. Swamp.”

“I’m glad you changed your mind,” he said, standing up with a sigh of relief and following me. “Because Elizabeth wouldn’t allow a human to get out of here with memories of The Cloister.”

“What does that mean?” I asked, as my chest tightened with consternation.

“It means forget what I said,” he answered with a snicker, like he had just told a great inside joke. He took my elbow courteously, and we started to walk back down the dimly lit halls.

Chapter 7

Alba

Once I finished talking to Elizabeth, they allowed me to go home. The raven disappeared behind a black marble mausoleum in Saint Anne’s cemetery after seeing me to the exit.

Finally alone and free, I made an effort to put my thoughts in order.

I was still alive. I had both shoes on, and I was holding a yellowed visit card with a hand-drawn emblem of a crow, a sword and a rose, which included just a name and a postal address on its back side:

Mr. Clarence Auberon

13th Westside Avenue

Emberbury, MA, 05545

No telephone, no email. Seemingly, the only way to contact these people was by sending them letters.

The second part of our conversation had gone slightly better than the first. These people, who claimed to be vampires, had apparently built a Victorian palace of sorts in a secret catacomb under Saint Anne’s cemetery, and they claimed to actually live there. They were offering me an impressive sum of money and accommodations at their place for me and my daughters, in exchange for some simple administrative help. The only catch was that everything must be conducted in complete secrecy.

For the first ten minutes after leaving, I had entertained the idea of accepting the job.

But then, common sense sank in, and I realized that no sane mother would drag her daughters into such a place. The Cloister and its inhabitants had unquestionably piqued my curiosity―it wasn’t every day that I saw a man turn into a raven or take a ten feet leap without batting an eyelid―but everything about this business seemed shady and risky, and I wasn’t going to take unnecessary chances when my children were involved.

No, I needed to behave sensibly. In an impulse, I drew Clarence Auberon’s visit card out of my handbag and threw it into the nearest trash can. That would keep me from doing something I might regret later.

If I can't see it, it doesn't exist.

Perfect. With the card gone, the temptation would be non-existent, too.

I stopped at the bank to get some money from an ATM. I had run out of cash, and I needed to pay for a taxi. Standing in front of the machine, I punched in my PIN number and waited for the usual greeting screen. Instead of that, I got an error message:

Wrong PIN.

Attempts left: 2

I told myself that forgetting a PIN was nothing out of the ordinary, and absolutely reasonable for someone going through a divorce and a frantic job search. I took out my wallet and searched for the little piece of paper where I kept all my passwords―a foolhardy thing to carry around, but I was more scared of being stranded cashless with the kids than of the rare possibility that someone would steal my bag and manage to decipher my handwriting. Emberbury was a relatively safe, middle-sized town, where nothing news-worthy had happened since the closure of the red amber mines in the 1800s.

Looking at my list in confusion, I typed the numbers twice more, very slowly. I kept getting the same error message. The third time I tried, the ATM swallowed my card and the screen became locked.

Cursing like a sailor, I started to rummage in my purse and found a couple of coins, just enough for a bus ride. I hated riding the bus, but it would have to do.

When I got off at my stop, a cold shiver crept up my back. Sure enough, as soon as I turned around, I caught sight of two familiar black figures disappearing stealthily into a side road. They were the same two men I had seen from the engineering office window. Once they were gone, I kept walking and tried to shrug it off.

My neighbor May waved at me from her porch. She was smoking on the sly again, which meant her husband wasn’t home yet.

“Hi, May!” I said with a forced smile. None of my neighbors knew about my trouble with Mark. He had requested to keep things as quiet as possible, and I didn’t feel like feeding the rumor mill, anyway.

“Coming to the gym later?” May asked, lighting yet another cigarette like the world would end tomorrow.

Going to the gym was a suburban mom euphemism for gossiping in the fitness café wearing sweatpants. Nobody ever expected you to lift any weights, apart from your screaming children. It had other advantages, too, including a soft foam indoor playground where toddlers could bump their heads safely when not crying or clinging to your tracksuit with chocolate-stained fingers.

“I’m not sure. I’m a bit tired,” I answered, leaning over the porch railing and shouting so she could hear me across the lawn.

“Shopping is exhausting, huh?” She probably thought I had been to the mall and illustrated her excitement with a little happy dance. Her enviable mane of alabaster Asian hair shook behind her, sending my way a waft of frankincense shampoo.

“Sure,” I said. Well, shopping was exhausting to me, at any rate. And I was positively drained after all that had happened in that catacomb.

May seemed satisfied with my answer and went back to browsing her tablet with happy abandon, then lifted her head and added, “If you change your mind, we’ll stay in the café a little longer this evening―we’re celebrating my birthday. Tell Mark it’s his turn to make dinner and watch the kids!”

I nodded, implying that Mark knew how to cook anything apart from a takeaway pizza, then went inside.

“You’re two hours late,” the babysitter complained as soon as she saw me.

I was always late, but this might have been my record so far. Feeling self-conscious, I gave her an all-teeth apologizing smile and found some spare change to pay for her services. After she left, I sat on the couch with Katie and Iris and opened my laptop to figure out what might have gone wrong with my credit card. When I tried to log into my online banking, I got yet another error message.

Someone had changed that password, too.

And I suspected who that someone might be.

Feeling a sudden wave of apprehension, I searched the whole house for valuables. As I expected, everything was gone, including the family’s backup cash stash hidden in a pickle jar and all jewelry, together with my wedding tiara and the few things I had inherited from my grandmother. The only thing which had escaped Mark’s looting was an Art Nouveau rose-shaped brooch of my grandma’s, which I had left by the bathroom sink. It was made of brass and studded with dozens of tiny cherry-amber beads molded like flower petals. Gloomily, I picked it up and stuck it in my hair.

Mark was out for blood, and sadly for me, he played with the advantage of experience.

***

WHEN MARK FINALLY CAME home, it was past ten in the evening, and the children had already fallen asleep. The sound of his steps in the hall made my hands shake, and I dropped a plate into the sink. Soapy water splashed into my eyes, and I wiped them off with a towel.

“You missed the girls,” I said from the kitchen. “They were expecting to watch cartoons with daddy tonight.”

Mark left his black leather briefcase on the floor and took off his tailored jacket without even glancing at me.

“And how was I supposed to know that?” he said edgily. “It’s the first time you tell me about it.”

Or the tenth one, but never mind. I hadn’t expected him to do it, anyway.

“How was your day?” I asked, more out of habit than courtesy. We were still living together until we decided who kept the house and how, and minimizing conflicts was a matter of survival for me. At least we had a spare room, so I didn’t have to sleep in the same bed as him.

“Is there any food?” he asked, ignoring my question and scanning the kitchen like a hungry wolf.

“I can make you a sandwich. I would have made some more soup if you had told me you were eating here, but you said you would grab something with Robert on the way home.”

“No, I didn’t say that.”

“Yes, you did.”

“I wish you’d stop making things up I never said. I haven’t been home for even ten minutes, and you are already striving to piss me off.”

Piss him off? I remembered about my blocked credit cards, and I slammed a cupboard door slightly too hard.

“Did you know that someone removed my access to our bank account today?” I said, as I started to rub the counter with tenacity.

Mark snorted, pouring himself a beer from the fridge. “No way,” he said, looking entertained.

“Yes way. It was you, wasn’t it?”

“I’m innocent until proven guilty,” he drank a big gulp of beer and burped viciously. I wished I could record that and send the video to his office’s email. Mark Andersson was considered the epitome of poise and elegance in Emberbury’s legal circles. If only they knew about his secret Mr. Hyde side. If only I had known about that side of him ten years earlier―but he had been so good at hiding it.

“You can’t just take all our money and leave me empty-handed. How am I supposed to survive until the divorce is official?”

“I don’t know,” he sneered. “Ask your lawyer?”

He wasn’t even looking at me, but browsing his phone as if I were a bothersome mosquito he just wanted to get rid of as soon as possible. Of course, I didn’t have a lawyer yet, and he knew it perfectly. Come to think of it, it was going to be hard to get one without any money.

A sour stench reached my nose, and I realized he had probably been drinking after work, which made him even more insufferable than just regular, hateful Mark.

“You can be a real jerk,” I muttered, restraining myself from strangling him with the blender cord.

“Three words: separate property state. Have you been working much lately? No? I thought so. Such a shame the house is in my name, too. But don’t worry, I’m not kicking you out just yet. I need to find someone to watch the kids first. Because they’re staying with me, did I tell you?”

That was probably when I lost it. I snarled and charged at him with my fists, crashing against his chest of steel and feeling like I had just hit a wall. Surprisingly, he didn’t charge back, but instead scoffed, blocked all my movements with one arm and took a selfie where it looked like I was hitting him in the guts.

“Thanks for this, darling,” he said, waving the phone at me. “Domestic violence against spouses sells well at court, too.”

I growled at his shamelessness and barreled out of the kitchen before I got tempted by the knife block.

“Mommy?” Little Katie was standing in the middle of the room, wearing her pajamas. Who knew what she might have heard? “I’m not sleepy.” She then noticed Mark behind me and ran to him. “Daddy! You’re home!”

“Her pajamas are inside out,” Mark said sternly, ignoring the little girl’s open arms and pointing at the label under her chin.

“Daddy, can you read me a story? I can’t sleep,” Katie said, as I receded to a corner and watched their exchange in silence.

“Sorry, Katie. I’m tired. Maybe tomorrow,” Mark answered in an emotionless tone.

“But daddy...” Katie started to cry and clung to his spotless trousers. “Just a short one, okay?”

“I said no,” he replied in an irate voice.

“But I want a story now!” Katie wailed and wiped her runny nose on his pants.

“You just ruined my best suit trousers, you spoiled brat!” he snapped, pushing the girl away and clearing the snot off his clothes without noticing that his blow had sent the poor child flying to the carpet.

Mark stormed upstairs in a rage, concerned about his pants and nothing else, and I heard the door of the master bedroom close with a loud slam. Katie lay crying on the floor, where her father had left her, and I rushed to hold her in my arms. I rocked her softly, hating myself for not having stepped in faster.

“Shh, baby, mommy will read you a story. Just tell me which one you’d like, okay?”

It took me a long while to calm down my daughter, and when she finally fell asleep in her bed, the emptiness inside my heart was about to smother me. I could foresee a whole night of lying awake for hours and staring at the ceiling until dawn, waiting for the alarm to go off. It wasn’t a very tempting prospect.

I grabbed my purse and went out the main door and into the night.

“May?” I dialed my neighbor’s number as I left the house. She answered after the first ring, her voice tipsy and cheerful.

“Hey, Albs! Coming? We’re waiting for you! Come, come, tonight the drinks are on me!”

“Yeah, where are you?”

“Saturn Fitness, as usual. But they’re closing in one hour. You’ll have to quench your thirst fast!”

“Don’t worry, May. I’m going to shine at it.”

Chapter 8

Clarence

Everyone except for Francesca and I had left The Cloister to hunt. A heated argument had ensued following Alba Andersson’s departure, with half of the members voting to dispense her oblivion immediately and the other half willing to wait for her decision. Elizabeth, whose secluded existence had detached her from the passage of time and the changes in customs, was aghast that Mrs. Andersson had behaved in what she saw as a very ungrateful and insolent manner. Especially taking into account the money and advantages she was offering her. She had urged me to follow Andersson and wipe her memory straightaway for safety reasons; but somehow, I had managed to earn the witch a brief truce.

It had taken me years to find an available stray witch, and I wasn’t going to get rid of this one without resistance. I had argued we should give her at least a few days to answer. In the end, Elizabeth had accepted reluctantly, under the condition of keeping the witch under close watch. For someone who had experienced slavery in her own flesh, Elizabeth had a peculiar tendency to be overly strict and impatient with her personnel.

Following the sound of the music, I reached the piano room, where Francesca was playing Bach’s Goldberg Variations. A heavy-bottomed glass full of a golden liquid stood over the keyboard. She was the only one in The Cloister who refused to feed on humans, but she compensated it nicely with gallons of rare whiskey and mysterious trips into the forest. As much as I admired her commitment, I had never been able to follow in her footsteps.

I thought about staying and listening to her for the rest of the night, but I was too thirsty. I tried to keep the craving at bay for as long as I could. Sometimes I managed to go for many weeks before the bloodlust got the best of me. Occasionally, I was lucky enough to snatch a felon to feed from; but more often than not, I ended up perched in the arms of a lovely warmblood who wouldn’t remember anything the next morning.

My throat itched at the thought, and I let out an unintentional growl.

“She will come back,” Francesca murmured, misinterpreting my little snarl. She kept playing, her voice almost inaudible under the metallic notes. They seemed to seep out of her fingers effortlessly, but in truth they were the logical result of centuries of consistent practice.

She was talking about Mrs. Andersson, of course.

“I hope so,” I said, letting my head sway to the music. “There are very few strays left.”

“And this one is also pleasant to the eye, isn’t she?”

Francesca loved to tease me, but tonight I was hungry, which made it harder for me to produce the witty answer she had probably expected.

“Indeed,” I replied coolly. Then I left the room, pondering where to head.

***

I DECIDED TO EAT SOMETHING first and went outside into the night. Instead of flying, I enjoyed the sporadic ability to walk the streets like an ordinary pedestrian. If I closed my eyes, I could imagine myself treading those same paths during the day, with the rays of the sun warming up my light-deprived skin. I could remember each pebble, the shade of each blade of grass, just like I saw them day after day from the sky, frustrated by my inability to bask in the sun just like everyone else. I had learned them all by heart, to the point that I could have reproduced them on canvas, had I still been inclined to. It was such a paradox, this yearning, after spending my mortal life in a self-imposed darkness, too engrossed in London nightlife and its many temptations to pay attention to the trifle pleasure of simply being alive.

I put my hands in my pockets and let the nightly cacophony of smells overwhelm my nostrils: it was a concoction of damp grass, pollen, litter... and of course, the sweet scent of human blood pulsing in a stranger’s arteries. My little finger caught in a small object, forgotten inside the pocket of my trousers. It was round and cold, and had a sharp point in one end.

Oh, right. Andersson’s ring, of course.

How could I have forgotten to return it? It had certainly not been the most gentlemanly thing to do. By now, she might be thinking I wasn’t much better than a common thief.

Without a moment’s hesitation, I turned on my tracks, went back to the shelter of Saint Anne’s cemetery and shifted into a faster and more discreet traveling form. A feathered one.

Dinner would have to wait.

Once in the air, I headed south, impressed as always by the glitz of the city lights below, which became more sparse as I neared the suburbs.

Mrs. Andersson’s home was the last one in a cul-de-sac full of dull, upper-middle class constructions, which were the architectural equivalent of luxury plain toast. White gables, gray pointed roofs and symmetrical dormer windows made the houses barely indistinguishable from each other to the untrained eye.

I saw the lights were on upstairs, and I entertained the idea of knocking on a window. But it was Friday evening, and I didn’t wish to be seen by guests or family members. They might not appreciate the visit of a vampire older than their neighborhood who also happened to be an accidental pickpocket.

Maybe I should just turn around.

When I was about to leave, I spotted a small, long-haired figure abruptly turning the corner. The bittersweet scent of witch’s blood almost knocked me out mid-flight. Witches’ blood wasn’t much of a vampire delicacy, but I had always been thrilled by its distinct smell. Just like the aroma of cilantro, it was hated by some and loved by others, and it usually served as an unerring conversation starter for any vampire soiree. Not that there were many of those left, since vampire hunters had decimated our population in the 1800s, forcing us into isolation if we wanted to survive.

I heard two men approaching before I saw them. They were talking to each other behind a small thicket of trees, in a wide area devoid of houses, and I caught Andersson’s name in the middle of their conversation. They were too far for her to hear them but not for my perfectly attuned vampire ears. As the woman passed by the group of trees they were hiding in, both men jumped on her and pinned her slight body against the ground.

It was clinically proven that my blood was always room-temperature, but I swear I felt it boiling in my veins as I watched the scene from the air: I hadn’t spent years tracking down one of the last stray witches of the world so that those repulsive thugs killed her in front of my very eyes.

And I was extremely hungry, too.

I plunged to the earth, shifting back into a more presentable human form, and half-smiled at how well the woman was faring on her own. She had managed to claw both men’s faces using her keys and her knuckles as a weapon. But as painful as the wounds must be for the bloodied hooligans, it was clear that it wasn’t going to be enough to deter them.

Alba Andersson was screaming, and nobody but me could hear her.

Better for me, I thought, because what I was about to do wasn’t something you would like to perform in front of a human audience.

Chapter 9

Alba

After the argument with Mark, anger and regret seethed in my gut, twisting into an ugly mass. I strode down our street, then turned toward the road which ran through a quiet park and led to the fitness café where the girls should be waiting for me.

I heard steps, and I automatically grabbed the keys out of my pocket, holding them in a “werewolf claws” position. A nearly useless defensive technique, but it eased my anxiety. My neighborhood was a peaceful place, and I told myself there was nothing to worry about.

But this time was different. Two men appeared and blocked my way, one from each side.

Abruptly, one of them tackled me to the ground, and after that, the other held me still. I struggled, aiming at their faces with my keys, my hands guided by sheer survival instinct. Blood stained their skin, but they didn’t relent.

I screamed for help, but a fat hand covered my mouth and nose, hardly allowing me to breathe. It stank of gasoline and rancid chips. When they started to drag me toward the nearby trees, I bit the man’s hand in desperation. In turn, he punched me in the face so hard that I nearly passed out.

It soon became clear that I had no chance of winning this unexpected fight. I thought about my daughters, home alone with their spiteful father, and that gave me new strength to struggle against the unknown men’s relentless grasp.

They hit me once again, and that time I went limp with pain. Terror washed over me as all the horrible ways this situation could end flashed swiftly through my mind.

Right then, a voice appeared out of nowhere.

“Release her,” it said sternly. “Immediately.”

I had heard that voice before. Although it had sounded quite different in the morning.

An elegant pair of old-fashioned shoes made their appearance in front of my nose, and I knew they could only belong to one man. A man called Clarence Auberon.

The two attackers watched him with amusement and cackled, staring at his odd choice of attire.

“Hey, dude,” one shouted, “Halloween was half a year ago.”

“I don't know about you, dude,” the last word was pronounced in a mocking tone, and sounded almost comical in his English accent, “but the Night of the Dead is every night for me,” Clarence answered impassively. “And now, if you excuse me, I would like to escort this lady to her home. Or wherever she wanted to go before you interrupted her. Would you mind stepping aside?”

The second time the men started to chuckle, their laughter ended abruptly in a choked, gurgling gasp. Clarence’s nails sank mercilessly into the crook of their necks. The men struggled and tried to attack him with their knives, but he just smirked and disarmed them with admirable efficiency. The knives flew in the air, and he twisted the thugs’ arms behind their backs, pinning them to the floor, then stacked them on top of each other in a pile.

I sprang to my knees, crawling away from the fight scene as Clarence lay his neatly polished shoe on top of the men and turned to me with a grave look.

“Mrs. Andersson, would you mind waiting for me behind that vehicle?” He pointed at a minivan parked on the other side of the street.

I rubbed my eye and struggled to stand up. “What? No. Why?”

“Because I would feel more comfortable if you didn't have to see what I'm about to do.”

Okay. I swallowed hard, and reluctantly, I did as he wished. I leaned against the car with my back toward him, and felt my legs become paralyzed with shock.

Meanwhile, the ear piercing shrieks of the men became unbearable, and I felt frozen on the spot.

“Who sent you?” I heard Clarence ask them.

No answer.

No blows either, just a disturbing sound of tearing flesh, followed by bloodcurdling cries.

Horrified, I tilted my head just a little bit and peeked at the three men with just one eye―the one which wasn’t swollen closed after the blow.

Both men were sprawled on the ground with their faces and necks lacerated and covered in blood. Clarence stood over them, his shirt sprinkled with burgundy droplets. He stared into the men’s eyes and murmured a few unintelligible words. After that, both men stopped screaming, nodded and passed out. Clarence searched their pockets with experienced proficiency, and finally, he threw them behind the shrubs.

“Sorry about the mess,” he said, looking contrite as he pulled a white handkerchief out of his waistcoat pocket and wiped his hands with a grimace of disgust.

My mouth was completely dry, but I managed to utter two words, “You didn’t...?”

“Kill them?” he said emotionlessly. “No, I didn’t. They’ll be fine, and they won’t remember anything from tonight.”

“What...? Who...? How...?” I stammered.

He shook his head and offered me an arm.

I looked at him and hesitated.

Should I trust him?

For some unfathomable reason―maybe just sheer despair―I actually wanted to. At that point, nothing in my life seemed stable anymore. Funnily enough, the steadiest thing I could see around was that man who called himself a vampire and had just appeared from nowhere to offer me an elbow to lean on.

“Please, allow me,” he said, then he scrutinized my face with a frown. “Are you hurt? Should I take you to a hospital?”

The invisible chains which had kept me paralyzed started to melt, and I let out a ragged breath.

“I’m okay, thanks,” I lied, settling clumsily against his sturdy side. “I just need to get home and put a pack of ice on my eye. It’s just... too much for one day.”

“Had you seen these men before?” Clarence said, guiding me to the place where he had left them. They lay unconscious behind the bushes, and I observed with relief that he had told me the truth: they were still breathing.

I nodded slowly. “I think so. These are the ones who were following me this morning. I have no idea who they are or what they might want from me. Maybe just robbers.”

“Hmm,” Clarence said, scratching his chin. “It’s hard to tell. I will talk to Elizabeth about it; she might know something. At least they won’t follow you for a while.”

“Why are you so sure? What happens when they wake up?”

“They won’t remember anything from the last few days. At least not anything related to any of us.”

I raised my eyebrows, eyeing the man next to me with incredulity. “What on earth...?”

“Let’s say I have a talent to make people forget things,” he said mysteriously.

I stopped walking, and I blinked with incredulity. “Can you... hypnotize people? Make them do whatever you want?” After all I had seen in the last hours, nothing seemed impossible anymore.

He smiled. “Ah, I wish I could. I just erase their short-term memories, that’s it. For anything more sophisticated, you might need to hire a witch.”

“A witch, huh?” I tried to arch an eyebrow, but my whole face was throbbing after the blow.

“I will take them somewhere else later, so they don’t wake up so close to your house.”

We walked arm in arm until the end of the street, and I found his tall, silent presence oddly reassuring. I wondered whether I shouldn’t be appalled after what he had just done, even if it had been to help me.

As my house appeared in the distance, I pondered what I would tell Mark the next morning when he asked about my shiner. I might just tell him that I had hit my head with a cabinet door.

“I reckon this is your house,” Clarence said, as we reached the edge of the lawn.

Then, he put a hand in his pocket and retrieved a small item out of it.

“I forgot to―” he started to say, but before he finished, I stumbled on the curb and crashed against his side, making the small object fly off his hand.

“Sorry!” I gasped, regaining my balance. “What was that? Let me help you search for it.”

“No need,” he answered, waving me off.

Clarence bent down and scanned the lawn like an eagle. It took him less than one minute to pick up the small object from among the overgrown grass blades. The darkness didn’t seem to bother him at all. Still on his knees, he opened his hand and showed me the little gold band which sparkled softly on his palm.

“Please accept my apologies,” he said, sliding my engagement ring back to where it had been in the morning. I stared in confusion, but he just nodded in approval. “Some things just belong together, don’t you agree?”

I snatched my hand away from him, rubbing it vigorously to remove the invisible traces his icy fingers had left on my skin.

“That was awkward,” I commented, as he stood up from his kneeling position and started to laugh openly, somehow dissipating the tension from the evening.

“Maybe a little bit,” he admitted, watching me with a wide smile. “Was it too premature for your taste?” he added in a joking tone, pointing at the ring with his chin.

“Definitely,” I said, grinning uncomfortably.

“Don’t worry,” he said, regaining his composure. “In my opinion, eternity lasts too long for that kind of commitment, so you are safe with me.”

“That’s a relief.”

“However, there’s one proposal I hope you will consider,” he added earnestly. “Not mine: Elizabeth’s. Would you do me this favor?”

I glanced toward my house. A light turned off in the master bedroom, followed by the blue flashing of a TV set. Mark must be watching a movie in bed. Memories of our conversation in the kitchen flooded me, together with the realization that I had thrown Clarence’s visit card into a trash can and I had no way to send a reply.

A sudden clarity lit my mind.

“I... lost your visit card,” I mumbled, “but I think I’ve already made up my mind.”

“Really?” Clarence’s eyes flickered with sudden interest and cast a couple of red sparkles―or was it just my imagination? “And? What have you decided?”

“I’m looking forward to working with you,” I said, hoping I wouldn’t regret my hasty decision the next morning.

“Maybe sleep on it, just in case,” he said with an almost imperceptible wink. “I’ll come back tomorrow evening, if you want.”

“Tomorrow is Saturday. Mark will be home,” I said, twisting a lock of hair with my finger. Elizabeth had been clear that I wasn’t allowed to reveal anything about this job to anyone, and that included Mark. “Can you do Monday morning? Eleven o’clock?”

“Of course.”

I waited for Clarence to walk away, but he just stood by the path which led to the house through the garden, staring at me, completely still.

Did he expect me to do a curtsy or something? I wasn’t well-versed in historical etiquette.

“Good night?” I said, tilting my head.

“May I walk you to your door or would that bother Mr. Andersson?” he asked solemnly.

A nervous laugh escaped my lips. “Mr. Andersson doesn’t really care,” I said, backing away from him. “But you can just leave. It’s just a few steps, and this is a safe neighborhood.” He raised an eyebrow, implying how recent events contradicted my words. “Okay, at least most of the time.”

He bowed slightly. “Good night, Mrs. Andersson.”

I crossed the porch, unlocked the door and stepped into the dark house. When I turned around to lock it once again, Clarence was still standing under the magnolia tree. Its purple blossoms filled the garden with their cloying sweet scent and made me dizzy.

“Mr. Auberon?” I whispered, not sure he would hear me from that distance.

“Yes?”

I was surprised he caught my words at all.

“Can I ask you a question?”

He looked intrigued.

“Can I ask you... what did you do to those men to make them scream like that?”

He crossed his arms and let out a deep breath. “Do you really want me to answer that?”

Did I?

I shook my head.

“You’re right,” I said through the crack of the door. “Good night, Mr. Auberon.”

Chapter 10

Alba

The weekend dragged by in a tortoiselike manner, but I was far from idle during those two days. Mark spent Saturday playing golf with some clients and most of Sunday at the office, allegedly preparing for an important trial. In the few hours he spent at home, he managed to slap Katie’s cheek once and scream at Iris on three different occasions.

To my relief, he didn’t bother to ask why half of my face kept changing colors, and I made sure to remain indoors to avoid my neighbors’ inquisitive gazes.

I made lots of lists, but I didn’t pack anything just yet―I wouldn’t tell Mark about my new job for a while, just in case it didn’t work out. I’d just leave a note, saying I was going for a little vacation and return for the divorce proceedings. He worked so late every day that he would hardly notice my absence, anyway.

When, on Sunday morning, he screamed at me for spilling his coffee on the saucer, I remained silent and fantasized about the safety of him never being able to find me again.

Many times, while doing housework, I found myself replaying in my mind the visit to The Cloister. Those thoughts drifted recurrently to Mr. Clarence Auberon and how oddly at ease I had felt in his presence. It must have been years since I had proper conversation with another adult; especially discussions which didn’t revolve around my kids and didn’t end up in bouts of irrational yelling.

But at night, bad dreams and insomnia haunted me, like they always did when I went through stressful periods―which seemed to be all the time, lately. The nightmares kept me up until dawn, listening to things which weren’t really there. Sometimes I thought Miss Jilly, the cat, was staring at me from the windowsill; but whenever I stood up to check, there was nothing. Right before sunrise, I generally fell back into a restless sleep full of horrible visions of my loved ones suffering. It was exhausting, but I had grown used to it after years.

On Monday morning, as soon as Mark left for the office, I called the babysitter and rushed out to do some errands. I found some cash Mark had forgotten in a Chinese vase in the living room, and I used half of it to buy children’s medicines, cosmetics and a few other necessities. Once I got my first salary and cash wasn’t so tight, things would become much easier.

At eleven o’clock, a large raven was sitting on the highest branch of the magnolia tree, and it extended its wings in a silent greeting as I made my way across the lawn.

I entered the house, followed by my very unusual, feathered escort, just to find the babysitter furiously pacing up and down the kitchen.

“I called you twenty times!” the babysitter yelled, ignoring the bird, which perched patiently on the back of the sofa. The girl must have at least eight tattoos of arrows and dolphins on her left arm alone, and I couldn’t remember whether her name was Hopper or Harper. “I already missed my chemistry class because of you!”

I stared at my watch blankly. My intention had been to be back by ten, so I could pack up before Clarence arrived, but I had ended up queuing at the drugstore for a long time.

“I’m so sorry...” I didn’t dare say the girl’s name in case I had got it wrong. Losing another babysitter seemed too risky, so I walked towards the TV stand and grabbed Mark’s Yongzheng vase―a rare antique gifted to him by a satisfied client after they had won an almost impossible case. I tried to squeeze my hand into the long and narrow mouth of the vase, but it didn’t work out. In the end, I just spilled all the contents on a sideboard and thrust the bills into the astonished babysitter’s arms.

“There you go!” I said gaily. It was at least ten times more than her normal fee, but she deserved it, anyway. “Consider it my apology. Now go back to college before you miss something else!”

Harper-Hopper stuck the money into her backpack and stumbled out of the house, stuttering a clumsy thank you. By the look on her face, this babysitter would be delighted to come back.

“Good nannies are so hard to come by,” I muttered at the raven, who was still waiting calmly on the couch. “I’m going through a very delicate phase, and I’m going to need her.”

Iris and Katie were stacking blocks peacefully in their room. When I crouched next to them, they pretended I was invisible, so I deemed it safe to go and pack my stuff quickly.

“I need to get my suitcase from the basement,” I said to the raven. “Care to come with me? Maybe we can talk there. It’s dark.”

The bird shook its head up and down and followed me, letting out a brief squawk which vaguely resembled a yes.

“Yeah, that’s what I meant,” I said, waving in his direction, “I can’t understand any of that.”

The basement had no windows and Mr. Auberon seized the opportunity to turn back into his vampire self. His presence felt odd in that house: having a male guest, and a clandestine one at that, was almost like doing something forbidden behind Mark’s back, even if it was a purely businesslike visit.

“I’m pleased to hear you are taking us up on our offer,” Clarence said, emerging out of the gray mist with a smug smile. “You won’t regret it, trust me.”

“I hope so,” I said, as the thin smoke vanished. Would I ever get used to this? Or was I about to wake up to my husband yelling at me because he just ran out of toilet paper? I went through my packing list in my head and tried to remember where we kept the travel bags: it had been more than ten years since I last traveled somewhere exciting.

“Are you glad you are leaving this place?”

The way he said it, it sounded like he had stuck his nose a bit too deep into my private life during his investigations.

“I’d rather not talk about personal stuff,” I snapped, grabbing a suitcase from the wrong end. Mark’s luggage cracked open, and out of it came a bunch of adult toys I had never seen in my life. A pair of tiger-striped plush handcuffs hit my pinkie toe, and I muttered a curse.

“You have interesting hobbies,” Clarence said, lifting a strange object vaguely similar to a tennis ball and smirking. “What is this for?”

“I don’t know! These are not mine!” I squealed, kicking a particularly gross item under a snowboard. “Ask Mark!”

“All right, all right,” he laughed and extended his hands, signaling me to calm down, “I’m not judging you. It’s not like I don’t have skeletons in my closet.”

“You are in a good mood today,” I observed grumpily, as I swiftly picked up the rest of Mark’s toys and threw them behind a pile of old tires.

“I think I missed talking to humans. It’s been a while.”

“You don’t talk to them before you bite them?” I snapped, stepping on a stool to reach a smaller suitcase.

“I try to keep contact to a bare minimum.” He shrugged.

“That’s kind of awful,” I said, looking at him from above, as I stood taller than him on the stool. “How can you live with that? Killing people every single day?”

Clarence looked at me like I had just slain his good mood. “That’s something I often wonder, too,” he replied with a sigh, “although it’s not every day, and I rarely kill them, if it makes you feel better.”

“Does it make me a horrible person if I agree to work for creatures like you?” I gasped, stricken by a sudden sense of guilt.

“I don’t know. What kind of people does your husband work for?”

“Good point.”

I jumped off the stool, remembering bitterly how Mark and his attorney partners were humorously known in local circles as The Vampires of Emberbury. Hah. If only they knew they had competition.

“Wait a second. So, my blood smells disgusting, which means you and your friends won’t try to bite me. But what about my daughters? I can’t risk taking them to a hole full of hungry vampires.” How could I have overlooked such an important detail?

“Oh, no, they should be all right, too,” he said with a dismissing wave of his hand. “They are your daughters, and being female, they must have witch blood, because it’s passed from mothers to daughters. Wait a second...” he lifted his index finger and sniffed the air with his eyes closed. “Yes, no doubts. I can smell them from here.”

“I swear I bathed them yesterday!”

Clarence grinned and pointed at the bags on the floor. “May I sit down?”

“Make yourself at home.”

He sat on one of Mark’s suitcases, his ridiculously long legs bent in an awkward position against his face. “Don’t worry about the children. They will be safe with us. I give you my word.”

I wanted to ask how much a vampire’s word was worth, but I bit my tongue. He had helped me once, after all.

“There’s one more thing,” I said, pursing my lips, “what am I supposed to do with the kids while I’m working? Am I allowed to bring a babysitter to your... cloister?”

“No, nobody else should know about our place, but we happen to have a very good governess among us, actually.” He picked up a piece of old paper from the floor and started to fold it absentmindedly.

“That’s nice. Although they’ll have to go to school, eventually.”

“It’s not like we are going to lock you inside. You can go wherever you want as long as nobody follows you back to The Cloister.”

“What if somebody sees me?” I asked.

“We have ways to help them forget.” He smiled. Then, he snapped his fingers and the folded piece of paper turned into a stunning origami rose.

“I see you have an answer for everything.” I sat right next to him, enthralled by the paper rose trick. My knee brushed against his, and I grimaced. I scooted over, leaving more distance between us. “Did your previous assistant have children, too?”

“No, she didn’t. This is new for us. But Elizabeth is thrilled. If everything goes well, one of your daughters could succeed you after...” he closed his mouth and looked away.

“How practical,” I snarled, guessing what he meant. “I see you vampires are good at planning for the future.”

“Nothing lasts forever,” he said gloomily. “But some things last more than others. We can’t bend the laws of nature.”

I winced, mostly because he was right.

“What happened to your previous assistant, by the way? How come you didn’t just turn her into one of you?”

“Her name was Julia, and she passed away in the eighties. We could not turn her into a vampire for two reasons. First, because another vampire wouldn’t have been useful for our purposes anymore. And second, because there are rules which forbid it.”

“Rules? What rules?”

“Elizabeth’s rules. The rules of The Cloister, the guidelines of our community. We are not allowed to spread the curse. Doing so would entail banishment, and it’s a harsh world outside. A rogue vampire can’t survive long among humans in the modern world.”

I exhaled, trying to process all the new information. “Wait. Does this mean there’s decades’ worth of abandoned work waiting for me?”

“We’ve been doing our best, but yes, many things remained stagnant after we lost Julia. As we told you, stray witches are becoming extinct. Some just die, and others have their bloodlines end if they have male offspring. Many have jobs and families and are not interested in working for us. So you can imagine how long it took us to find a successor.”

That sounded like a lot of work.

In a very weird place.

“What am I getting myself into?” I moaned, holding my head between my hands.

“You will be fine,” he said, patting my knee amiably. “I already gave you my word.”

I studied his nicely shaped features and his barely graying temples. He didn’t seem much older than I, but his eyes told me otherwise. “May I ask how old you are?”

“Me?” The vampire chuckled bitterly. “I’m thirty-five. Forever thirty-five.”

“No, I meant, how old you really are.”

“There’s no joy in counting years when they are so similar to each other. A day, a month, a decade―does it matter, when it all looks the same, and you are condemned to spend eternity locked in a catacomb?” He sighed. “I can remember the fire and reconstruction of Westminster Palace in London, and I was there when the Statue of Liberty disembarked at New York Harbor. Do you know when that was?”

I shook my head, and studied his expression, looking for a hint. A century and a half ago, maybe? I had no clue. My parents and I had spent a few months in London when I was a child, but my memories of the city were very limited.

A little girl’s voice called me from upstairs, pulling me out of my reverie.

“I must go back to the children and finish packing,” I said, standing up and taking good care not to touch him in the process. “You can stay here if you want, and I’ll call you when the taxi arrives.”

***

“AHOY, TRAVELERS!” MAY shouted from her porch, almost invisible behind a thick puff of cigarette smoke. I was just leaving the house with a suitcase and two toddlers in tow, and a big raven had just flown discreetly out my window. “They say it’s going to rain! Where you headed?”

“I’ll call you!” I gestured, bringing my hand to my ear. I still hadn’t talked to her since Friday night.

“Have fun!” she shouted, winking at me and watching us get into the taxi.

“Where are we going, mommy?” Katie asked, rubbing her eyes as I buckled her to a booster seat.

I glanced at the taxi driver, reluctant to talk in front of a stranger. “We’re going to meet some... friends,” I said, using my fake-excited mom voice. Despite my gleeful tone, my stomach was in knots. The alluring idea of finding shelter away from Mark had blinded me during the weekend, but now that things were actually in motion, I couldn’t help but wonder whether I was behaving irrationally by dragging my kids to a place like that.

“Let’s count red cars,” I said, trying to make the ride more entertaining for the kids.

“One...” Katie said, pointing outside the window.

“Two, three... thirteen, seven!” Iris said triumphantly, clapping her hands.

“Iris is cheating again!” Katie complained, as an incredibly cute frown formed on her rosy forehead.

They were so adorable that I almost wanted to cry. On Sunday, in a fit of anger, Mark had sworn to take the children away from me forever. Hopefully, he was exaggerating just to make me mad, but given his records winning all sorts of crazy cases for his clients, I couldn’t be sure. No doubt he’d go the extra mile now his own interests were at stake.

“Pull over there,” I said to the driver, pointing at Saint Anne’s park gates. “Our transfer will pick us up.”

The taxi driver shrugged, making me feel stupid for lying unnecessarily. He didn’t care about the continuation of our trip, as long as I paid his fare.

When we stepped out of the car, the raven was already waiting for us on a tree branch.

“This way,” I said to the girls, following the swift black bird like a medieval juggler: three-year-old Iris had curled up in my right arm while I dragged a suitcase over a grassy path and led Katie with my left hand. I was also wearing two backpacks, one on my back and another one in the front. Thankfully, I had collected lots of experience as a cargo porter during Mark’s prolonged absences.

A black cat crossed our path, and I tried to remember whether that was supposed to be a good or a bad omen.

“Miss Jilly!” Iris squealed, staring at the animal’s peculiar purple eyes.

“Where did she go?” Katie asked. “She just went... poof!”

“What?” I turned around, but the cat was gone. “She must have jumped into the bushes.”

We crossed the park and stopped by Saint Anne’s graveyard at the other end. The cemetery was very old and had been abandoned for a very long time. The main door was locked, but the raven was already waiting on top of the gate and let a heavy iron key fall at my feet.

“Is this a museum?” Katie pointed at the funerary sculptures, mostly stone crosses and depictions of saints.

“Sort of,” I answered, opening a hidden hatch at the feet of two black angels, who were forever joined in a sad embrace of farewell. “Now we’re going to walk down some super fun stairs and see our new room,” I said with feigned enthusiasm, hoping the kids didn’t start to cry as soon as they stepped into the darkness of the other side. Someone might hear us, and I didn’t want to make a scene on our first day.

Surprisingly, they peeked in and didn’t scream, and Iris even asked to go down the stairs on her own. I waited for the raven to fly in, then let the hatch close behind us with a loud thump. But, as soon as darkness surrounded us, Iris started to cry her lungs out.

“There, there. Please don’t cry,” Clarence said softly, and after a few clicks, a candle lit the space with its soft yellow glow. He was standing on the landing of the stairs, his expression apologetic. Tilting his head to see her better, he crouched down next to my little daughter and conjured a charming expression on his face. “It’s not so dark once you get used to it, I promise. And there’s a surprise in your room. Do you want me to tell you what it is?”

Iris nodded, still pouting.

“Don’t tell anyone, but your room has a skylight!” he said in a conspiratorial tone.

“What’s that?” Iris asked, pulling at the tails of his incongruous coat.

“It’s a window on the ceiling.”

Iris’ eyes widened, and Katie squealed with joy.

“Will we be able to see the stars?” Katie asked, enthralled.

“Of course!” he answered, drawing spirals in the air with a fingertip. “And the sun, too!”

“Awesome,” I said half-heartedly, as my cell phone beeped for the hundredth time, and I contorted to get it out of my jeans pocket. I hadn’t been able to write back to May, with my hands full of children and luggage, and she was starting to make up outlandish stories in her mind about me leaving Mark and disappearing in the Bermuda Triangle.

“Let me have that,” Clarence said, lifting my suitcase and tearing off my backpacks all in one quick, single move.

“I can carry my own stuff, thank you,” I protested, snatching my things off his hands and ignoring the loud crackling sounds emitted by my back muscles.

“I didn’t mean to imply you couldn’t, but I’m just holding a candle here,” he blinked and lifted the candlestick, looking confused.

“Then hold it tight,” I snapped, not sure why I was suddenly feeling so grumpy.

“Who are you?” Katie asked him with curiosity.

“My name is Clarence, and you must be Katie, the little witch?”

“Of course not,” Katie said, crossing her short, thin arms and looking offended, then pointing at three-year-old Iris, whose nose was still red from crying. “She is the little witch. I’m the big one.”

I snorted and leaned down over the screen of my phone, willing to type a reply for May so the device stopped buzzing once and for all. Sadly, the handset died in my hands with a low electric moan.

“Where can I charge my phone?” I asked, as we passed a medieval-looking sconce covered by cobwebs.

“Oh. That might be a bit... problematic,” he said, staring at the floor with despondency.

“Don’t tell me you have no electricity here.”

“Well, Julia never seemed to mind. What do you need it for?”

“I don’t know. Everything?”

Chapter 11

Alba

As soon as Clarence opened the door of my future room, a waft of stale air, reminiscent of wood polish, damp earth and mold flooded my nostrils.

“Welcome home, ladies,” he said with slightly too much enthusiasm.

The space was large, with the widest canopied bed I had ever seen standing in the middle of it. Cobwebs abounded and were so thick that they had become indistinguishable from the tulle curtains, which hung lazily from the wooden canopy. There was also a carved mahogany armoire which must have had mirrors once, although someone had torn them off, leaving just two ugly glue marks. Next to it stood a folding bureau desk, complete with a lock and a brass key. The place would have looked almost romantic if it hadn’t smelled so badly of mildew. Everything was covered in wormholes and a thick layer of dust, and heavy, black and gold drapes hung like ghostly shapes on their crooked railings over inexistent windows.

“This used to be Julia’s room. Lovely, isn’t it?” Clarence said with a nervous smile.

“Um, I guess it has potential?” I answered, mentally going through everything which needed an update. Not that I was finicky, but the place was dirty―and a bit sinister, too.

“What is that metallic door on the ceiling?” I asked, pointing at a gray rectangle on top of our heads.

“That’s the skylight I was telling you about,” Clarence explained, and he showed me the mechanism that opened it, without actually turning the handle. “It opens into a hollow lawn crypt in Saint Anne’s. You can use it at your leisure, but always remember to turn off the lights at night so nobody sees them from the outside.” Then, he handed me a small rectangular sign, which hung from a silver chain. “You can hang this warning sign on the door handle, so no vampires walk in during the day and end up having an accident.”

“What kind of accidents are we talking about? Vampires bursting into flames?” I started to laugh, but he glanced at me somberly. “Oh, I’m sorry,” I said, taking a hand to my chest with embarrassment. “I never paid much attention to vampire lore, and thought that part wasn’t true!”

“It’s fine, don’t worry,” he said, waving his hand.

“You know... one week ago, I would have taken you for a bunch of actors playing a role.”

“And what do you think now?” Clarence tilted his head with interest.

“Well... I’m not sure anymore... this show seems to be getting real.” I unlocked the mahogany bureau and ran my fingers over its well-worn surface. “I’m still waiting to wake up and discover this was just a dream... or a nightmare.”

“I’ve been expecting the same, every single night for the last two hundred years or so,” Clarence murmured, as he retrieved a stack of yellow papers from one of the drawers. “But does it matter? In the end, the world’s a stage, and we are merely players.”

“As you like it.” I smiled with recognition.

“I thought engineers only knew how to read numbers.” He beamed, seemingly pleased that I had caught the Shakespeare reference. “Dinner tonight?” he said, out of the blue. I opened my mouth, not knowing what to answer to his unanticipated invitation. “I mean, you will have to eat something, eventually. There’s a place nearby. And they might have electrical outlets.” He gestured toward my phone and laptop, which looked completely out of place in that timeworn room.

“Oh, that’s so kind of you,” I said, unsure. “But I can’t leave the children on their own.”

“There’s Francesca,” he sat next to Iris and Katie and started to do tricks with a fountain pen, making it appear and disappear up his sleeve. The girls laughed and clapped their hands with glee. “She used to be a governess for a wealthy family and would have loved to have children of her own, if she hadn’t...” he paused. “Well, you know.”

He stared at me, waiting for my answer, and his expectation made him look deceivingly innocent.

“All right then,” I nodded. “Just a quick dinner.”

“Just a quick dinner,” he repeated slowly, savoring each word. He then extended a finger to call my attention. “When you finish unpacking your luggage, Elizabeth would like to talk to you. I’ll go now and notify her of your arrival.”

After he was gone, I took a rag from the avocado green ensuite bathroom and started to dust off all the surfaces, in the hopes of removing the haunted house aura which inundated the room. Once done, I opened the skylight and a rain of dust and moss landed on my hair. Still, I welcomed the fresh air, and the rays of sun brought the worn vintage furniture back to life.

Feeling reinvigorated by the scent of summer seeping in through the window, I started to hang our few clothes in the closet. Meanwhile, the girls played with some dolls I had brought from home. Most doors and drawers were jammed due to humidity and lack of use, and I had to wrestle them open. As I finally stowed the last piece of clothing into them, I let out a deep sigh and congratulated myself for my feat: we had officially moved out and away from Mark and were about to start a new life.

I just hoped I wouldn't end up regretting this decision, just like I had mourned every single one I’d made up to that moment.

***

“IT'S BEEN A WHILE SINCE our last assistant departed, so there will be quite a lot of work for you in the beginning,” Elizabeth said, as I entered the conference room followed by my daughters. She sniffed the air around us and wrinkled her nose with disgust.

I put Iris on my lap, pushing Katie into the chair next to me and a sticker book in front of her. Hopefully, that would keep her silent for at least twelve minutes.

“We can only access the post office and the various government offices from November to February,” Elizabeth said, going straight to business. That afternoon she was wearing a floor-length emerald-green dress more appropriate for a royal ball than a corporate meeting. “That's the only time when their working hours extend beyond sunset.”

“I see,” I answered, imagining the face of a postal clerk if a raven walked in and tried to retrieve a parcel.

“We’ll ask you to sign a contract,” Elizabeth said, turning back to me. “I will define all your tasks in it.”

“Sounds good,” I said, looking forward to reading such a document. “What’s the name of your company?”

“Which one?” Elizabeth replied cryptically.

“Oh, you have more than one?” I asked, cocking an eyebrow, and Clarence snorted as he entered the room. “Okay, it doesn’t matter. Just prepare the documents, and I’ll have a look at them.”

“I must warn you, though,” Elizabeth said, leaning back in her armchair, “that the contract will be for life.”

“Excuse me?”

“What you just heard,” she said tiredly. “Till death do us part. Once you sign it, there is no turning back.”

“Or else?” I arched an eyebrow incredulously. Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea after all.

“Hopefully, we won’t have to go to such lengths,” she answered with a shrug.

“Elizabeth likes to make things sound harsher than they really are,” Clarence said, taking a seat next to Katie and pulling a coin out of her ear. “Why would you want to leave? We have a library, a music room, and lots of witchcraft books, too. You won’t be bored here.”

“Oh, yes, this reminds me, I should give you something,” Elizabeth said, standing up and heading toward a wide chestnut dresser. She took out an old leather-bound notebook, decorated with a buckthorn wreath in green and gold. “This was Julia’s,” she said, handing it to me. “She was never a very skilled witch, but you might find some interesting passages inside.”

I took the diary with care, fearing it might fall apart under my touch.

“Thank you,” I said, feeling the warm leather of the covers under my fingertips.

“Whatever questions you have, ask Clarence,” Elizabeth continued. “And Jean-Pierre will show you the library tomorrow. In the morning, we’ll go through our list of companies, assets and investments, and we’ll make a plan of action. I’ll also need you to buy me a few things from outside.” She shoved a very long list in front of my face. “For starters, go and get me these books.”

“These are all law books,” I said, noticing the boring and solemn sounding titles. They reminded me of Mark, and I couldn’t help but shudder: he would be home soon, and all hell would break loose when he found out about my escape.

“Elizabeth loves law manuals,” Clarence drawled, almost maliciously. “Ask her anything. She knows it all. Each single article and amendment. Sadly, she also has a soft spot for bookish warmbloods, which makes shopping in bookstores too risky.”

Elizabeth growled in a low voice, but Clarence just chuckled, thoroughly unconcerned about her reaction.

“You could buy many of those online, without meeting any tempting booksellers,” I said, thinking aloud. “You wouldn’t even have to leave the catacombs.”

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow, looking skeptic. “And how does that work exactly?”

“You could buy electronic books.” The way she pursed her lips made me suspect that she wasn’t well acquainted with modern-day technology. “You know, books with no pages. Just... tiny dots which rearrange when you press a button and form letters. You plug them into a socket and... ta-da! You get lots of sentences.”

“Sounds like witchcraft to me,” Elizabeth growled. “No. I want books with pages. And forget about electricity. That’s too dangerous and would expose us. You just go to the store and bring me normal books, the ones without dancing dots, understood?”

My shoulders slumped. “Of course. As you wish.”

***

FRANCESCA, THE GOVERNESS, came at eight in the evening, shortly after nightfall. When I opened the door, my mouth fell open as I gaped at the most beautiful woman I had ever seen in my life. In front of me―actually, below me, because she was one head shorter than I―stood a stunning vampire girl who must have been turned in her early twenties at most. Long locks of sunflower blonde hair were partly pinned in a neat ponytail, cascading down her back and up to her waist. She had cobalt blue eyes, and her skin was so fair that it looked surreal. Her skirt was black and long, and she had fastened her high neck ruffled blouse with a pearl brooch on the top.

“Good evening,” she said politely, studying me from head to toe with a critical eye. “My name is Francesca Belak, and you must be Alba.” A soft Italian accent made her words roll off her tongue like drops of rain.

I blinked speechlessly, dazzled by the vampire girl’s poise and looks. Standing next to such ladylike perfection made me feel like a grotesque forest troll, and I scrooched down a little.

“Can I touch your hair?” Katie said with exhilaration, and the tiny teacher, against all my expectations, sat down on the bed and offered them her wavy locks. Both children ran their fingers through her swirls of honeyed hair, exhaling with bliss.

“Hello, children,” Francesca said, her voice stern but warm. She tapped both girls on the head, “I’m Professoressa Belak, but you can call me Francesca. I brought you sandwiches from outside. Are you partial to cheese?”

Katie and Iris stared at her in confusion, then cheered happily at the mention of cheese.

“Why do you have pearls in your hair?” Iris asked, tugging at the shiny white spheres Francesca had pinned all over her head.

“It makes me feel like a mermaid,” she answered in all seriousness, causing Iris to almost swoon.

“I want to be like Francesca when I grow up!” Katie said eagerly.

I said a silent prayer for her wish to never be fulfilled.

“I hear you are a witch,” Francesca said, facing me with deep interest. “Can you shift into a cat?”

“A cat? No, why would I?”

“They say witches can do that.”

“As you see, I’m a weird witch. To begin with, I didn’t even know I was one.”

“Yes, I heard you are a stray,” she said, making me cringe at the term. “You should talk to Jean-Pierre. There are a couple of things he found... you might find them useful.”

“Yes, Elizabeth told me. I’m supposed to meet him tomorrow. They also gave me Julia’s diary.”

At the mention of Julia, Francesca’s composed countenance broke down for a heartbeat. “She was a dear friend,” she said quietly. She took a deep breath and quickly put herself back together. “Almost family.”

“Sorry for your loss.”

“That was a long time ago, but thank you. I hope her diaries help you, although I’m afraid they won’t. You’ll have to search deeper if you want your ancestors’ magic back.”

Francesca sat on the floor next to the kids, rearranging the folds of her governess skirt so they lay in an almost perfect elliptical shape around her. “We’ll need a carpet here,” she pointed out, “I’m all right, but I believe the floor is too cold for human children.”

“It would be great if you could get one,” I said, throwing a phone charger into my purse. Leaving my children with a vampire sounded like a terrible idea; but the thought of Mark calling me furiously while my phone was off was even more daunting. “I heard you have experience with children?” I asked.

“I have extensive experience as a governess. You’re more than good to go.” Francesca smiled, her vampire fangs carefully tucked in and hidden behind a row of flawless, straight teeth.

“Am I really?” I leaned towards Iris and caressed her silky hair, unwilling to leave.

“I rarely drink human blood, if that’s what worries you,” she said, her eyes bright and piercing, shimmering with a sharp intellect but also full of secrets. Her voice fell to a low whisper only I could hear, “and I’d rather die a thousand deaths than drink a child’s blood.”

“How reassuring,” I said, gulping.

“It was meant to be.” Francesca held my gaze. “Your daughters smell like witches, which critically lowers the odds of any vampire bothering them. Still, if an extreme situation were to arise, I might be the only vampire in The Cloister―and possibly in the whole world―you could trust blindly with their lives.”

She pushed me gently toward the door. “Go in peace, Alba Andersson. They’re safe with me.”

“There’s another vampire here who assured me the same,” I said, remembering Clarence’s promise to protect my daughters. “Who am I supposed to believe?”

“I can imagine who it was, and the answer is―you should always trust me,” she said, nodding knowingly. “Clarence is waiting for you in the big conference room, by the way.” She paused, her marble complexion crossed by a slight frown. “He’s been standing there for an hour, in fact. Seems eager to take you out.”

“Interesting,” I said, watching her rummage in a Victorian nanny bag and take an ancient alphabet book out of it. I had almost expected a coat hanger, or a lamp.

I was just about to leave when Francesca lifted her impossibly long eyelids and looked at me with a cryptic expression.

“I think he fancies you,” she said, her voice not much louder than a whisper.

“Who, Clarence?” I babbled, wondering where that had come from. “That’s absurd. We just met a couple of days ago. I think he’s just trying to be nice.”

“No, I think he really does.” Francesca turned her eyes to the ceiling with impatience. “Just don't let his overly cheerful facade fool you... there’s a dark side to Clarence Auberon which very few people know.”

“And do you know it?”

Would you tell me about it?

Her words intrigued me.

She shrugged lightly, her back straight as a rod. “Not my story to tell,” she said. “You’ll soon learn that everyone here has secrets. It’s what keeps us alive.”

“I'll keep that in mind,” I said slowly, and I kissed my daughters’ cheeks before leaving the room.

Chapter 12

Clarence

When Alba Andersson reached the end of the corridor, I caught the corners of her mouth curling up in a tiny, surprised smile which lasted just for the brief instant our eyes first met. She had donned one of those little black dresses most women seemed to own in this time and era and kept smoothing the myriad of wrinkles caused by transport. Modern fashion wasn’t exactly my cup of tea, but I always welcomed the generous length of leg volunteered by those cookie-cutter retail garments. They made dining easier, too.

As she approached me shyly, I reminded myself that she was supposed to be our new witch and not a midnight refreshment. She walked with her handbag pressed against her chest, like she feared something, someone, or possibly the whole world. Her chestnut brown hair danced behind her, falling in a deliciously wavy mess and filling the space with the scent of grapefruit, lavender and warm-blooded heavens, turning auburn as it caught the soft candlelight of the halls.

“You look stunning,” I told her, because she did. I took one of her hands and made her twirl around herself, and she giggled. “You really do.”

She blushed, making it clear that she didn’t believe the compliment, then returned it the way modern women always did. “So do you,” she said.

I had actually made an effort not to make an effort with my wardrobe and put on a pair of corduroy trousers and a simple button-down shirt. Everything very twenty-first century. And dull.

“Ready to go?” I asked, deliberating whether I should offer her my arm, or would it be reason for yet another affronted frown on her part. I tried anyway, for good measure. Against all odds, she accepted it. I sighed with relief.

Present-day humans could be exhaustingly puzzling sometimes. The more time I spent hovering over their world, the more cryptic their customs seemed. Elizabeth’s rules on humans, although much looser than most vampire covens’, were clear: no meddling with them, no mixing with them and not killing them, either, unless strictly necessary. Witches were an exception to this rule, and strays had the advantage of being oblivious to the historical grudges and characteristic bickering between our kinds. That was also one of the reasons why Elizabeth only wanted to enlist strays to serve us―they were less troublesome, more impressionable and lacked the proverbial prejudice against vampires.

“Yes, let’s go,” Alba said. “I'm starving.”

“So am I,” I answered bitterly, trying to keep my fangs nicely tucked in―hopefully throughout the whole evening. Witches weren’t too tasty, but I found this one unusually tempting.

We padded out of the old cemetery, inhaling the scent of warm grass and damp concrete as we crossed the park which surrounded it. The best things in life are worth waiting for, my mother used to say; but too many years of experience had taught me that this was an absolute fallacy. Still, the saying did apply to summer nights―nights which tormented us, creatures of the darkness, forcing us to stay inside for much longer than we would have in winter. But once twilight made its appearance, such nights became little precious gifts, with their dizzying scents and that sweet, balmy air which warmed up our blood and made us forget, if only for a second, about our heartless and cold-blooded nature.

“The park gates are locked at night, so we use this side exit,” I told Alba.

I unlocked the small metallic door and made sure nobody was watching before we stepped stealthily onto the pavement. We walked for a little while in silence, and she kept sticking her hand into her bag, picking up her cell phone, then letting it fall back inside with apprehension.

“That’s where we’re going,” I told her, as the antique sign of The Midnight Owl Bistro appeared in the distance. “They know me there. It’s a nice place.”

Once inside, Fiadh, the pretty but inhospitable Irish waitress, greeted us with her characteristic steely glance and offered us a table in a secluded corner.

“I don’t think your friend likes me,” Alba commented, after Fiadh threw a menu at her from a distance of six feet.

“Fiadh? Don’t worry―she doesn’t like anyone. I’m sure it’s nothing personal.”

Actually, it might be a little personal, but I doubted Fiadh remembered exactly how personal. It must be a subconscious thing.

I pointed at the menu. “What are you having?”

“No idea, what do you recommend?”

“I highly doubt we share the same taste for foodstuffs,” I said, a snicker escaping my throat. She didn’t appreciate the joke, so I changed the subject. “But I hear the sea bass is excellent. Would you like to try it?”

“Okay,” she said, then gave me an intrigued glance. “Are you eating anything?”

“We can share dessert if you want,” I said. Maybe by then she would have forgotten about it. “Wine? Ale? Water?”

“Wine sounds good,” she said, extending the napkin over her knees, then gave me a sly grin. “Because ale sounds too... Middle Ages.”

“I’ll go check what they have,” I said, then pointed at the shiny black device under her palm. “Do you want me to ask them to charge that for you?” she nodded eagerly and gave me the telephone. It was warm from her touch, and carrying it felt oddly pleasant and comforting, almost like holding a human hand.

Fiadh provided a bottle of red wine and two relatively clean glasses and told me to bring them myself to the table. I blew Fiadh a kiss and returned to the table, where I wiped them thoroughly with a napkin before filling them. Alba tasted her wine with her eyes closed, then encouraged me to do the same.

“Try it and tell me what you think,” she said. “I think it’s fabulous. Italian.”

“Maybe later,” I answered, twirling the wine in circles and watching the way it caught the light.

“Don’t you like wine?” she asked, leaning forward.

“I do, as a matter of fact.”

“But still you don’t want to try it?”

“No. Not today.” Not ever. “I thought I would keep you company because most people don’t like to drink alone. Wouldn’t want to ruin your evening with my whims.”

“Do... people like you eat or drink anything at all?” she asked me with concern.

“We do, sometimes. Some are quite fond of alcohol, actually, and can drink vast quantities of it without any side effects.” Darling Francesca, for example. “I just prefer not to, but it’s just a... personal choice.”

“Smart. That way you’ll live a longer, healthier life,” she said, stifling a giggle.

I grinned, “You got me there.”

Fiadh returned with the fish and a salad and didn’t even bother to stop walking as she flung it in front of Alba’s face. The fish nearly jumped off the plate, and I barely managed to catch it in the air before it hit the floor.

“You are fast,” Alba said, nodding in admiration.

“Yes, it’s a requirement for regular customers of The Midnight Owl. They have a very particular serving style here. We can practice at home if you want. Might come in handy when you come back alone.”

“I’m not sure I’m ever coming back, especially not alone. I have the feeling that Fiadh wouldn’t mind poisoning me.”

“You are a witch. You could poison her first.”

“And you are a vampire. You could at least stop pretending you never had a fling with the waitress,” she answered, shaking her head.

I snorted. “You are such a perceptive young lady. Is it so obvious?”

“Yes, it is.”

Was that a tinge of jealousy in her voice?

“She’s pretty,” Alba said, “I mean, it’s none of my business―you can bite whoever you want, or whatever you do with them. I just feel stupid when people lie to me.”

“How could I lie if you didn’t even ask? And also... it’s like it never happened, because... she doesn’t remember it,” I muttered, not knowing why I felt compelled to share that information with her. To make her feel better? To make her hate me more?

“Like you did with those men on the street?” She set her glass on the table with slightly more force than necessary. I could almost hear her brains churning. “So, that’s how you do it? You seduce women and then make them forget you?” Her fork fell to the floor, and the noise attracted the attention of other diners. I picked it up and waited for her to calm down before answering.

“It may sound horrible to human ears.” I bit my lip and tried to be nice. “Fine, maybe it is a bit horrible. But in the grand scale of things, it’s still better than killing them, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I guess?” she puffed. “So there’s this oblivion stuff and the bird thing. What other tricks can you do?”

I could feel the refusal in her voice like a stab through the heart. She was still scared of me, and the thought of making her forget this part of our conversation crossed my mind for a second. Then I became conscious of what a foolish idea that was. If she was going to live among us, she needed to know how things worked. The sooner, the better.

“Just this and the bird thing, as you call it,” I said, trying to sound calm. “That’s about it.”

She nodded. She wiped her mouth on the napkin before taking another sip of wine. Her left hand lingered on the white tablecloth, as she seemed to ponder my words. Pretending to smooth the fabric, I quickly brushed my fingers against hers, so fast that she didn’t even register my touch, and stole her ring surreptitiously. Then, with a flick and a flourish, I produced the gold band on the palm of my hand, causing her jaw to fall open in astonishment.

“Well, apart from this kind of trick, of course,” I told her, offering her the ring for the second time in the course of four days. She grabbed it, still open-mouthed and blinked in confusion, then put it back on.

“One day you’ll have to explain to me how you do that,” she said, clicking her tongue. “You really have sticky fingers.”

She was smiling now, so I leaned back in the chair, relieved. “It must be from paint leftovers,” I said, grinning back at her.

“What paint?”

“Didn’t you know? In another life, I used to be an artist. A long, long time ago,” I said quietly. A wave of melancholy struck me as the memories associated with that word came back in droves.

“Not anymore?”

I shook my head. “I ran out of steam somehow,” I said simply. “But I still use my talents to help Elizabeth forge documents and signatures. Sometimes I draw if I’m in good spirits. No more oil paintings, though.”

Her face softened, and I searched in my pockets for something respectable enough to show her. I found the drawing I had been sketching while I waited for her in the conference room, and I unfolded it on the table so she could study it.

“Nice drawing,” she said, scanning the paper with admiration. She ran her fingers over my rough depiction of a man and a woman, lying together in death, their tombs joined eternally by a wild rose shrub. “You are good at drawing faces. Who are they, by the way?” she asked, “Is this one... Francesca?”

I laughed, wondering how she had come to such a bizarre conclusion. “No, of course not. It’s supposed to be Isolde, lying with Tristan after their death. Are you familiar with the story? There’s an opera by Wagner, too. Maybe you have seen it.”

She shook her head, and I couldn’t help but think how pretty she was, her lips so full, her cheeks still flushed from the wine and the previous fit of anger.

“Classical music isn’t my strong suit, really. I’ve never been to the opera. But I think I remember something about Tristan and Isolde. Wasn’t it some kind of Romeo and Juliet?”

“It’s about Knight Tristan, who fell in love with the King’s wife. I’d love to take you to the opera once if you have never been. It’s my favorite piece.”

“Does it end well?”

“Not really. It’s a medieval romance. They’re not famous for their happy endings.”

“I’m not sure I want to watch that, then. I have enough drama in my life already.” She exhaled, looking very weary.

“There’s a magic potion in the story,” I said. “I thought you might be interested. As a budding witch.”

“Good point.” The color raised up to her cheeks once again as she nodded with a faint smile. “Maybe you are right. It might be fun.”

“Fun is not exactly the word I would use to describe the works of Richard Wagner, but still, it would be an honor to be the first one to go with you.”

“Tell me the part about the potion,” she said with candor.

I smiled at her, because it was hard not to be overcome by the warmth in her voice as she asked.

“So, Knight Tristan was hired to deliver Isolde to his uncle, King Mark, to whom she must be married. Isolde, and in some stories her mother, concocted a love potion, so they could drink it together with King Mark, fall in love and be happily married forever. But, in the end, it was Tristan and Isolde who drank the potion, and of course, tragedy ensued. The end.”

Alba sighed and seemed lost in her thoughts. I almost expected her to ask for the recipe of the potion, but instead she said, “Was King Mark a nice person?”

“What kind of question is that?” I chuckled. “I’m not sure. His nephew and his wife betrayed him. I suppose he had the right to be a bit cross?”

She shrugged. “Most Marks aren’t too nice.”

“I’m sorry to digress. Some Marks are perfectly fine. Look at Mark Twain.”

“His real name was Sam, so no, he doesn’t count. And this also explains why you never drink wine,” she continued, then held my gaze intently, “especially not in a witch’s company.”

She said witch in a mocking tone: she still didn’t believe it. I extended a hand toward her, and she quickly covered her engagement ring, expecting me to steal it once again. She made me grin for the hundredth time in the same evening. “That’s definitely not my concern. If I were to drink a love filter, which I doubt I’ll ever do, I wouldn’t mind sharing it with someone like you. There are much worse options out there, trust me.” I tilted my head meaningfully toward Fiadh, who scowled from the bar as she saw my hand over Alba’s.

“Well, thank you?” Alba raised her eyebrows, a mixture of amusement and aggravation in her face. “I’m not sure I would share the potion with you, though.”

Of course she wouldn’t. I took back my hand and waved at Fiadh so she would bring the bill.

“Your date already paid for dinner,” the waitress growled, then curled her lip in disgust, pointing at Alba. The sneaky little witch must have paid when she went to the restroom. I found it fascinating and blamed it on modern times and customs I had yet to learn.

As we left the bistro, Alba became silent. Something told me she was mulling about her personal King Mark. A waiter―thankfully not Fiadh―came out of the restaurant running, with a cell phone in his hand.

“You forgot this, madam!” he said. He was quite handsome and had a really beautiful blue vein pulsing on the left side of his neck.

“Thank you so much!” Alba said, throwing the waiter a frustratingly sweet smile and picking up the device, which was flashing with all colors of the rainbow.

As soon as she turned the screen on, she cursed, then covered her mouth prudishly, like she feared my reaction.

“Don’t mind me―I didn’t hear anything,” I said, raising my arms and suppressing a snicker.

“Sorry. My husband must have come home, and he’s freaking out that I took the girls. I need to call him back.”

I nodded, then walked away to give her some privacy. “Take as much time as you need. I will wait for you on that bench,” I said, and I crossed the street, trying not to eavesdrop on her conversation despite my infuriatingly fine hearing.

Her body contorted in agony as she spoke: her knuckles became white, her eyelids furrowed. I had watched her argue with Mark a couple of times before, as I studied her for Elizabeth’s dossier from the tallest branch of the magnolia tree in their garden. Fury grew inside my chest as I remembered the demeaning way that man always treated her, like she wasn’t more than a piece of furniture he could just pay for and exchange when it became too old and tattered.

Clenching my teeth at the memories, I turned away from the scene and walked further, reminding myself that this wasn’t my battle to fight. My job had been to find out about Mrs. Andersson’s background and bring her safely to The Cloister. I would work with her and do anything Elizabeth asked me to. But whatever Alba Andersson had going on in her private life was not my concern. No more eavesdropping. The dossier was completed now.

“I’m not sure I would share the potion with you, though,” her words still reverberated in my head when she stopped talking on the phone and approached me with slumped shoulders. And as much as I wanted not to care about her, the tightness in my chest stayed there, unwilling to leave, reminding me of the place when once, a long time ago, my heart, just like hers, had once pumped warm blood and loved more than it should have.

Chapter 13

Alba

My hands were sweaty as I held the phone against my ear. Mark’s enraged voice came out of the microphone in a roar, and I leaned against the outside wall of the bistro to keep my legs from swaying.

“What do you think you are doing?” he growled. I could almost see his face, livid with anger, and my heart started to thump in my ears. He was probably standing in the kitchen, because the microwave beeped in the background.

“I just took the girls for a short trip out of town,” I said, hoping he couldn’t notice my voice faltering. Shit. He was going to kill me. “I left you a note. We’ll be back... on the first of the month.” I hadn’t thought about coming back yet, but I made it up on the fly. Even a law-ignoramus like me knew it wasn’t possible to simply kidnap kids indefinitely, even as their mother. I just needed them to be safe while I earned enough money to get myself an attorney before Mark could manipulate me with his mind-games into signing something awful.

“I want them back now,” he roared. “And you, too. You should have asked for permission.”

“We can’t go back now. We’re too far.” Keeping my cool when Mark was in a bad mood required superhuman effort, but the physical distance between us helped. At least I knew he couldn’t touch me. We weren’t that far at all, just a twenty-minute car ride at most, but he didn’t need to know that.

“Alba, I hope you are enjoying these days with the girls, because it’s definitely the last time you will spend time together as their full-time mother,” he said then, his voice a snaky hiss. “I’m going to serve you the divorce papers as soon as you stick your nose back into the house, and I’m sure you’ll be delighted by the parental arrangements I have personally envisioned for us.”

I wanted to scream, but I bit my lip, my fingers strained around the phone. Had it been Mark’s neck, I wouldn’t have hesitated to strangle him with my bare fingers.

“Thanks for the good wishes, Mark. I wish you a great week, too,” I said weakly. I was aware of his bad habit of recording conversations and having them remastered by his friends to serve his purposes. I wasn’t going to risk handing him evidence on a silver platter yet again.

“Mark my words,” he said. “I’ll write an amazing agreement for you to sign. And trust me, you will. See you at court, darling.”

I hung up with a sob, unable to grasp why he hated me so much. When we had met, right after I went back to the States after spending my early years in Europe, he had blinded me with his thoughtfulness and innate charisma. But then, after our marriage, his bad temper had come to the surface, just for me to see. To the outside world, Mark had always remained the perfectly poised lawyer. After that, I had spent the best years of my life raising his kids and playing the role of a perfectly submissive wife. The whole thing had escalated after Katie’s birth, to the point of becoming as extreme as it was now.

I scanned the other side of the road, looking for Clarence. He had waited under a flickering street light, and his black hair and white skin made him resemble a ghost emerging from a flash of lighting. I looked both ways and crossed the street, looking forward to going back to Katie and Iris, although not so sure about sleep―sleep meant nightmares, and I didn’t feel like dealing with them tonight.

“Just tell me if I have to go drain someone’s blood,” Clarence said, smirking grimly.

I shook my head and put on a tense smile.

“Everything’s under control,” I lied casually, slouching against his firm arm. “Let’s just go back.”

***

SLEEP WAS AS AWFUL as expected, sprinkled with nightmares about my own death. I spent half of the night tossing and turning, squeezed by two little girls who knew nothing about sharing. By sunrise, I had already given up fighting the slaps and kicks of their tiny limbs and ended up dozing off on the armchair, mindlessly reading the news on my phone.

Francesca’s soft rattling on the door woke me up, bringing me back to the reality of a sore neck. Katie and Iris lay in a skein of legs and twisted sheets in the middle of the bed, and they stirred sweetly at the sound of Francesca’s musical voice.

“Good morning,” she said, ignoring my disheveled appearance. She looked fresh like a rose, her complexion just as serene and flawless as the previous day. “We have a big day ahead, children. And your mother too, of course.” Francesca was carrying a stack of books topped by a platter full of food. All things combined seemed to be as heavy as herself, although there were no signs of strain on her face whatsoever. She left everything carefully on the bureau desk and started to pour orange juice into two delicate Bohemian crystal glasses―not my first choice of tableware for preschoolers, but hopefully she knew what she was doing. “You will find Jean-Pierre in the library. Do you know how to get there?”

I grumbled something, trying to dissipate the haze from my brain. “I need a shower first. And coffee. Lots of coffee.”

I made my way to what had once been Julia’s bathroom. The space was a strange, minuscule cabinet including an avocado green bathtub with matching toilet bowl and a cracked porcelain sink. All fixtures, tiling and furniture felt like an unexpected foray into the sixties: who said time-travel was out of reach?

After a brief inspection of the installations, I found out that running water was coming from a rain deposit hidden in a mausoleum over our heads, which meant it was much colder than desirable. Taking a shower in The Cloister was going to be a wild exercise in self-control, fit for a samurai training. As I opened the tap, chilly water dripped down my back and I stifled a scream.

When I thought things couldn’t get worse, a piece of rotten graveyard moss got stuck to my hair, making me feel like Emberbury’s main sewer canal had just been poured over my naked body. I cursed under my breath. That bathroom was a health hazard and in dire need of a revamp. And how were we going to survive the winter without a drop of warm water? Even worse, I had serious doubts about the efficiency of the water-deposit system once the temperatures fell below freezing point.

My engineer brain went immediately into overdrive. I started to envision a water heater, filters, pipes and insulation... a blob of something green and slimy fell on my nose and took me out of my reverie, and I decided it was about time to abandon that bathtub-shaped torture chamber and get dressed.

As I stepped out, I observed something which had escaped me last night as I had tiptoed into the room, all jumpy after the phone call with Mark: there was no mirror over the sink. Brushing my teeth while staring at a bare wall was a peculiar―and highly unpleasant―experience. I ended up looking at my picture on the front camera of my cell phone. It wasn’t exactly great, but at least I managed to comb my hair back into a ponytail and step outside without glaring stains of toothpaste on my chin.

Meanwhile, Francesca had served breakfast for the girls. She was kind enough to offer me some bread and jam, too. I wondered where she had got all of that, because I had seen no kitchen in The Cloister, let alone a refrigerator or a stove.

“Francesca...?” I asked, unable to keep the question to myself. “Are there any mirrors in The Cloister?”

She shook her head, a weak smile adorning her face. “I thought you knew,” she said. “No, Elizabeth doesn’t allow any mirrors here. It’s one of the five rules. But you’ll get used to it. I can do my hair perfectly without them.”

Yes, and so could I when I was nineteen, or whatever age her awe-inspiring figure had got frozen at. It also might help that she had centuries of practice, and I didn’t.

“Do you think she’d allow me to have at least one in my bathroom?” I said, suddenly hating Elizabeth for issuing such a ludicrous―and useless―decree.

Francesca shrugged. “You can try. But don’t get your hopes up. She’s likely to say no.”

“What kind of strange rule is that?”

“I suppose mirrors remind her of her true nature, and she’s not fond of that,” Francesca answered with a shrug.

“What are the other rules?”

“Oh, nothing fancy. It’s all mostly about keeping everything secret and trying not to kill people if we don’t really have to.”

The way she said it, she could have been talking about her favorite fruit spreads.

“Does she also have rules about electrical outlets?” I was still disappointed that there was nowhere to plug in my phone or hair dryer, and I had started to see shimmering mirages of coffee-machines.

Francesca seemed to give her answer a thought, making me wonder whether Elizabeth was truly crazy enough to forbid appliances, then shook her head as she wiped some butter off Katie’s chin with a lace handkerchief.

“No, I don’t think so. But you will never get her to allow electricians in here. You will have to find another way to satisfy your needs.”

Yes. Like exchanging my computer for an abacus, for starters.

“Okay,” I said, trying not to roll my eyes at her indifference, “I’ll see what I can do. I’m leaving now for the library. I’ll be there if you need anything.”

***

A VAMPIRE CLAN’S LIBRARY. Just the thought conjured all kinds of fantasies, a mixture of my own imagination and all the novels I had read during my teenage years.

Clarence, true to his habit, was waiting for me at the door, holding it open well before I arrived. I still hadn’t found out how he did it―I wasn’t sure whether he was able to hear my steps from afar or he simply stood there, holding door handles for hours, until I made my appearance. I somehow leaned towards the first option, but I wasn’t entirely sure.

“Good morning, Mrs. Andersson,” he greeted me with a smile and a light head bow. He had changed back into his Regency attire, which this morning consisted of a tight frock coat to his calves, the color of pine needles, gray trousers and an exquisite paisley waistcoat in silk. I still couldn’t shake off the feeling that he was walking around in a costume; but he looked awesome, nonetheless.

“Are we back to last names this morning?” I asked, studying him with my eyes half-closed and wondering what had happened to last night’s familiarity.

“I could also call you witch, if you prefer,” he said in a teasing tone.

“What about my real name, Mr. Auberon?” I replied in exasperation.

“What makes you so moody this morning, my lady?”

“Coffee. Or rather, lack thereof.”

“I can’t provide any warm beverages at the moment, but Brother Mercier has set up to brightening up your morning with his bibliophilia.”

“With his what?”

“Just come in already,” Clarence said, softly taking my hand and dragging me inside. “I feel like I’ve been holding this door open for fifteen minutes.” His cold touch spread up my arm like tiny ants marching up to my elbow. “Welcome to our humble library.”

I couldn’t help but gasp as I stepped into the underground Gothic marvel which opened in front of my eyes. The frontal area was occupied by a set of brocade armchairs which must have been shipped directly from a Parisian chateau. Behind it, rows and rows of carved wood shelves and ornate cupboards held hundreds of ancient-looking books. The room seemed to branch into several aisles to each side, two of them longer and deeper, and all of them covered by pointed vaults, just like the rest of the main spaces in The Cloister. The floor plan of the library reminded me of a miniature version of Cologne Cathedral, and the man sitting at the wide table in the middle of it was just missing a belted tunic to complete the ecclesiastic look.

“Are your morning prayers over, Brother Mercier?” Clarence asked with a smirk, holding me as I almost tripped with my own feet out of sheer stupefaction.

The man chuckled from behind his enormous pile of books and stood up to greet me. He must have become a vampire later in life. Most of his hair was snow-white and extended into a short boxed beard and mustache, both carefully trimmed and very orderly looking. His clothes were similar to Clarence’s, with the only difference that he was wearing black from head to toe.

“Nice to meet you, Madame Lumin,” he said in a French accent. “My name is Jean-Pierre, and I am... the librarian, I suppose,” he said, as he kissed both of my cheeks lightly and took a good sniff of my neck in the interim. Clarence cleared his throat and pulled at my arm nervously, steering me towards a nearby shelf and away from the neck-whiffing librarian.

“What became of your chastity vows, Mercier?” Clarence muttered, crossing his arms.

“Ah, gone with the French Revolution, just like Feudalism,” the older man answered amiably. “You Anglo-Saxons can be so stiff sometimes.”

Both men exchanged amused glances, revealing a camaraderie which might have dated back to a couple hundreds of years.

“You have such a rare surname, Madame Lumin,” Jean-Pierre commented, abducting me from Clarence’s side and waltzing me to the back of the library, as the Englishman followed us with an exaggerated frown.

“My actual surname is Andersson,” I said. “Well, that’s my husband’s, um... ex-husband’s name, actually. Lumin is my grandmother’s, although everyone here seems to enjoy calling me that. I think her family came originally from Portugal.”

“Such a beautiful country,” Jean-Pierre said wistfully, “have you ever been there?”

“I have, yes. We used to move very often when I was a child. My father was a diplomat. I actually spent half of my childhood in Porto, before we moved to England, then later Croatia and Germany.”

“Fascinating. And how on earth did a worldly lady like you manage to end up in a place like Emberbury?”

“I could ask the same question, I guess. You sound French.”

He laughed. “Touché,” he said. “As for me, I presume I was persuaded by Mr. Auberon’s silver tongue, as is often the case.”

“Oh, shut up, Mercier!” Clarence said, rolling his eyes.

I smiled. It was the first time I had felt so relaxed since... since as far as I could remember. I allowed myself to soak in the almost magical aura of the library: it was like all those books sitting on the stacks had leaked their stories into the thick air of the cross-shaped enclosed space, and I could just take in all those unspoken words just by breathing under the dimly lit vaults of The Cloister’s archives. I felt oddly safe and at ease.

“Please, tell us your story,” Jean-Pierre said, dusting a pile of books. “I love listening to a good story.”

“It’s not too exciting, to tell the truth,” I warned him. “My parents were originally from Boston, but my grandmother used to live here in Emberbury. I came back from Germany at eighteen and attended college, while staying in her house. Then I met my husband at a party, and I suppose he found me... interesting. He likes novelties, and I had many stories to tell about my years abroad―not that he listened to them, but his friends did, and he liked that. Sadly, the exoticism wore off after a short while.” I shrugged. “So, here I am, starting a new life... I suppose.”

“New starts are good,” Jean-Pierre said approvingly. “What about the older Mrs. Lumin?” he asked. I noticed how incredibly white his hair was―almost reflective.

“She was a good woman. She died five years ago.”

“And was she a witch, too?”

“Not that I knew.” I laughed. “Although she loved ghost stories. And herbs, if that counts.”

“Such a pity we didn’t get to know her. She might have been good friends with our Julia,” Jean-Pierre said, climbing gracefully up a ladder and swinging from the side rail with just one hand, which made him resemble a bearded cabaret dancer. “Speaking of which, I suppose you are here because of Julia’s books, aren’t you?”

I nodded, pressing my eyes together as he skipped to the next rung with only one foot, and I anticipated his fall. Of course, he was as swift as the next vampire, and he just laughed at my concerned expression, taking a couple of hardback volumes from a higher shelf and throwing them into my hands like a basketball. I hardly caught them before they crashed to the floor, which would have been a true misfortune.

“Memoirs of Viorel the Mage and The Dark Arts of Magic, by Catalina Kodrinova,” I read from the spines, blinking in disbelief. “Wow. Are these... real witchcraft books?”

“I don’t know,” Jean-Pierre said, jumping off the top of the ladder and landing on the stone floor without a single sound. “I seem to remember that Julia wasn’t entirely pleased with them, but... who knows. Maybe you’ll be able to see something she missed.”

“Well, thank you so much,” I said, hugging the books against my chest and fighting the urge to embrace the librarian in appreciation. I really didn’t need to fight much, because he presented me with the edge of his cheek and tapped it with his index finger, just like my grandpa used to do.

“Merci, Mercier,” he said to himself, and I pressed my lips lightly against his coarse beard, suppressing a chuckle. “Very good,” he said then, “I think you earned the last piece of the puzzle.”

“Mercier?” barked Clarence, who was sitting on one of the armchairs ankle-on-knee, knocking the palm of his hand with his cane and looking remarkably anxious as he watched my playful exchange with the librarian.

“Oui?” the Frenchman said, seeming extremely entertained by Clarence’s attitude.

“Find that papyrus already, will you? We have real work to do, and you know I’m not into dueling right after daybreak.”

“Excuse my friend. He’s not much of a morning person,” Jean-Pierre chuckled, then winked at me. “Nobody here is, really.”

The librarian walked from one side of the library to the other, opening and closing drawers and closet doors, and after a while, he started to scratch his chin in disconcertment.

“It’s strange,” he said after a while. “I saw that document just a couple of weeks ago. I must have misplaced it. But don’t worry, Madame Andersson, I promise I will find it for you” He smiled and lots of tiny wrinkles formed around his watery blue eyes. “You have enough reading material for a couple of weeks, anyway.” Then, he took my hand and kissed it, holding Clarence’s gaze mischievously as he said, “A bientôt, belle Alba, et bon courage.”

Goodbye, beautiful Alba, and I wish you luck and courage.

“Thank you, Monsieur Jean-Pierre,” I said, and Clarence put his arm around my waist, hauling me out of the room. As we left the library and Clarence let out an audible sigh of relief, I couldn’t help but smile and feel utterly happy under the weight of my new books, which smelled of unveiled mysteries and an exciting new life ahead.

Chapter 14

Alba

I spent the rest of the morning listening to Elizabeth talk about creative ways of obtaining counterfeit birth and death certificates for the members of her clan, and also managing bank deposits, investing in the stock market, and many other things which I had never done before or didn’t even know existed up to that moment. Mention of magic was again conspicuous by its absence from our debate―I was starting to think that she just wanted a witch in The Cloister because the smell was much less tempting than that of an ordinary human. Not eating her assistants seemed like an almost surefire way of keeping them for a longer time.

In the meantime, I kept caressing Julia’s books surreptitiously whenever Elizabeth wasn’t looking, dreaming about the secrets which may be hiding in those yellowed pages.

Clarence sat on the other side of the table, underlining important words, handing me papers to put in my ever-growing binder and―the most worrisome of all―throwing long and blinkless glances at me with those hypnotic, merlot wine eyes of his. He did it so often that I started wondering whether I still had any leftover blobs of green slime on my hair, courtesy of The Cloister’s luxurious plumbing system.

When I was finally dismissed to my room, my head was spinning, and I had added a three-ring binder to the weight of the two magic books Jean-Pierre had lent me.

The first thing I noticed was that Francesca had turned Julia’s bedroom into a playroom of sorts during my absence. She had brought a fringed Persian rug with elaborate tree patterns and even an antique bookcase, which she had filled with antique children’s books, haunted-looking porcelain dolls―including a pram worthy of a horror-movie―and a couple of board games, together with a luxurious chess set which seemed to be made of pure onyx and gold-veined lapis lazuli.

“Mommy!” Katie shouted, jumping into my arms with a huge smile. “Francesca read us a cool story today!”

“Oh, really?” I smiled at Francesca, who was looking as immaculate as usual in her period nanny costume, even after babysitting two kids for more than five hours. None of the mortal Harpers and Hoppers of my world would have been able to achieve such a feat. I thought silently that 24/7 indoor childcare was a niche where vampire nannies would excel hands down―if only they weren’t inclined to eat their pupils. The girls were literally beaming after the time spent with her.

Leaving my books on the bedspread, I sat down next to the three of them and mussed my daughters’ hair, noticing the intricate plaits Francesca had managed to braid on their heads―yet another thing she seemed to be better at than me. I patted myself on the back mentally, thinking that maybe, bringing the children to The Cloister hadn’t been so reckless after all―Francesca had all the time in the world, and she was doing very well, even without cartoons, tablets and videogames. And after work, I would be able to spend the whole afternoon running with the girls in the park, which was right over our heads, just a few corridors and a staircase away.

“What was the title of that book you read together?” I asked, feeling intrigued.

“I don’t remember,” Katie answered, pursing her lips, “but we made a drawing about it!”

While Katie searched for her drawing, I sat closer to Francesca, in case she felt inclined to share a couple of her secrets with me. “You really seem to be a good governess,” I said casually. “What was it like in your day?”

“I taught Italian, music and history to a pretty little girl, not unlike yours,” she said, her eyes lost in memories.

“Did you enjoy your job?”

A darkness seemed to veil her eyes for a second, and her delicate knuckles became white around the wooden block she was holding; but she recovered her poise immediately and answered with her accustomed coolness. “I enjoyed the hours I spent teaching,” she said, in what sounded like an unfinished sentence to me.

Katie had been rummaging in the crowded shelves and came back holding a bunch of aged paper. She picked out two sheets and handed them to me. “Look, mommy! My drawing about Francesca’s story!”

On the paper, sketched in the simplified and irregular fashion of a five-year-old, I beheld the picture of a red-eyed man lying in a―wait, was that a coffin?―while his fellow stick woman rested on the floor with her limbs sprawled over a blotch of... red ink?

“Francesca?” I said, my voice several octaves higher than I would have wanted. “Did you, by any chance, read Dracula to my daughters?”

Francesca batted her impossibly long eyelids at me in slow motion. “I thought you might appreciate it if I introduced the girls to our culture,” she said, tilting her head with innocence. “Storytelling is a great way to help children cope with real-life challenges.”

Her arguments were hard to dispute.

“Would you mind checking with me first before starting your next story?” I said, holding her mesmerizing blue gaze.

“Certainly, Alba,” she said with refinement, then pointed at a folded piece of paper on the floor. “That fell out of your binder, by the way.”

The paper had my name written on it in black ink with a quill pen, and a brief message waited for me inside in the most delicate penmanship I had ever seen:

My beloved Isolde,

I’m leaving town for two days, but would you join me for dinner again on Thursday evening?

Enjoy the evening with your delightful girls.

PS: You did wonderful today at the meeting.

The letters were intricate and round, with elongated strokes which twisted around the words like ivy, and I couldn’t help but imagine the man who had written them, taking enough time to form each shape with care and patience long extinct. Feeling a bit childish, I folded back the paper under Francesca’s stoical scrutiny and slipped it in my pocket, well aware that half of my blood must have rushed to my cheeks. Francesca had read the note over my shoulder, and she would probably recognize such unique handwriting: it could only belong to one single charming, maroon-eyed vampire.

Francesca sighed and shook her head. “This is going to end badly,” she said, standing up and heading to the door. “Don’t tell me I didn’t warn you.”

***

THE GIRLS AND I ATE a takeaway dinner I had picked up for us during a brief break Elizabeth had allowed me during the morning. I also brought a couple of snacks and breakfast foodstuffs for the next day.

As a bedtime story, I read them the least traumatizing book I could find among Francesca’s selection, which ended up being Hansel and Gretel. I told myself that at least there were no coffins in that story, then realized too late why not: the witch from that tale didn’t really have a need for a casket―she always ate up the children she caught after fattening them with candy, leaving no leftovers to bury. Maybe Francesca had chosen that book with the purpose of chastising me for my hypothetical witch-roots; or perhaps the concept of cannibalism was simply too foreign to creatures like her to frown upon such storylines.

Katie and Iris were satisfied with our cozy bedtime routine and ended up falling asleep, curled up like kittens right by my side. Along the corridors outside our bedroom, I heard the steps of vampires as they paced the corridors and headed to the main exit of The Cloister, but I took a deep breath and decided not to think where they might be headed.

After I covered the girls with a light cotton sheet, I sat at my mahogany bureau desk with Julia’s diary, eager to discover what the previous assistant had been able to do about her origins. Would I ever become a real witch? Was such a thing possible... at all?

The diary started in July 1946. The first pages had been ripped out, and so had been many others in the middle and toward the end. It almost seemed like Julia had changed her mind many times while writing it, or she had wanted to hide some of her memories from prying eyes.

Lady Elizabeth kindly sent me this diary so I could immortalize my memories and experiences while working in The Cloister. She used that word―immortalize―which I found thought-provoking, as this might be my only real possibility to attain eternal life. I’m going to write about work and whatever I can discover about my witch ancestors. As a postwar widow, I’ll be eternally grateful for the opportunity Lady Elizabeth has given me to start a new life with her clan, and I’ve decided to honor her and follow her advice always. She’s a remarkable woman, and I deeply admire her despite her curse.

No wonder Elizabeth was so eager to give me that diary when Julia had only words of praise for her.

I skipped a bunch of pages which talked about her husband, who she hadn’t seen since he was deployed for World War II. There were also lots of accounts of Julia’s visits to banks and stores, and whether the people she met there were nice or not. Then I found something interesting:

February 13th, 1948

Today, I slipped on a slab of ice on the sidewalk and ruined my coat. Not only that, a man made a nasty comment about the pose I fell in. I was so angered, I wanted to kill him, but of course, decency and law didn’t allow me to. I muttered an improvised curse, and the most unexpected thing happened: the man slipped on the ice and very probably broke his arm, while the snow around me melted and disappeared. I’m not sure whether everything happened by chance, or I made it happen with my words. I’ll have to try this again.

That part was interesting. Feeling sleepy, I decided to stop reading; but first, I noted the words Julia had muttered at the disrespectful passerby:

“May you be cursed and may the worms devour your putrid flesh.”

For the first time in months, I fell asleep and had sweet dreams of Mark being eaten by maggots, and the next morning woke up fully refreshed and eager to face another day of training.

Chapter 15

Alba

Wednesday was a blur of paperwork and new information, as Elizabeth kept filling me in on the rest of my duties and I started to get the hang of my new life in The Cloister. I enjoyed the evening playing hide-and-seek in Saint Anne’s Park with my beautiful daughters and spent the rest of the night leafing through the Memoirs of Viorel the Mage. As promising as the title was, it soon became clear that this was no magical treaty, but more the romanticized biography of a medieval courtier who had served the princes of Moldavia in the 16th century, written long after his death by someone else entirely.

On Thursday morning, Elizabeth declared she was too busy to accommodate our accustomed meeting in her schedule. I decided to spend the day outside and hit the specialized bookstore to get her the law books―with paper pages―which she had been longing for.

I had coffee in a lovely café with extravagant couches, all while I waited for my phone to charge and read my emails in blissful peace. There were at least five messages from Mark, all of them full of ciphered threats of finding out where I was and killing me―he was too sly to incriminate himself, but the loving excerpts about sending me flowers didn’t escape my attention, especially when the accompanying pictures weren’t of ordinary bouquets, but of funerary arrangements instead. He may be eager to buy me flowers indeed, only just the kind you lay on a beautiful walnut casket. As terrified as I was of him, his threats weren’t so perturbing now that I had a safe place to hide.

After breakfast, I had a pleasant walk to the law bookstore and thought about Francesca, who had promised to spend the morning teaching my daughters to play chess―no stories, just in case.

Emberbury was bright and fragrant on that morning, and I felt like a different person from the Alba Andersson who had paced those same streets not long ago, headed to yet another failed job interview. The brief days spent away from Mark’s shadow felt like shedding a really weighty, sodden woolen coat from my shoulders. It tasted like freedom. Like being alive again.

The bookstore smelled of new printed paper and fir tree-shaped air freshener. I walked down the narrow aisles, holding Elizabeth’s list in my hand. It was possibly the first time I had stepped into a bookstore dedicated solely to law manuals, and I felt flabbergasted at the amount and average thickness of the volumes. Just looking at them made me wonder what kind of society needed so many regulations to keep functioning, and how on earth it was possible that anyone remembered all of that stuff. As far as I knew, they only had five rules in The Cloister, and they seemed to be doing just fine.

I searched for letter B in the Tax Law section, and I found it on top of a metallic bookshelf, right under a flickering fluorescent tube about to draw its last breath. I tried to stand on my toes to reach the book, but it was too high for me, so I set up to find a stool I could step on. Unexpectedly, a stranger’s hand appeared from behind my back and took the book, placing it kindly on my hands.

“Thank you,” I said absentmindedly, reading the title and verifying whether it was the right one―it was. I then turned around to thank the friendly newcomer, and my heart nearly stopped.

He was no ordinary shop assistant.

My soon-to-be ex-husband, Mark, was standing next to me, formidable with his wide frame clad in a navy tailored suit, dirty blond hair slicked back with gel, and his jaw twitching in the most menacing way I had ever seen in another human being so close.

Mark seemed as surprised to see me as I was, only much more thrilled.

“You. Stealthy. Slut.” he muttered between his teeth, so quietly that I had to read his lips to make out the words. His iron hand grasped my wrist like a cuff, and I twisted my arm, trying to escape his clasp. “You aren’t going anywhere until you tell me where you are hiding the kids,” he said, and his tone told me he was absolutely serious about it.

***

TERRIFIED OUT OF MY mind, I spun on the spot and bit Mark’s hand, right next to his exclusive watch. Startled, he released his grip, and I managed to run out of the bookstore, throwing the law book on a counter to avoid setting off the theft alarm. Mark went running after me. I was certain he would catch me before I could say runaway bride. I had spent most of the last decade holding babies and refilling milk bottles, while he had never skipped a day at the gym. That, together with his superb genes, should be enough for him to cover the few yards between us in a matter of seconds.

As I evaded a delivery truck, I tried to remember Julia’s curse, wondering whether it would work for me as well.

“You maggot! I hope the worms eat you!” I yelled, summarizing Julia’s words as best as I could. Of course, nothing happened. That is, apart from Mark becoming even more vicious, and me losing a couple of precious breaths I should have rather put into running faster.

That wasn’t one of the districts of Emberbury I knew best, so I kept running blindly, not sure where to go. I turned a couple of streets, hoping to find a hiding spot before Mark caught me. Maybe a restaurant, although he had already proved to be perfectly capable of cornering me in a public place. I kept pushing people away and apologizing, but Mark got closer and closer.

“Where are they?” he shouted at me. His extended arm could almost reach me now.

“Leave me alone! You never cared about them in the first place!”

Mark grabbed me by the back of my blouse, but I managed to get away. I took an abrupt turn left and found myself trapped in a dead-end street.

A few parked cars, a couple of trash cans and two metallic doors with no handles surrounded me. There was nowhere to flee, and Mark was blocking my way out of the cul-de-sac. I let out a choppy breath, aware of what Mark was capable of.

Once he realized my stupid move, Mark stopped running and sauntered leisurely in my direction, as a smug smile started to form in his lips. The prowler had secured his prey, and now he was ready to enjoy his victory.

“Mark, please, let’s discuss this in a civilized manner,” I pleaded, staggering backwards toward the wall behind my back, without taking my eyes off him. I slid my open palms over the concrete, trying to find a notch, an open window or anything which would get me to the other side and out of his reach.

“For a start, you could stop sending pictures of funerary wreaths, okay? It’s getting annoying.” I said, to give myself some time.

“How dare you leave like that,” he roared, clenching his fists.

“You filed for divorce weeks ago, have you forgotten? Excuse me if I thought you meant it.”

“Oh, yes, I meant it, and how. I wouldn’t waste my life with someone like you.”

“But why, Mark? Why do you treat me like that? I thought we loved each other. I did everything I could to please you. What did I do wrong?”

“Why not ask what you didn’t do wrong, Alba?” He was so close now I could smell the coffee on his breath. “You are a liar. And a loser. And you know what happens to losers? They lose everything.”

“I’ll be home on July 1st, as promised. I will bring the girls back. We can then agree on a schedule...” I kept babbling mindlessly, just to keep him distracted. “I could have them from Monday to Friday and you could have them during the weekends. You work too much to be with them during weekdays.”

Maybe I could negotiate with Mark. Keep him entertained until someone came.

“Or... tell me what you want,” I continued. “We can talk, okay? Just... just move out of my way. You are making me uncomfortable.”

Mark laughed. “You don’t have a say here―we’ll play by my rules. Can you afford an attorney at all? Or do you expect me to come to your rescue?” He grabbed the back of my hair and tangled his fingers in it, pulling me painfully against him. “Because, this time, good old Mark won’t be there to bat for you.”

“Was he ever?” I said, sounding more confident than I felt, and he tightened his grip. “Don’t worry about that, Mark. That’s my problem. I’ll manage.”

As soon as I got my first salary from Elizabeth next month, I was going to find someone able to smash this bastard’s head with the full weight of the law―there was no way Mark could be the only capable lawyer in the whole city.

I tried to escape his grip once again, but this time, he was better prepared, and he held my neck with one hand and my arms with the other one.

I gulped. “Look. I need to leave now. Someone is waiting for me.”

That was a really unwise thing to say. Naively, I thought he might retreat if someone was searching for me. But, as soon as I said it, Mark went completely berserk.

“Who is waiting for you? Your lover?” he said, jerking his head left and right, like he expected a man to appear out of thin air.

“Are you crazy? What are you talking about?” I moved sideways, wondering whether I’d be able to sneak out if I ducked my head really fast.

“I saw him. You were shameless enough to bring him to our door on Friday night. I can imagine where you have been going all those times you told me you were chatting with the neighbor.” He let out a bitter spurt of laughter. I couldn’t understand why on earth Mark would be jealous of me, if it was obvious he didn’t want me anyway. “I know you are having an affair. How long has it been going on? Are you staying with him now?”

“Mark! No! That was the first time I saw that man in my life!”

Technically, the second one. But still, there had been nothing foul going on. If I had depended on Mark, I would have been robbed and who knows what else that evening.

“I was attacked on the street. That man passed by and helped me, then he escorted me home to make sure I was safe. You didn’t even bother to ask how I ended up with a black eye.”

“I supposed you must have deserved it.”

“Come on, Mark,” I said, extending my neck over his towering figure in search of a blunt object to hit him with. “What do you want from me? No, I’m not having an affair if that’s what you think. And even if I did now, would that matter? We are about to divorce, for goodness’ sake! I took the girls on a vacation, you have to work, and I’ll see you in July, okay? Now leave me alone!”

“You’re sexy when you’re angry,” he said, spitting out one of his favorite chauvinistic lines, which in turn made me even angrier. I realized with disgust that a hard bulge had started to grow in his pants, and he started to rub himself against me.

Even though we had been married for a long time, it made me want to throw up.

We were alone in that back-end street. Completely alone and invisible. I prayed for someone to appear, but nobody did.

“Mark, let me go,” I cried, pushing him away from me.

He ignored me, and tried to kiss me, so I bit his lip hard enough to draw blood.

“Oh!” he said in surprise, slapping my face really hard and making it hit the hard wall behind us. “Did he teach you that too?”

“I said let me go!”

“I’m still your legal husband until the Emberbury court rules otherwise. So I can do as I please. I can take what is rightfully mine, whenever I want, however I want.”

“No, you can’t!” I screamed in horror, “Even I know that’s not true!”

“You’ll have a hard time proving anything,” he chuckled, sticking one hand under my skirt.

This wasn’t the first time it happened, but it might have been the most humiliating. We were in the middle of the street, in plain daylight, and I had clearly stated that I wanted him to get off me.

And then I felt it―the energy Julia had written about in her diary. The fury, the hatred, the boiling anger running through my veins. It made my hands tingle, like tiny electric currents. I had felt it hundreds of times before, but I had never paid attention to it.

“Freaking maggot,” I shouted, and hit Mark in the balls as hard as I could. No magic involved, but he crouched, twisted in agony and held his crotch, giving me just enough time to jump away from his reach.

I was about to bypass a small truck which was blocking the exit when I felt two harsh hands on my back, and Mark pounced on me with a snarl, pinning me against the sizzling hot metallic hood of a vehicle.

This time, the irrational look in his eyes told me he wasn’t going to repeat his previous mistake.

This time, he wouldn’t allow me to escape until he was done with me.

Chapter 16

Clarence

I descended abruptly into Emberbury, feeling the wind rustling my feathers. I was drunken with the usual mixture of remorse and bliss which always accompanied me after a good day’s chase. Once upon a time, I had felt a comparable anguish after succumbing to the influence of sweet conscious-numbing opiates and unfamiliar―or not―women’s charms. Back then, I had vainly strained to find solace and get away from my tortured reality. Today, the world had changed, and so had I seemingly, but the agony remained unmoved―and even by any other name, it still tasted as bitter as the first time.

Saint Anne’s park shone like a green emerald under my extended wings, and I considered going back home. But it was such a lovely summer day―one of those I had rarely, or possibly never, experienced during my youth in foggy London. It didn’t really help that I had spent most of my mortal life inhaling oil paint fumes or―even more often―frequenting the godforsaken, filthy hellholes where I had met Anne. It had been a long time since I had last thought about her, but the dinner with Alba, and even more so our conversation over that glass of wine, had rekindled disturbing memories of a lover long turned to ashes. Oh, Anne. My undoing, my path to perdition. She seemed so alive some days.

“In that cup you have drunk not love alone, but love and death together,” Brangien had said to Tristan.

She could have very well said it to me.

Hovering over The Brook district, my glitz-loving raven eyes spotted a shiny piece of blood amber sparkling in the distance. I smiled back at Lady Luck as I recognized Alba’s vintage hair clip from the heights. The smile didn’t last for long, though, because there was a tall, sandy-haired man visibly mishandling her and pressing her forcefully against the side of a vehicle. The man’s fingers were digging into her breasts, and his mouth marked her neck, sending waves of indignation down my vampire core. I saw her twist under his weight, but she wasn’t shouting. She had given up. Just like Rose Auberon two centuries ago.

I had seen that man before, and I didn’t like him.

At all.

It didn’t help that I felt particularly vindictive that morning, for reasons wholly alien to the Anderssons below me―and Mark Andersson had the bad luck of reminding me viciously of someone else.

My father’s words echoed in my mind, the sound of bone slapping soft skin still as tender as the memories of Anne Zugrabescu stripped over red satin sheets soaked in alcohol.

Victor Auberon had made his wife cry so many times, that little Clancy had spent whole days curled up in a closet, praying to the Lord just like the priest had explained: begging Him to make them both invisible, to take him and his mother somewhere safe, where Victor would never find them. Nevertheless, the Lord had never been too attentive towards little Clancy’s prayers.

Wives, submit to your own husbands, as is fitting in the Lord, Victor had repeated once and again, as the blows bruised Rose’s delicate skin, but always in the most inconspicuous places.

I considered it an unexpected blessing that God and I―grown up Clancy―weren’t on the best of terms anymore, particularly since my sharp fall into hell. Hopefully, He wouldn’t mind my interference in the Anderssons’ affairs. The scene unfolding under my wings was making me furious. Exceedingly furious. And I might do something imprudent.

In my turbulent mind, the visions of my mother, Rose, merged into Alba’s. Mr. Andersson’s aggressive stance turned him magically into my own father, so many years ago. Back then, I had glared at all that violence with the forced passivity of a little child. But today, I wasn’t little Clancy anymore, and I wasn’t going to allow that man to hurt her.

I swooped down, focusing on the man’s small, round eyes.

Mr. Andersson screamed the first time I poked him.

I could have blinded him, maimed him forever, and I was actually about to; but then, a brief flash stopped me on my tracks when his blond strands gleamed and reminded me about that same trait in Alba’s innocent daughters. Taking a sharp turn, I aimed for the man’s neck and shoulders, making him bend backwards in sheer pain and release his prisoner. I croaked, unable to utter any human words, and Alba sprung away from the truck she had been trapped against and ran towards the exit of the cul-de-sac.

I kept breaking the man’s skin with my beak, enjoying the smell of his blood and stealthily licking it as he screamed under my attack.

When Alba was far enough, I left the man and flew after her, overtaking her after a couple of seconds and remaining low enough for her to see me.

“Clarence!” she shouted, looking at me as she sprinted across the street. “Is that you?”

I turned my head and squawked in her direction, hoping she would understand. She did, and she started to follow me.

The man had already recovered from my bites, and I could see his navy-clad shape barging his way among the pedestrians.

As I reached the red brick building on 13th Westside Avenue, I perched on the white cement planter by the door and waited for her to reach me.

Run Alba.

Run faster.

Please, do.

She appeared, panting, and tried frantically to open the door. Her husband was getting closer.  I dug in the dirt with my beak and showed her a small, silver object hidden among the rose bushes: a key.

She took it with trembling hands and unlocked the door, then jumped inside and waited for me to follow before closing it back.

Once darkness was guaranteed, I conjured the mist and waited for my body to shift back.

Feeling my feet back on the floor, I approached the panting woman in the dimness, making sure not to touch her. At that time, the last thing she needed were yet another man’s hands on her. She was shaking, and my heart hurt for her.

“Are you alright?” I asked her, keeping an arm’s distance between us so I wouldn’t scare her even more.

“I am now,” she answered, but her knees gave out, and she slid down to the floor, dissolving into tears.

Chapter 17

Alba

The inside of the house in Emberbury’s historic downtown was completely dark, with all blinds pulled down and thick curtains over the windows. I leaned on a fabric-covered wall, allowing my breath to become regular again and letting my eyes adjust to the shadows.

I couldn’t see him, but I could feel his reassuring presence next to me.

“Clarence,” I said, my voice sounding hollow.

“Mm-hmm,” his voice wasn’t more than a soft, raspy grumble.

“Are you there?”

“Yes.”

Despite his unusual terseness, a sigh of relief escaped my lips. His clothes rustled somewhere in the room, but he remained silent. The old house was surprisingly damp and cold, despite the sunny day outside.

I shivered and turned toward the place where Clarence must be. “Can you get closer? I can’t see you.”

I wanted to know he’d stay with me until the danger passed. I wished to hear him say that Mark wouldn’t be able to find me.

Clarence moved so soundlessly that he startled me when his sleeve brushed over my shoulder.

“Wait here,” he whispered, “I’ll get a candle.”

After a brief while, I heard him strike a match, and soon, a soft glow of candlelight surrounded us.

“I hate him,” I said quietly.

Clarence nodded slowly, but remained on the other side of the room, with his arms crossed and his brows furrowed, as he scrutinized me thoughtfully.

I had a few splatters of blood on my clothes, but it wasn’t mine. I realized it must be Mark’s and felt oddly delighted about it. I stood up and walked towards Clarence.

He lifted his palm and stopped me. “No, please. Stay where you are,” he said. His tone was colder than usual, and I wondered whether I had offended him in any way. He must have noticed because he added in a kinder tone, “You smell of his blood.”

“Ah.” So that was it.

I slumped on the floor right next to him and put my head between my knees with my arms around them. Remembering his warning, I took care to avoid any physical contact. As far as I knew, my blood was supposed to smell awful, but Mark’s was surely more enticing. He always had to be better at everything. Even that.

A large antique mirror with a bronze frame hung on the wall in front of us. When I looked at it, I saw myself and the candle, but not Clarence. I blinked, rubbed my eyes and looked again.

“What’s wrong with that mirror?” I asked.

Clarence winced and blew out the candle, leaving us in complete darkness again.

“The curse,” he said, his voice husky and remorseful. “Mirrors can’t reflect the image of a creature with no soul.”

“If that were true, shaving cuts would have killed Mark a long time ago,” I said, remembering Mark’s deep hatred for stubble.

Clarence laughed softly and the tips of his fingers brushed against my hand, leaving a cold tingling in their path. “I wish it worked that way.”

My mind wandered back to Mark, and I asked myself how long it would take for him to stop searching for me.

“Did you hurt him?” I asked, trying to see Clarence’s face in the darkness. It was hard, but by then my eyes had got used to the scarce light, and I managed to make out the shape of his jawline against the dim brightness which escaped the blinds.

“Did he hurt you?” was his only answer.

I shook my head. No, Mark hadn’t hurt me per se. At least not physically, not today. To tell the truth, I had seen much worse from him on occasion.

“Splendid. Because I was tempted to pluck his eyes out,” Clarence said in a ragged voice.

“Ouch.” My vivid imagination presented me with a very realistic picture of an eyeless Mark. “He hasn’t been the best husband, but that would have been a little bit... extreme,” I said in shock.

“I told you I was a soul-less creature,” he muttered. “That’s what we do.”

“I don’t believe that,” I said.

“That’s very kind of you, but you have known me for little more than a week,” he answered bitterly. “It’s too soon to form a judgment, don’t you think?”

“I’ve been wrong before,” I conceded tiredly, remembering how I had thought Mark and I would be happy ever after. All my colleagues from Emberbury’s Polytechnic Institute had envied me for my old childhood acquaintance turned into a fancy Harvard boyfriend. Back then, my life had looked like a fairytale waiting to happen. “Still, you have helped me twice in pretty dire situations. You have a talent to be in the right place at the right moment, don’t you, Clarence? Or are you still following me round-the-clock because of Elizabeth’s orders?”

“I like sparkling things,” he said in a livelier tone, as he touched my hair lightly. “I can’t help pursuing them. It must be my raven brain.”

A hollow laugh escaped my lips, and I leaned slightly against the hand which caressed my head, allowing its comforting touch to spread all over my body.

“I’ll try to remember that. Does this mean I should make sure I don’t venture into dangerous territory without trinkets in my hair?”

“Seems to me you are already doing that,” he pointed out, tugging lightly at my grandma’s cherry amber brooch.

I tilted my head toward his shoulder, trying to follow his hand as he moved it away once more. As soon as it was gone, I realized how much I missed it.

“Thanks for getting him off me,” I said. “I owe you one. Actually, two.”

“You don’t really want to be indebted to a vampire,” he answered. As my eyes grew accustomed to the dimness, I managed to glimpse his mischievous smile. “We are known for a broad range of sins, and I might come to collect my debt, eventually.”

“Oh-oh. What if I try to repay you with iron bolts and shiny pebbles? Do you think that would do?”

He snorted, then threw me a long, deep gaze which glinted mysteriously in the darkness as his fingers found mine. “Are you cold?” he asked, pressing my hand like trying to ascertain whether that was an acceptable temperature for a mortal or not. I was still shaking, despite the sweltering heat outside. When I nodded, he took off his jacket and put it around my shoulders. It smelled of rust and old forests, just like him.

“How do you do it?” I asked, as I tried to button up the stiff piece of clothing and not look like I had just escaped a circus.

“Do what?”

“You just shift back and forth, and your clothes appear and disappear? Just like that?”

He shrugged, lighting the candle once again. “I don’t know. It just... happens.”

“And what about the things in your pockets? And your cane, your hat?”

“They wait for me in some kind of limbo, I suppose,” he picked up his cane like he just remembered about it.

“That’s a ridiculous explanation!”

“Why can souls be left in limbo, but not my keys?” He sounded peeved and amused at the same time.

“Because nobody in their right mind would believe that!”

“You willingly married Mr. Andersson. That’s hard to believe, too.”

“People make mistakes,” I squeezed my eyes shut and leaned back against the wall.

“Please forgive me,” he said, his eyebrows drawing together. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s okay. You are right, anyway.”

“Was he always like that?” he asked.

“No, he wasn't. Or maybe I was too blind to see it.”

Our hands were on the floor, almost touching again. I slid my palm sideways until I could feel his cold skin, and I threaded my fingers through his. Despite its iciness, his touch was mystifyingly calming, almost homey. There was nothing I needed more at that moment. I feared he would pull back again; but this time he didn’t. He just pressed his eyelids together and inhaled deeply, squeezing my hand tighter.

“I miss walking in broad daylight, like I used to,” he said, playing with my ring and twisting it left and right.

“Flying must be quite exciting, too. I wish I could try.”

“It gets old after a while, trust me,” he slipped my ring off obliviously, like his stealthy fingers were commanded by an entirely different part of his brain. I gave him a scolding look, and he swiftly put it back, with a quiet snort of realization. His face straightened again. “It’s not a bad life, but it deprives you of a few nice things.”

I rubbed my thumb against the back of the ring, delighted to find his index finger on the way.

“It’s the first rule of life,” I said, “You can’t have everything.”

“Sometimes I fear I can't have anything worth having,” he said wistfully, and silence fell on us like an iron blanket.

***

AFTER A COUPLE OF HOURS of overwhelming stillness, Clarence offered to fly out of the house and check whether the coast was clear of crazy almost-ex-husbands.

Once he gave me the go-ahead, I went back to the bookstore and bought Elizabeth’s books. The shop assistant informed me that a couple of the titles I needed were only available on request and would take a few days to arrive. I decided to just download the electronic copy of the missing books on my laptop and show them to Elizabeth. Maybe she would stop thinking about eBooks as witchcraft if she saw with her own eyes that the dancing words weren’t going to jump at her. I shook my head at the silliness of the vampire matriarch: a creature who was able to shift into a raven and live forever was afraid of a bunch of patterns of zeros and ones on a screen.

Once the matter with Elizabeth’s books was sorted out, I stopped at the supermarket to buy some food for the girls, although it was proving harder and harder to find healthy things for them to eat which required no cooking and no refrigeration―almost as hard as getting them to shower with nearly cold water every evening. Life must have been hard for Julia, but at least she had dealt with those drawbacks on her own, without the added burden of a couple of fussy children who were missing warm water baths and fresh pancakes every morning.

The dark bird of prey followed me silently everywhere I went like a noiseless, all-seeing shadow. It waited outside the stores perched on a traffic light or a nearby tree, its eyes bright and attentive to my every move and everything around us. I finished my errands with drops of sweat dripping down my forehead―not only because of the heat, but also because of the looming threat of crossing paths with Mark once again on the same day.

It was a relief to return to the safety of The Cloister, and as soon as the hatch under the mausoleum fell into place with a thud, Clarence materialized next to me in a puff of gray smoke and gave me an awkward hug right at the top of the stairs. Caught by surprise, I stood frozen on the spot, holding my heavy shopping bags as his arms hovered an inch over my back in an almost brotherly, touchless embrace. His scent of rust and evergreen filled my nostrils, and his head tilted down just slightly toward mine.

“Such a terrible day,” he muttered with his eyes closed.

“Clarence.” The stern female voice came from the corridor, followed by an almost inaudible tsking sound. Francesca must have been watching us from downstairs, immersed in the complete darkness of the underground passages, which posed no challenge for her vampire eyes. Clarence released me and staggered back, like a child caught stealing candy. He straightened his back gracefully and started to walk down the stairs.

“I’ve been looking for you,” Francesca said, a note of reproach in her voice. “Was your hunting spree successful?”

“It was fine, thank you,” he answered soberly. By then I had already learned where to find candles, so I lit one and followed the two vampires downstairs with curiosity. I wondered what his so-called hunting spree might have looked like. I had a feeling it wasn’t by chance that Francesca had asked him in front of me.

“Your daughters are in the library, learning to read with Jean-Pierre,” Francesca said, turning to me. “Please, follow me. We need to talk.”

I walked by Clarence’s side, confused by the palpable energy which seemed to join those two creatures like an invisible cord. The corridor led from the main exit under the mausoleum to the conference room, and from there to the halls which opened into the many rooms of The Cloister.

In the library, we found my kids curled up on the couches and Jean-Pierre crouching on the carpet at their feet, holding an ancient copy of Ovid’s Metamorphoses.

“Can you point to letter “o” for me?” he was saying, and both girls obliged with a wide grin, touching the gold letters engraved in the aged leather cover.

“O-v-i-d, Ovid!” Katie said proudly, as she took a slice of apple from a bowl and waved with it all over the expensive upholstery, making me cringe at the potential damage and staining.

“Doing some light reading before lunch?” I asked with a chuckle, hugging the girls.

“Just finished discussing with these bright little ladies the creation of the world by the Gods, ma belle,” Jean-Pierre said, standing up to plant two noisy kisses on my cheeks. “Your offspring loved the idea of the word God actually having plural and feminine forms in Roman times. And I have been keeping this one for you, my dear,” he said, handing me another volume by Ovid, this one with a Roman numeral seven on its spine. “Transcribed by yours truly a long, long time ago.”

I opened it, wondering what all this was about, and I found a folded piece of paper inside it, marking the position of a poem about Jason and Medea:

“O Night, most faithful to my rites, and oh golden Stars, who, with the Moon, create the spirits of the day, and thou, three-faced Hekate, thou who comest conscious of my design, and ye charms and arts of the enchanters, and thou, too, Earth, that does furnish the enchanters with potent herbs; ye breezes, too, and winds, rivers, and lakes, and all ye Deities of the woods, and all ye Gods of night, attend here...”

“Wow,” I said, looking at the old book with new eyes. “Sounds like an incantation. I would have never thought Roman classical texts were so...”

“Heretic?” Jean-Pierre said smugly, leaning his back against the feet of the couch, where my daughters were playing obliviously with the last pieces of apple. “Oh, ma belle, you really are a born skeptic, aren’t you? So much calculating, but so little use for this,” he put a hand over his heart and tapped. “Why do you think Ovid’s works were burned by the Church?” He stood up, then shook his head and put his hands on my upper arms, looking me in the eyes. “He was a powerful male witch. They still existed back then. But so much got lost in between, so much forgotten. Not only books. How on earth are we going to make a real witch out of you, if you don’t even know that?”

“You know very well that Elizabeth doesn’t want to make a real witch out of her,” Francesca said in a warning tone, walking toward Jean-Pierre’s massive desk and pouring herself a glass of whiskey big enough to knock out three stout highlanders. “Our queen just wants a daylight resistant associate she won’t be tempted to bite. The more powerless, the better.”

I looked from one vampire to the other, not sure of what was going on. Meanwhile, Clarence stood near the door, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and glaring at the floor with feigned interest, obviously unwilling to participate in the conversation.

“Don’t worry, Clarence, Elizabeth isn’t here today,” Francesca said coldly, sipping her scotch. “Two of our companies in South America have been suspended by the government due to administrative abandonment. She had to fly there urgently, although I doubt there’s much she can do at this point apart from bidding them farewell.” Then she turned her impossibly blue eyes in my direction. “As for you,” she said, “have you been followed lately?”

Oh, let me think. Are you referring to those thugs who tried to beat me up one week ago, or the crazy husband who would love to see me dead? Or maybe the overzealous raven who spent two hours hovering over my head?

“I’m not sure,” I answered, feeling uncomfortable in the company of this gelid version of Francesca. “Now that you say, strange things have been happening.”

“Clarence told us about those two men who attacked you near your house. We suspect there could be someone else out there interested in having you at their service.”

“Me?” I asked in confusion. “Why would anyone want me?” I had been rejected at more than six job interviews in the last weeks. The idea of people following me just to put me to work was outlandish.

“You are a stray witch,” Francesca explained, like I was a toddler. “Many people could use your ignorance of your roots to their own advantage. Can’t you see it?”

I shrugged and diverted my attention back to the open book, where someone had underlined a strikingly pagan passage:

“I both dispel the winds, and I raise them; and I break the jaws of serpents with my words and spells.”

Oh, I could think of a serpent or two who would deserve such treatment.

“What’s the purpose of this meeting, if I may ask?” I was starting to get impatient. “Is this some kind of anti-Elizabeth mutiny? Because I’m not really interested in your internal politics if that’s the case. I just want to survive. I need money. I need a way to keep my kids. I need a place to be safe from the maniac I married at twenty-one. I have enough on my plate already, thank you.”

“Non, non, ma belle!” Jean-Pierre took my hands and sat me on one of the elegant armchairs, while my daughters rubbed their tacky fingers on a copy of Ovid’s erotic poems, and I thanked the Universe for their limited literacy. “Francesca and I just thought that today would be a good moment to talk to you in peace. To you, and to Clarence, of course, because our dear queen has designated him as your guardian here.”

“My guardian?”

“He’s supposed to keep you alive and show you where the toilet is,” Francesca clarified with an eye-roll, and Clarence responded with an infuriated huff.

“Elizabeth might have told you that joining The Cloister will help you develop your magic, but trust me, she doesn’t want you to, and will do anything in her power to keep you a stinky-blooded stray for the rest of your life, just like she did with Julia,” Francesca said.

“Why?”

“Because the ignorant are easier to control, don’t you agree?”

“So you are going to teach me?” I said, blinking.

“Of course I’m not,” Francesca spat. “I don’t know anything about magic. But Jean-Pierre is familiar with the classics, and he has found things which might help you.”

“He used to be a monk,” Clarence sighed. Each time I looked at him, he was closer to the door, like he couldn’t wait to sneak away from that conversation. “Hell knows monks were the only ones to lay their hands on such heretic texts for centuries.”

“An eye-opening occupation indeed,” Jean-Pierre agreed.

“Apostasy is a deadly sin, Brother Mercier, did you know?” Clarence said with a squinting look.

“I’m no apostate,” Jean-Pierre protested. “I’m a servant of the Lord with widened horizons.”

“Fine, gentlemen, you can discuss your religious beliefs for the hundredth time a bit later,” Francesca said with an impatient wave of her delicate hand. “As I was saying, Jean-Pierre found a copy of a spell while in France. We suspect it’s a very powerful spell, transcribed directly from the lost Alcazar Grimoire, which is only supposed to work in the hands of true-blooded witches. We don’t know how to use it, but you might be able to call it up.”

“Fascinating,” I said with sincerity, picking up the folded piece of paper inside Ovid’s book and starting to open it.

“Don’t read it here,” Jean-Pierre warned me, a tinge of horror in his voice. “Do it outdoors, please. We don’t really know what might happen once you pronounce those words, even if it’s only inside your head.”

I nodded, although I had no idea what he might be talking about, and folded back the paper.

“Let me see,” I summed up, “you are sharing these magic texts with me, and you tell me Elizabeth would rather keep them hidden. That seems very kind of you, but I’m aware there is no such thing as a free lunch. So, what do you get out of this?”

“We keep you here. We need a human assistant for The Cloister to keep functioning. Otherwise, this recent disaster with the South American companies might start to extend to the rest of our businesses.”

“You could get an ordinary human to work for you.” I said with a shrug. “At least temporarily.”

“Not everyone in The Cloister can restrain themselves in the presence of warmbloods as well as our sweet, iron willed Francesca,” Jean-Pierre said with a head shake, and his watery eyes caught a menacing golden glimmer for a second. “Especially not at night.”

“No, in this we agree, we need a live-in witch,” Clarence muttered sorely. “Living with an ordinary warmblood under our roof would be a nightmare. No vampire could have such self-control, especially in times of scarcity.”

So, basically, everything boiled down once again to my stinky blood and how unattractive I was to these bloodsuckers.

“I wasn’t going anywhere, in any case.”

“You say that now,” Francesca said tiredly, sniffing her empty tumbler with longing, “but as much as we live a confined existence here, we are aware that times have changed, and information travels much faster nowadays. You may find better opportunities somewhere else and leave us. There is someone after you already, although we aren’t sure who might have sent them. And we can’t afford to lose time finding another witch. There are fewer and fewer strays, and it could take decades. It could be our ruin.”

“Well, you could go to Salem? It’s supposed to be swarming with witches,” I said ironically.

“Those witches are not interested in the job we are offering,” she said with narrowed eyes.

“I see,” I said, although I wasn’t thoroughly convinced by her arguments. “So you are kindly offering me a few tips on magic and spells so I won’t entertain the idea of leaving The Cloister? Is that what you are trying to tell me?”

“We’d like to be in your good graces, ma belle, yes,” Jean-Pierre said in a mysterious tone.

“Within bounds, of course,” Francesca added, glancing in Clarence’s direction.

Meanwhile, Clarence was reading the label on the scotch bottle with extreme curiosity. He set it back on the table when he heard Francesca’s words, eyeing her coldly.

“Francesca. I know well where the boundaries stand. But let me remind you, our witch assistants are an exception to the Five Rules, not that I have done anything Elizabeth didn’t ask me to. And also,” he paused, measuring his next words, “Alba’s husband tried to assault her this morning. What was I supposed to do? Sit there and watch? What would you have done, my dear Francesca?”

Francesca clenched her fists and her eyes set on fire, the light inside them sparking with a supernatural teal gleam which gave away her inhuman condition. Clearly, she hadn’t been expecting that answer―not only that, Clarence’s revelation seemed to have struck a painful chord with her.

“I thought so,” Clarence said coldly.

“Were you harmed?” Francesca asked me, her voice taut.

“No, I’m ok,” I said, sighing, not really wanting to give her the details.

“One more reason to learn to defend yourself,” Francesca said with a frown. “With spells, or otherwise. Centuries may pass, but we women still have to grin and bear it, don’t we?”

I shrugged. Of course, I needed a way to defend myself. I was thinking of an attorney for a start, because Jean-Pierre’s books seemed slightly too esoteric to solve my most pressing matters. So far, Viorel the Mage hadn’t had much to teach me, apart from a couple of medieval love ballads and the Moldavian princes’ favorite hours to go leisure riding.

“I’d definitely love that,” I said. “Although I have a feeling I’d be better off learning karate than magic―at least as far as Mark is concerned. Anyways, I still don’t understand why Elizabeth would be against me learning witchcraft. It was actually her idea. She mentioned it on my first day, like it was some kind of perk of working for you.”

“Our dear Elizabeth is a good woman,” Jean-Pierre said, in his characteristic calming voice, “but you need to understand that she was tortured by her master and kept as a slave for decades. This might have prejudiced her views on employer-employee relationships, even when she wouldn’t want to fall into such horrible patterns on purpose. Our queen is blind to the quick changes going on in the outside world.”

I had trouble imagining the mighty Elizabeth, queen of the vampires, as a slave. She seemed so strong and self-assured, a born ruler. Still, I could believe the part about her being oblivious to the real world.

“Actually, if you, or Elizabeth, want me so much to stay here, I’d rather have a fully functioning kitchen and warm water to shower my children with. Spells and magic sound fascinating, but it’s hard to concentrate when your hair is full of slime and you are forced to live on cold takeaway pizza for days on end.”

The three vampires gaped at me with arched eyebrows, like that were the last thing they would have expected to hear.

“Is it so bad?” Clarence asked with a puzzled half-smile.

“Electricity would be fine for a start,” I said, nodding. “I could get an electric stove and a water heater. Most of the things humans take for granted in the Western world don’t even exist in this vampire catacomb of yours.”

“We’ll certainly approach Elizabeth about that,” Jean-Pierre said. He handed the kids a piece of parchment paper which might have come directly from Tutankhamun’s tomb and asked them to draw flowers on it. “We’ll talk some sense into our good old queen. No, actually, Clarence will,” Jean-Pierre said, turning to the maroon-eyed vampire. “He’s always been the apple of her eye, haven’t you, Clancy?”

Clarence growled, his pacific countenance suddenly exchanged for a furious glare. “Don’t you ever call me that again,” he snarled.

Jean-Pierre’s grin vanished, and he lifted his hands in surrender. “Please bear me no ill will: it was just meant to be a merry remark. Peace, brother.”

Clarence puffed, kicking a chandelier off the table in anger, then catching it midair with unbelievable reflexes. “I will talk to Elizabeth, of course. I think I have found a way to convince her, but it will take some effort.”

“That would be so kind of you, Clarence,” Jean-Pierre said cautiously. “She respects your opinion very highly.”

Jean-Pierre’s voice might have had a slightly jealous tinge, but I shook my head and ignored it, tired after the terrible day behind me. My stomach growled, and I scanned the library for my daughters, who had started to play hide-and-seek among the furthest stacks.

“This whole place reeks of old resentments, if you ask me,” I said. “I’m just here to work and to find shelter for a while. I’m not interested in your centuries-long grievances, so leave me out of that, please.”

“That’s clever of you,” Francesca agreed. “As a human, meddling in a vampire clan’s politics can end up being very taxing. It’s not worth your few mortal days on this earth. Better spend them learning to be a witch, like you were meant to.”

I grunted, wondering what hidden motives Francesca might have behind all this. Keeping me at their service seemed like a compelling reason, but not strong enough in my opinion. She clearly wanted me to stay away from Clarence, too, although I still wasn’t sure why.

“Alba and her daughters must be hungry,” Clarence said, looking at me with a cocked eyebrow. I was starving, so I nodded and stood up to drag my children out of the bookcase they were hiding in.

“Of course, dear Alba, we didn’t intend to keep you so long, especially not before your lunch,” Jean-Pierre said, and he winked. “This old brain of mine, I forget humans need refreshments more often than us.”

His brain seemed fully functioning to me.

I managed to get both children out of the closet and walked tiredly back to where the three vampires were.

“Just don’t forget the book, ma belle, and take very good care of our little treasure.” Jean-Pierre made sure that the folded piece of paper was inside Ovid’s Metamorphoses and put the book in my hands with reverence. “We can talk about it some other day, if you want.”

I nodded. I just wanted to rest and go somewhere to think in peace. “Yes, thank you. It has been an exhausting day.”

Francesca stood up, smoothing her dress. “As for you, caro mio,” Francesca said to Clarence, “have you shown her your paintings already?”

Chapter 18

Alba

The shock of my encounter with Mark didn’t really wear off as the days passed, but more the opposite. I ended up canceling my plans of playing in the park with the girls and made a habit of staying inside until dusk. I was tempted to read Jean-Pierre’s spell at least a dozen times, but I contained myself, remembering his warning not to try anything indoors.

After a while, I was already dying to read those mysterious magic words. One night, I took courage and told myself that the possibilities of meeting Mark in the darkest corner of Saint Anne’s park were next to nil. I rushed out of The Cloister, leaving the girls in the music room while Francesca played Chopin at the piano.

I sat on a bench near the gates of the cemetery and carefully unfolded the piece of paper Jean-Pierre had given me. It was written in the gothic script one would expect from a former monk, with neat square letters ended in the typical diamond-shaped points an old-fashioned nib would leave. The text was preceded by a larger, blue and red title decorated with adorable demons and cherubs:

Fulminatio

Four Queens Spell

To be performed beneath a waning moon

After that came two rows of ominous-looking skulls, all drawn in black ink: the first row had two of them and the second one ten. Then there was a poem in Latin, which must be the main text of the spell. I glanced through the words, trying not to read them too thoroughly just in case something exploded, or I killed a passerby by mistake.

At the end of the poem there was a footnote in tiny script, which explained that the power of the spell would be directly proportional to the number of queens participating, one being the minimum, with the Queen of Fire the most suitable candidate for this spell and the Queen of Water the least appropriate.

I had no idea who these queens might be and whether I was supposed to be any of them. If I was, no doubt I must be the Queen of Water, being the least suitable for magic as she seemed to be. It wasn’t very clear, either, what the spell was for―of course, the term Fulminatio didn’t leave much to the imagination, but it might have been a metaphor, or just a quirky title given by a bored medieval metaphysician with a sense of humor.

Looking upwards toward the night sky, I glimpsed the thin, D-shaped sliver of a waxing moon―the total opposite of what was recommended in the brief instructions. Should I try anyway? Probably not, said the maddening voice living inside my head. I folded back the thick sheet of paper and stood up, deliberating about the moon, the four queens and the purpose of the spell, as the inner voice kept reprimanding me for my ingenuity. Alba, please, you don’t believe in old wives’ tales, do you?

No, I didn’t believe in spells, but what was I supposed to think, when the text had come directly from the hands of a creature who should have only existed in my imagination?

I strolled in the deserted park, lost in my thoughts. Saint Anne was one of the largest parks in Emberbury, and it closed after nightfall, which meant I had the whole park to myself. The old cemetery, where the entrance to The Cloister was hidden, hadn’t been used for at least two centuries. It occupied one of the least busy areas of the park, and one where the gardeners didn’t really put much effort in keeping the greenery at bay. It lacked the manicured exquisiteness of the main area, but its leggy shrubs and irregular treetops conveyed the reckless gardens the allure of a wild animal or a cloud shredded by the wind.

“Do you know the difference between a garden in the French and the English manner?” I heard Clarence say, as he came out of the shadows.

“Is this a riddle? Because I hate riddles.”

He laughed, and I caught a glimpse of his fangs. “No, it’s not a riddle,” he answered, approaching me so silently that I had to check he wasn’t hovering over the dry leaves. “French gardens are regular and structured, like Versailles. Have you been there?”

I nodded slowly, remembering the lawns shaped like perfect circles and spirals and the trees so perfectly geometric that you had to touch the leaves to make sure they weren’t made of plastic.

“So have I,” he continued, “but French gardens upset me.”

“Of course they do. You are English. Isn’t that what your people do? Criticize the neighbors?” I really didn’t know why I was being so sharp with him, but I attributed it to my frustration with the phase of the moon and the enigmatic four queens. He didn’t seem offended by my comment, though.

“Oh, well. I just wanted to talk about gardening, but this is going to take longer than I expected.” He offered his elbow in his lovely gentlemanly fashion, and I gave into the tiny sparkles his touch usually started at the base of my chest. I shook my head and quickly put them out with my mental fire-extinguisher.

“First of all,” he was saying, “I’m not interested in political labels anymore. I don’t consider myself a citizen of any country, as a matter of fact. At the moment, I hold an American passport―which happens to be forged, by the way―but who knows where I will be in two hundred years, and what flags and borders the humans will make up in the meantime? So please understand that my dislike for French landscaping has nothing to do with my birthplace.”

“Understood,” I agreed solemnly, as we paced side by side down the empty paths around the graveyard. A small, dark shadow passed by, brushing my legs, and a pair of blue-violet eyes looked directly into mine. Unlikely as it was, it seemed to be the same cat which had kept appearing in my house during the last months―once again.

“Miss Jilly!” I blurted, stupefied, and Clarence glared at me with an arched eyebrow.

“I beg your pardon?” he said in confusion.

“That black cat,” I explained, pointing at the animal, who sat by a tree trunk, staring at us. “It has purple eyes. I have seen it before, and I wonder what she’s doing here. Maybe she followed me.”

“I see no cats, nor can I sense any beasts nearby. They usually run away when they smell me.” Clarence’s nose moved funnily up and down as he sniffed the air. He paced toward the animal and nearly crashed into it.

“You are about to walk into―” I started to say; but the cat stood up, nudged Clarence in a weirdly loving way, then passed through the tree trunk, becoming see-through in the process. I blinked once, then twice. Then Miss Jilly was gone. “Never mind.” I shook my head. “I must have... imagined it.”

No, I hadn’t imagined it, but I decided to throw the vision into the junk room of my mind for a while.

Too much weirdness for one single day.

“You were saying... something about plants...” I encouraged him to continue, as I inspected the trunk of the tree where Miss Jilly had disappeared―partly to make sure it was real, and partly to steady my wobbly legs. The tree felt solid and rugged and basically just like any ordinary tree should be, but I spotted no paw prints around it.

“Oh, yes, as I was saying,” Clarence continued, seeming pleased that I still remembered after the interruption. “What I like about English gardens, my dear Isolde, is the same I admire about you: they are wild, obscure and irregular, and their beauty derives from a slightly unkempt, although completely irresistible, air of dishevelment.”

“I’d like to say thank you, but I’m not entirely sure that was a compliment,” I muttered with a frown, still dizzy after the brief glimpse of an apparition of a cat. He laughed out so loud that I worried someone might spot us and alert the police about the two trespassers strolling around Saint Anne’s park after closing time.

“Oh, but it was!” he exclaimed, stopping to study me with feigned innocence, which made him look exasperatingly handsome.

“Why do you keep hitting on me like that, Clarence?” I asked after a pause, remembering Francesca’s remarks in the library. “Did Elizabeth order you to charm me so I don’t escape The Cloister? Is that included in your duties as... my guardian?”

“Most definitely not,” he answered in all seriousness, then added formally, “Please excuse me if I offended you in any way.”

“No, it’s not that.” I hesitated. It was difficult for Clarence to offend me when he always chose his words so carefully. Still, something... something seemed off, and I couldn’t pinpoint what it was. “But I have questions, Clarence, many of them. About your famous Five Rules. About Elizabeth. About Francesca and what she meant with your paintings. Would you enlighten me? Or will I be left in the dark forever?”

“Left in the dark, you say,” he artfully changed the subject and turned back to the main stone path. “This reminds me why I came here in the first place. I wanted to share an idea with you. My mission was to... enlighten you. But in the literal sense of the word.”

“Enlighten me,” I muttered, following his suddenly faster pace with a sigh of exasperation.

“Look at this, Andersson.” He pointed at a couple of power manholes and street lights near the old cemetery. “Do you think you could use these for your electrification project, with a bit of help from your favorite sticky-fingered vampire?”

I stood in the middle of the park, staring in confusion at the metallic trapdoor under the tips of my ballerina shoes. “You mean... connecting The Cloister to the electrical grid? Here? We would need a permit. A project. We would have to hire an engineer, and strangers would come, ask questions...”

“Oh, no, not that way. That would be too risky. I was thinking of something more... low-key. Nobody would have to know,” he said in a soft whisper. Then he wiggled his fingers, reminding me of his undeniable talent for snatching rings from unsuspecting ladies. “As for the engineers―can you believe it? We already have one!” he said, pointing at me. “She’s right here!” He faced me, placed his open palms on my head and smoothed back my hair, going all the way down to my shoulders and the top of my arms, where they remained, feeling heavy and pleasant.

“I’m a civil engineer, not an electrical engineer,” I grumbled, stepping away from his touch, which impaired my ability to think straight. “There’s a big difference. And please don’t tell me you are thinking about stealing power from the city. Because that’s not nice. Not nice at all.”

“Oh, paltry trifles,” he chuckled. “They don’t call me Robin Hood for nothing.”

“They call you what? Who calls you that, anyway?”

“I call myself that. From time to time.”

I let out a loud breath of exasperation, but I kneeled over the manhole, nonetheless. “We would have to find the main power lines and tap into a discreet, middle point from the subsoil, directly from the catacombs. It would be difficult. And possibly deadly, because we would have no way to turn off the power while the works were underway.”

I turned on the flashlight on my phone and checked the position of the lights and the manholes. They were aligned and easy to follow, and after a brief search I found exactly what I wanted: an invisible, but doubtlessly present underground power line which must be running just a few yards over the ceilings of the Cloister. It would be relatively easy to drill a small canal and connect our small network to it. In a way, Clarence was right: maybe the city wouldn’t notice the slightly higher power consumption, as long as we only used power-saving appliances and didn’t go overboard with the hot water. Cablemen usually checked manholes whenever they had to repair something or pull new cables in, but nobody fiddled with the middle sections of the power line trenches unless bigger works were underway. Tapping into an intermediate point would lessen our possibilities of being discovered. And if the city decided to start digging around, we would notice in advance and detach our cables swiftly before they caught us.

“Okay,” I said, as the plan started to unfold in my head. “Maybe, just maybe, your idea isn’t as far-fetched as I first thought.”

He grinned. “See? I told you I wouldn’t keep you in the dark. Now I just have to persuade Elizabeth, but I think it can be accomplished―as long as we keep this discreet and forget about official permits. Can you draw electrical plans?”

“I guess I could try. In the worst of scenarios, the whole Cloister will blow up in the air. I think it’s worth the risk in exchange for a toaster and a water heater, isn’t it?”

“Anything to keep our stinky-blooded assistant happy.” He gave me a lopsided smile, and his eyes glowered just slightly in the half-darkness.

“I’ll try to find suitable software for the electrical calculations, and a sample project from my college notes so I can see how wiring diagrams are done. We could rent some machinery for the drilling works, but we’ll probably need a diesel generator to operate it, and those can be noisy.”

“Maybe your delightful vampire roommates will be able to help with their superhuman strength and spare you some machinery,” he said smugly, leaning against one of the black iron street lights. “Reportedly, Lillian once bit off a stalagmite out of anger when she found Alonso in a cave with another woman.” I cocked an eyebrow with disbelief, and he gave me a naughty smile. “Alright, maybe it was a stalactite. In any case, strong teeth and hands happen to be a wonderful plus of vampirism.”

“Is creative storytelling also a common trait among vampires?” I asked, as I tried to dispel the ridiculous picture of long-legged Lillian biting off stalagmites which had just formed in my head.

“No, that’s more of a personal peculiarity.”

“The flying thing seems like a good plus, too,” I pointed out, as my brain went on an independent quest to calculate the data I would have to collect to make the electrification project happen. “I wish I could behold the city from above whenever I wanted.”

“If it didn’t render us so vulnerable and miserably easy to kill, I would have to agree about flying. Still, being airborne is useful to pinpoint the location of ladies in distress,” he agreed with a devilish smirk.

“You know, Clarence, you can be quite nice sometimes.”

“No, I meant in order to drink their blood. They are the easiest targets.”

I frowned and stood still as his words sank in, then put some safety distance between us.

“That’s simply awful,” I said, grimacing with disgust as I stepped away from him.

“You didn’t believe that, did you?” he laughed. “Of course I’m not such a monster. I have much stricter criteria to pick my lunch.” He followed me, grinning, “Please, come back here, Isolde! I won’t bite you!”

By then, I had run away and was about to sneak back into the cemetery.

“Alba!” he called me, as I fought the old, rusty bolts to get away from him. “I owe you a dinner, have you forgotten? It was you who paid the last round.”

“I’m not hungry,” I lied, unlocking the screeching doors without turning back to look at him. “Go find yourself a tastier morsel, Clarence.”

“Come on,” he said, appearing by my side in less than a second and putting a cautious hand over my shoulder. “You said you had questions. Come with me, and I’ll do my best to give you answers.”

Chapter 19

Alba

“I must confess, I really enjoyed the maggot line,” Clarence said, smiling as he lifted his eyes from the notebook he had been drawing in with a piece of charcoal. He blew away the charcoal dust, leaving tiny black speckles on the white tablecloth, which, in turn, formed a star shape on the table.

The Midnight Owl was busy that evening, and Fiadh the waitress hadn’t had the chance to throw food at me just yet. The wine was surprisingly good, though Clarence had refused to share it with me once again, mumbling something about Tristan and the witch and things ending badly. Now the bottle stood tall on the table like a challenge, too expensive to be left behind, but too large for me to seriously consider finishing it.

“Sorry to disappoint, but the maggot line wasn't my idea,” I said, stabbing a piece of mozzarella with my fork. “I read it in Julia's diary. She got angry and shouted a curse at a bothersome stranger in the street. It ignited her magic somehow. Sadly, it didn't work for me.”

“The kick in the Netherlands was quite neat, too.” His eyes were gleaming. “We should ask Francesca to teach you some of her tricks. She’s so good at pulverizing her opponents. Better than one would expect for someone her size.”

Francesca. I couldn’t make up my mind about the tiny blonde vampire girl: she looked so frail, but the way she carried herself and downed scotch without a flinch told me otherwise.

“Francesca and you―” I stopped in the middle of the sentence, not wanting to sound too nosey.

“We are very old friends,” he finished it for me, pouring some more wine into my empty glass. He carefully filled just one-third of it, like a good sommelier. Something in his tone told me he considered the subject closed, at least for the moment.

“Why did she ask you to show me your paintings?” I asked, picking up the glass.

“You sure like to go straight to the point, don’t you?” He clicked his tongue. “Whatever became of good old small talk?”

“Not everyone has a whole eternity to beat around the bush, Clarence. And you promised to answer my questions, remember?”

He sighed. “Absolutely. I’ll show them to you. But be warned―” he looked up from behind his eyebrows and shook his head, “you won’t like them.”

I thought about his sketch, the one he had shown me while we were having dinner for the first time, and I wondered why on earth I should dislike any of Clarence’s paintings: he was obviously a talented artist, and his creativity spilled over into everything he said and did, in a peculiar, witty manner which was difficult to overlook.

“Next question?” he said, posing like a prisoner under interrogation.

I smiled into my glass. “The Five Rules. Everybody is talking about them, but nobody has bothered so far to explain them to me.”

“That, my dear, is because you are not a vampire, so they are mostly irrelevant to you,” Clarence said, leaning back in his chair and extending his long legs under the table. His feet pushed against my chair, dragging it toward the wall behind me. I held myself onto the edge of the table and kicked him softly with a scolding look.

“Still, would it be so hard to let me know?”

He exhaled loudly, like I was the most exasperating creature on the planet. “Very well. It’s a set of rules devised to keep our clan safe. I’m not sure about who made them up, but I suppose it must have been Elizabeth, or someone before her. Their main purpose is to keep us invisible to human eyes.” Clarence cleared his throat and started to recite, exaggerating his accent to make the words sound more solemn:

“Thou shalt not spread the curse,

Thou shalt not speak our name,

Thou shalt not kill gratuitously,

Thou shalt not stand before a looking glass,

And thou shalt not engage with outsiders.”

“Wow,” I said, “that does sound... serious.”

“It is most serious indeed. Summarizing, they come to mean that we are not allowed to make new vampires to avoid overpopulation, nor can we tell others what we are or engage with them apart from feeding and erasing their memories after the deed. I suspect the mirror thing is one of Elizabeth’s pet peeves. Unless outside, of course. I must choose restaurants carefully to avoid confused stares. Not that I frequent them too often on my own.”

I looked around, checking whether there were any mirrors in The Midnight Owl―of course, there were none.

“What happens if someone breaks the rules?” I asked, pushing my half-empty plate away. Clarence waited for Fiadh to take away the dishes and bring my dessert before he answered.

“Banishment, of course,” he said, holding my gaze as he dipped his own spoon into my raspberry and vanilla ice cream and licked it. “Which is akin to death for a vampire in modern times―all the advances in science and technology are working against us. Nowadays there are cameras, computer files, face recognition devices... and probably many things I don’t even know about, even as an outside scout. It’s becoming harder and harder to find sustenance without becoming a target ourselves. It used to be so much easier in the past.”

“You sound like you miss those days,” I said pensively, stirring the red and white scoops of ice-cream until they turned into a pink mass with red streaks. The spirals in the ice cream reminded me of distant galaxies, and I smiled. But it was too cold and acid for my taste, so I took a sip of warm, comforting wine instead.

Clarence peeked at me from the other side of the table, his hand still holding the spoon, which had started to drip and stain the tablecloth with crimson blotches. He set it aside and his eyes traveled to the half-empty bottle of wine, possibly assessing whether I had had enough alcohol to stomach his answer.

“It was definitely easier to take what we needed in the olden times. And more people used to believe in the occult. Some offered themselves willingly, which was quite convenient for us. Actually, nowadays some still do when we reveal ourselves. You would be surprised.” He watched me through half-closed eyes, but there was no malice in his glance, just watchfulness.

I frowned. “You might have bitten me already and I wouldn’t even know.”

He grimaced ruefully, allowing his fangs to show slightly. They were just a bit longer than they should have been. His hands reached toward mine over the table, but I hid them swiftly under the tablecloth.

“I wouldn’t do that to you, Alba, and you know it.”

“How can I know for sure? You must tell the same to all of them.”

“First of all, I rarely discuss my secrets with my food―the fact that I’m telling you all this should be proof enough. We are allies, and we are supposed to work together. And second, because―as you already know―witch’s blood is the vampire equivalent of cod liver oil. Possibly healthy, but utterly distressing.”

“How far back can you make them forget?” The ice-cream had become a disgusting broth by then, so I turned back to the wine.

Clarence shook his head. “Just recent events. I can’t make you forget the traumas of your childhood or anything like that. I might be able to earn a good living in the human world if I could do that, don’t you think?”

“Definitely,” I agreed, drawing circles over the rim of my glass and pondering about the many things I wished I could forget forever. I had started to feel dizzy, but it was a pleasant, soft warmth, which made it easier to ask blunt questions without blushing. “I have so many questions. I’d need years to cover them all.”

“Ask away,” he said patiently, going back to his drawing.

“How do you kill a vampire?”

“Alba! Isn’t that question a bit discourteous?”

I shrank in my seat with a shy smile. “Sorry. You know, that’s always the first thing people want to know. Silver? Stakes through the heart? Sunlight? Garlic? What else?”

“No, I’m not answering that. It’s rude.” He crossed his arms. “Although stakes and sunlight are positively wicked. Silver, well, you don’t want it through your heart. And garlic is just annoying. Next question?”

“Okay. Francesca said you are my guardian. What does that mean exactly?”

“Just like she said―I’m supposed to guide you and clarify any doubts you may have. Et voilà, here I am: all yours and doing my job like the good vampire that I am. I always loved working the graveyard shift, anyway. You get to meet the loveliest creatures after midnight.”

“Hmm,” I grunted, lost in my thoughts. “I know I asked before. But the more time I spend with you, the less inclined I am to believe your previous answer. Please be sincere this time: is seducing me included in your list of duties or not?”

He laughed openly and covered his forehead with his hand as he shook his head.

“Even if it was, how exactly would I achieve that without your cooperation?”

“I don’t know. You are so nice to me. I’m not used to people being... nice.”

There were just a few inches of wine left, and we both looked at it as soon the words left my lips. Clarence arched an eyebrow and seized the bottle, putting it beside him and out of my reach.

“That’s an unfortunate occurrence, and hopefully, you will be able to get used to it after a while.” I wasn’t entirely sure whether he was talking about my wine overconsumption or the lack of kindness in my life. “Mr. Andersson didn’t deserve you.”

“Are you being kind in order to get me into your bed?” I said, the wine talking instead of me, and I immediately regretted it. My unexpected bluntness made him nearly choke, and the smile I got in return was so wide that the floor rocked under my feet.

“You mean, into my coffin?” he said, quickly regaining control of the situation.

I wrinkled my nose and gaped at him. I hadn’t been in any of the vampires’ bedrooms, after all. Who knew what they may be keeping in there?

“Please don't tell me the rumors are true,” I pleaded. My voice was slightly drawly against my will.

Clarence’s eyes were blazing, and I worried someone in the neighboring tables would notice. His irises were an extraordinary shade of brown, with irregular speckles in a deeper red hue, which sometimes came alive and turned into polished cherry amber. I looked away, for fear of melting under his gaze.

“I just wanted to see your reaction,” his voice was naughty and amused. “I don't really sleep much, to tell the truth. We don't get tired like humans do. We sleep to recover from injuries or to survive long periods without food, but otherwise, we don’t have to. If I lay in bed, it’s mostly to read, or think... or, well, do other things. But otherwise, I have avoided coffins since my family locked me into a leaden one, and I spent a decade trapped inside, starving in the darkness. It's quite fortunate that Elizabeth got me out of there before I dismantled it myself, because I was about to go mad.” He lifted his eyes and stared into mine. “Hell knows I tried, but the box was sturdy, and well, had I managed on my own, I would have massacred half of the city, starting with the poor grave-diggers. Maybe I even did, who knows? That probably didn’t do much for the poor reputation we blood-suckers already have.”

I gawked at him, waiting for the humorous punch line at the end of his story.

But there was none.

“Elizabeth chained me in a cell for months, maybe years, until I calmed down. Dire times, if you ask me―the kind I’d rather forget.” He wiped his hands, removing some imaginary dirt from them. “And now you know why I’m not a fan of coffins. But I think Alonso has one, if you are interested.”

“This is also a joke, isn’t it?” I asked.

He avoided my eyes and refused to answer.

“Ten years?” I gasped, unable to imagine that kind of torture. Ten years locked in a dark box under the ground, with no way to get out, and not even the ability to die and put an end to the suffering. I almost wanted to cry for the creature he had been back then, betrayed and tortured by his own people. “Your own family did that to you? What kind of monsters would do that to their own flesh and blood?”

“It’s hard to establish who the monster in that story was,” he said with hooded eyes.

“Whatever you did, I doubt you deserved that.”

“For all I know, I might have deserved it,” he sighed. “But let’s not spoil this wonderful evening with depressing stories. Tell me about yourself. So you went to college, and they taught you to lay cables?”

I smiled weakly, memories of better days suddenly flooding my mind. “Not exactly. I studied to become a civil engineer. It was more about building roads and bridges. My favorite part was structural calculus. Math. Formulae. The magic of entering numbers into a computer and seeing them become a bridge hovering across a river. I actually graduated with the best grades of my whole year. I was good, and I enjoyed it very much.”

“Sounds remarkable,” he nodded with genuine admiration, mouthing the words “check please” at the crabby waitress. “And a bit magical, too. I like bridges.”

“It would be much better if I had actually kept a job in my field. I hardly finished my two-year internship before I became a stay-at-home mom. Not that I regret it, but...”

But it hadn’t been entirely my choice. Mark had been ecstatic at the prospect of removing all male friends and coworkers from my vicinity.

“You did what was best for your daughters, even if it wasn’t the best for you.” Clarence volunteered. “That was a brave thing to do.”

Looking back, it didn’t seem like a brave choice at all. It had had more to do with passivity and with keeping the peace at home. But what had started like love and protectiveness from Mark had soon turned into unhealthy jealousy, and then into chronic anger: hatred, even. His irritability had grown worse over the years, to the point that he had started to shout at me and the girls for minute things, and during the last months, he had even hit us a couple of times when he lost his temper. With time, especially after losing my parents, I had become numb, and too scared to move forward.

“If you say so,” I said as I stood up from the chair. The ground seemed a bit unsteady, but I stomped my foot firmly until it stopped feeling like a seesaw. Clarence’s smile built up slowly as he watched me, but he was too polite to make any comments on my drowsiness.

As we got out of the restaurant, we were welcomed by a wave of jasmine-perfumed air, mixed with the scent of freshly watered lawns, and I pledged silently to enjoy the rest of the evening and leave the past and its inhabitants behind until sunrise. The wine had made me tipsy, and I tripped over an invisible obstacle. Clarence caught me promptly, right before I fell flat on my face, and I tittered as I grasped him, clumsily climbing back to a relatively straight posture.

“Thank you,” I said, using his hand like a railing and leaning against his body, which felt like a very convenient and sturdy brick wall.

“At your service,” he said sympathetically, steering me back toward Saint Anne.

We sneaked into the park, giggling like two teenagers, and I made fun of his eyes, which glimmered softly in the darkness like someone had put tiny LED lights inside them.

“But Clarence!” I laughed, using a purposely high-pitched voice. “What bright eyes you have!”

“The better to see you with, my dear,” he quickly replied, sounding just like the wolf in Little Red Riding Hood.

As we reached the gates of the cemetery, I felt like I was floating more than walking. I steadied myself against the tree, the same one through which Miss Jilly had disappeared earlier that evening. Clarence was still holding my hand, and he waited for me to resume walking.

“You know,” I confided in a low, secretive tone, feeling unusually assertive. I pulled at his hand so I could speak in his ear. “I’ve never kissed a vampire. Or anyone apart from Mark, for that matter.”

His eyes opened wide, but he remained silent for a couple of seconds, then he exhaled and answered in a scolding voice, “That’s quite fortunate.” He was so near I could hear his extremely slow breathing, and somehow his nose got lost behind my ear. “Because vampires tend to lose control when you kiss them too eagerly, and they may end up biting you by mistake.”

“Ah, but they told me I’m immune to that, you know,” I said, my thoughts blurred by the wine and the scent of wood and blood which emanated from him. “I smell like cod liver oil and slugs and snails and puppy-dogs' tails.”

“I thought girls were made of sugar and spice,” Clarence chuckled softly. “Anyhow, I wouldn’t risk it if I were you,” he whispered, putting a strand of hair behind my ear and leaning backwards to have a better view of my face. “You are still warm, and charming, and funny. It might not end well.”

My arms found the back of his neck and my eyes drooped, as I swung softly from one side to the other. The tree bark caressed the back of my light dress, and I imagined it was his nails instead. The park around me started to dissolve into an indistinguishable mass of green and grey.

“I’m willing to take a chance,” I muttered.

The tip of his nose traced the curve of my neck, and I felt two sharp points brushing against my skin. I shivered. Finally, he stepped back and let his lips land prudently on my forehead, hard and cold like a sobering icicle.

“Another time, my dear Isolde. Not tonight,” he said, shaking his head with sadness. “I don’t want you to blame it on the wine tomorrow morning.”

As the coolness of his chaste kiss extended from my forehead to the rest of my body, it awoke me from my fleeting illusion. The cloud I had been standing on started to fade, giving way to the embarrassing, uneasy certainty of my real life.

We entered The Cloister through the hidden door in the angel mausoleum, and I tried to address the stairs with the grace of a serious, able adult. I was too drunk, and I failed miserably. Finally, Clarence walked me silently to the door of my room.

Francesca had been waiting for my arrival with a book, sitting on an armchair and watching the sleeping children. When she left the room, she didn’t even glance at me, but the look she flung at Clarence didn’t escape my scrutiny, despite my highly drowsy state.

Clarence and I remained alone for a minute, but he rushed to the exit as soon as he made sure there were enough candles burning to keep me from crashing against a piece of furniture.

“Good night, my Isolde,” he said, pressing his icy thumb into the palm of my hand and leaving it there two seconds more than necessary. After that, he closed the door, leaving me alone with my daughters and my drunk mortification.

Chapter 20

Alba

“Is that... a spell?” I whispered, leaning with curiosity toward the library table, where Jean-Pierre had set a selection of tools and ingredients and was pouring a crystalline mint-colored liquid into two thick-bottomed glasses.

The former Benedictine monk winked at me and set a silver spoon over each of the tumblers. He had called me to the library right after breakfast, with a suspicious twinkle in his blue eyes and the promise of showing me an interesting thing or two.

Jean-Pierre produced a couple of sugar cubes from a drawer and placed them on the spoons. With a skill which revealed many years of practice, he poured the beverage over the sugar, letting it melt and drip slowly into the glasses, then set the sugar on fire with the help of a brass candlestick as he muttered an incantation in Latin. A soft flame shone in the brown and tan space of the library, filling the room with a bluish glow and the sweet scent of caramel.

“A spell,” he repeated with a naughty smile. “Yes―The Invocation of Artemisia. The doorway to mystic trance.”

“Wasn’t she the Greek Goddess of the Moon?” I said, hovering my hands over the dying flame with reverence. We were supposed to discuss the spell transcription from the Alcazar grimoire, but I hadn’t expected him to dive straight into a practical witchcraft lecture.

“No, not that one. Artemisia Absinthium.” He laughed openly and downed the glass of green liquid in one noisy gulp. “Poe’s favorite Goddess, did you know?”

“Poe? I thought he was an atheist,” I said. I was starting to feel confused.

“Absinthe, ma belle. La Fée Verte. Everyone believed in The Green Fairy back then. She’s a bringer of visions. No laughing matter, whatever you may have heard,” he said, narrowing his eyes when a smile started to form on my lips after his revelation. “Faerie magic, of the most powerful kind, mixed with liquor, herbs and invocations. Drink and learn what secrets she can unveil for you.”

Jean-Pierre licked his lips with a grunt of satisfaction and handed me the remaining glass. I smelled it cautiously, taking in the strong alcoholic scent. It made my stomach churn, still unwell from the wine of the night before, and I commanded my breakfast to stay where it was. Vague memories of demented artists who had gone insane with the aid of absinthe consumption came to mind, and I decided I wasn’t ready to join their ranks just yet.

“Hmm,” I grunted, handing him back the glass. “No, thanks. I’m not into shamanic trances.”

“Oh, quel dommage! Are you sure, ma belle? It’s a real shame.” I nodded, and he took my glass and drank it himself, shaking like a cat afterwards. “Oh, yes. I can feel her already,” he said with a smirk. “You know, Alba, I’m starting to see why Mr. Auberon is so fond of you. You must be mirror souls indeed.”

“Now say the same but in English, please.” I sat on one of the plush armchairs and laid my books and papers on the table, trying to conceal my avid interest in hearing whatever he had to tell me about Clarence.

“I just meant he’s not the merriest drinking companion, if you haven’t noticed.” Jean-Pierre studied me with interest, like he was unsure on how much he was allowed to tell. “And neither are you, seemingly.”

“I’ve noticed, yes. Why is that? I suppose he doesn’t like the stuff much. Probably more interested in darker, thicker fluids?”

Jean-Pierre chuckled. “No doubt about that,” he said, refusing to answer my question. “But are you sure about the Green Fairy? It would be so lovely to hear her speak through your lips.”

Oh, so that was it. He was trying to get me drunk to pry information out of me, but I wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice. Especially after the previous night.

“You are a sneaky old vampire, did you know, Brother Mercier?”

“I’m just here to help you.”

“How exactly are you helping me by getting me drunk and interrogating me?”

“I don’t intend to interrogate you. But there are a few things we must discuss. The Fulminatio spell can wait. First, let’s lay the cards on the table and make it clear what game we are playing. We are bound to share a roof for a long time, ma belle.”

“What are you talking about, Mercier?” I blinked, trying to dissipate the migraine which had been torturing me since I had woken up.

“Come with me,” he said, offering his hand. I took it with slight apprehension. It was cold and too soft, and it reminded me of a dead fish.

“Where are we going?” I asked, following him out of the library.

“To the gallery,” he said, with a mysterious smile. “Because, whatever Clarence said, I bet he’s not taking you anytime soon himself. Someone has to put an end to this childish game.”

We walked down the candlelit corridor up to a big, black door. He unlocked it and used his candlestick to make the space brighter.

“Not that I need the lighting,” he said with a shrug, “but you’ll appreciate the details better. Those paintings are dark.”

Jean-Pierre handed me a heavy brass candelabra and ushered me into the large gallery. The place was the vampire equivalent of a pirate cave, full of shiny works of art and treasures, and even a massive wooden chest which, for all I knew, might have contained gold coins and pearl necklaces. Stone and metal sculptures crowded the center of the space, stacked one against the other like mere garden tools, while canvases of all sizes rested against the walls, most covered in white sheets, but others just collecting dust like worthless pieces of furniture.

“That looks like a Picasso reproduction,” I said, pointing at an uncovered painting with bold geometric lines.

“Indeed.” Jean-Pierre nodded with satisfaction. “Just not a reproduction. Le pigeon aux petits pois. Elizabeth moved heaven and earth to lay her claws on it. I know it doesn’t look like it, but she’s a romantic at heart.” He winked. “And can’t resist a good investment, even if she has to acquire it through arguably honest means.”

Jean-Pierre disappeared under a bunch of linen sheets, reminiscent of ghosts and haunted mansions. “Oh, here they are,” he said after a while, emerging from the canvas and fabric labyrinth.

“Voilà,” he said with a sneer, pulling at the sheets and revealing the paintings under them. “Have a look and tell me they aren’t pretty.”

***

NIGHTMARISH VISIONS of decomposing bodies and dismembered human remnants looked at me from the canvases, most of which were taller than me. All the creatures depicted were in the most obscene postures, had white or bloodshot eyes, and stared back at me with such horror and hatred that I couldn’t but gasp in shock. The strokes were rough and blunt, visibly traced in anger, all in shades of black and red. Had I believed in Hell, I would have pictured it and its inhabitants exactly like that, or maybe a bit less gory. The drawings were professional and well-done, with Clarence’s unequivocal touch bubbling below the surface, but evil, lewd and disturbingly alive.

“It’s surprising what you can find inside the soul of the most innocent-looking man, isn’t it?” Jean-Pierre said smugly, tracing the lips on a rotting screaming face with contempt. His voice had become slightly garbled, and I suspected the absinthe had started to kick in. “Or in his past.”

The gigantic canvases stared at me, and I strove to relate those horrendous visions to the man I had had dinner with the night before.

“These are...” I started, my mouth suddenly dry. “These are dreadful.”

Jean-Pierre laughed, his shoulders vibrating and stirring the shadow of his candlestick as he circled around me.

“Even more so because they are inspired by reality. He didn’t imagine this. He saw it. Tasted it. That’s why it feels so real.”

I shivered, dizzy with the smell of paint and dust.

“Many people express themselves through art. Isn’t that what artists do? I’m sure there’s nothing wrong with this.”

I wanted to believe what I was saying, but I wasn’t really sure. I had seen disturbing art before and read many horror novels, but this was nothing compared to any of that. These paintings were the closest depiction of evil and depravity I had ever seen in my life.

Jean-Pierre inhaled deeply and gave me a long, yearning look.

“Of course,” he said, in a tone which made it clear he meant just the opposite. “I never said this wasn’t normal. Our daily bread, really.”

“He told me about the lead coffin,” I said in a quiet voice.

“It’s a surefire way to turn a vampire insane.” Jean-Pierre nodded. “Although some of these were painted by a mortal man. One who didn’t want to live, and one who was nothing like the man you think you know.”

“What are you trying to tell me?” I shouted, stomping my foot and crossing my arms. “That Clarence is not to be trusted? That he actually saw... or performed... the same things he painted?” I looked at Jean-Pierre, waiting for a confirmation, but his eyes were hooded and his body was swaying in a very strange way. “What’s the point in showing me this?” I could feel my teeth grinding with frustration. “I’m just an assistant. I’m here to work, not to be your on-call shrink. Why is this any of my business, anyway?”

“You aren’t just an assistant. You are a hard-to-find creature, and thus, we care about your well-being, especially Francesca and me. We have seen many things. And it’s good that you learn how deep still waters can run. Before you drown in them, ma belle.”

“Well, thanks for your concern, but I’m not an art collector. Sell your paintings to someone else.”

Hiding my shock as well as I could, I turned my back to the gruesome canvases and left the gallery as fast as my feet allowed me. I heard the key turn in the lock and Jean-Pierre appeared beside me in the corridor, faster than lighting.

“There are no innocent vampires,” Jean-Pierre said, placing an icy arm around my waist. I tried to shake it off, but he was stronger than his saintly physique suggested. “Don’t fool yourself.”

“I told you,” my voice shook when I spoke, “I’m here for the job. Nothing else.”

“But are you? Tell me, ma belle, what happened last night? Why did Clarence leave The Cloister in a rush, dying of thirst, right after spending a couple of hours with you? He had just come back from his last hunt, hadn’t he?” His voice was entrancing, and he swayed like a charmed snake.

“I don’t know! Why don’t you ask him?”

I sneaked into the library and set the candelabra on a shelf. He followed me in.

“Because he’s too concerned with keeping an appearance of benevolence, and he would never admit to it, for a start. Beware of Robin Hood, the prince of the thieves―or should I say the prince of the undead? He’s so compassionate, isn’t he? So much... better than us. Always the queen’s favorite.”

“I have absolutely no idea,” I snapped, wondering why I hadn’t stayed the whole morning in my room instead of wasting it in a fruitless debate with a drunk French vampire. “You tell me.”

Jean-Pierre took his hands to his heart with exaggerated offense. “If you ask him, he will tell you he feeds exclusively off deserving victims,” he sneered and rolled his eyes. “Criminals. Rapists. Molesters. Sounds so chivalrous, doesn’t it? Is that what he told you?”

“No. We only discuss business.” It wasn’t entirely true, but I didn’t feel like sharing with Jean-Pierre, especially when he was in such a confrontational mood.

“But ma belle,” Jean-Pierre continued, ignoring my answer, “who are we to judge who deserves punishment and who doesn’t? Isn’t it slightly arrogant to compare ourselves to the keeper of the Pearly Gates? Shouldn’t that be Saint Peter’s job, and not a foul vampire’s?”

Jean-Pierre set fire to yet another sugar cube over the absinthe and its sweet, heady scent pervaded the room once more. He approached me, his breath thick with alcohol fumes. His behavior was starting to scare me.

“And then again―” He licked his lips. “―some humans can’t wait to be bitten by our kind. Why deprive them of such rare pleasure?”

I gulped, and leaned back. Clarence had said vampires were resistant to alcohol intoxication. Could Jean-Pierre really be under a spell? Whatever it was, he was becoming more audacious by the second, with the help of that Green Fairy of his.

“What’s wrong with you?” I said, pushing him away from me.

“I have a feeling you are one of them, and you are simply enraged to be cursed with the stench of a witch. A curse and a blessing, all in one. It keeps you alive among us, but it deprives you of the pleasure you seek. Is that right?” His eyes were watery, red veins crisscrossing their light blue surface. “Aren’t you dying to try, ma belle? Isn’t that what draws you to him? He seems so... harmless, doesn’t he?”

“I... no, of course not,” I stammered, “That’s not something I’ve even thought about.”

I might have. But only during the early morning hours, when I should have been sleeping, instead of tossing in bed and switching between endless worries and licentious fantasies.

“Haven’t you, really?” His voice was becoming husky, and I focused all my attention on the exit. It was near, but Jean-Pierre was faster than I. If he wanted to, he could stop me from reaching it with just one finger. And he didn’t seem completely in control of his own actions, judging by his slurred words.

“I’m offering you my assistance.” Jean-Pierre grinned, and I noticed his descended fangs and his crazed eyes.

“Jean-Pierre,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm but still trembling like a leaf. “Stop. No. That’s not you.”

His blue eyes were flaring with that otherworldly light I had already observed in other vampires when they got angry or excited.

He seemed stoned, and things weren’t looking promising for me. At all.

“Let me do it. I don’t mind the smell of a witch. I’ll mark you as mine, and he will leave you alone. Because, oh, ma belle, if he does it instead, you will end up like one of those pictures. They are real. Those are not a fruit of his imagination. And we can’t allow that to happen, can we?”

Jean-Pierre smelled of sweet anise, the absinthe pervading his breath and making him braver than usual. A bead of sweat slid down the back of my neck.

“Ah... thanks for the warning... I... I’ll keep it in mind.”

“Darling child, we are what we are. Embracing our true nature is what makes life worth living. Don’t you agree? Let me protect you. Just do.”

“You are not in your right mind, and I’m leaving,” I muttered.

Unnerved, I started to stack my books in a quick pile, afraid to look away from Jean-Pierre in case he jumped at my throat.

“Don’t you dare follow me,” I warned him in a ragged voice.

Jean-Pierre stood up and put his hands on my shoulders, letting them slip downwards in a very improper way for a former man of the church.

“The Green Fairy has a message for you,” he growled, his words sounding incoherent as his eyes rolled back in their sockets and became blank. “The Green Fairy wants you to know that Clarence Auberon will be your death.”

A low hum came out of his chest, and his face became distorted. “Let me drink from you now, and he won’t touch you. Vampires respect each other’s possessions. Wait a bit longer, and your destiny will be sealed. What do you say, ma belle? What do you say now?” he snarled, and I jumped away from him. “The clock is ticking,” he said, baring his fangs and inhaling into my hair, his white beard prickling my cheek. He smelled of alcohol, but also of rusty blood, like Clarence, mixed with frankincense and blown out candles.

“Jean-Pierre?” I waved at him right in front of his face, in a last desperate effort to wake him up from the trance. His body seemed possessed by a higher force, like that of the ancient oracles.

“Wake up, Mercier!” I clapped my hands in front of his face, making him step back and blink. “Stop this right now, or I’m leaving The Cloister for good, do you hear me?”

Jean-Pierre shook his head and took a deep breath. I clenched my teeth, took courage and slapped his face hard, hoping he wouldn’t turn against me. He could kill me if he wanted to, but I was almost certain that it wasn’t in his interest.

The slap hurt my hand more than him, but it seemed to inject some clarity back into his muddled mind. Holding his cheek, the old vampire stumbled back, hitting the edge of the table and making all the objects on its surface shake. The bottle of absinthe fell and shattered on the floor, and he stood still, watching the liquid stain the hardwood floors. I took advantage of his retreat and fled towards the door.

“Please, don’t go,” he groaned, his voice and his eyes becoming normal again. “The Green Fairy...” he whispered, “I got a bit carried away by her evil tricks.” He sighed audibly and dropped on a couch, rubbing his face like he had just awakened from a bad dream. “She’s a sly counselor, just like all of her kind. Beware of the Fae folk, my dear. They are not to be trusted.”

I watched him closely, pondering whether to run or stay for him to finish his speech. The watery veil over his eyes was finally vanishing, and he seemed to have recovered control over his actions.

“What the hell was that, Mercier?”

“I told you. It was a spell. It wasn’t me speaking, but her.”

I pursed my lips, unsure whether to believe him.

“I swear by almighty Jupiter,” he said.

It didn’t sound like a very convincing oath.

“Okay,” I swallowed and took a few deep breaths. “Whatever it was, I didn’t like it, and that’s why I need you to promise me something, Jean-Pierre.”

“Vampires don’t make promises,” he groaned, massaging his temples. “We live too long for that. But we could reach an agreement.”

“Look. Call it whatever you want. But if you want me, or my daughters, to ever set foot in this library again, you have to promise me to never, ever, ever, proposition me like that again. Because it was highly unpleasant. And scary, too. Understood?” I crossed my arms over my chest, using the books as a shield. I might have looked brave on the outside, but I was crumbling inside: hopefully he couldn’t hear my heart racing. Jean-Pierre smiled weakly, and his teeth looked normal once again.

“Agreed,” he said weakly. “But only if you give your word never to tell Auberon about what just happened here. It was the fairy’s doing. And he might get cranky if he found out.”

“Deal,” I said, frowning. I still had trouble believing the whole fairy story, but it was a relief to have ordinary Jean-Pierre back.

“I guess I’ll have to keep my Artemisia invocations to myself, just like I’ve been doing for the last couple of centuries.” He stared at his feet, saddened.

“Please do,” I said eagerly, and I poured myself a glass of water in one of the salvaged glasses.

***

AFTER MY BREATHING went back to normal, and Jean-Pierre proved to me that the Green Fairy was gone for good, we were finally able to discuss the matter which had originally brought me to the library.

“If we could now get back to the Fulminatio spell,” I said, placing my chair on the opposite side of the table where Jean-Pierre was now sitting, looking like a beatific, white-haired man once again. There were no more traces of red-rimmed blank eyes or oversized fangs. “I checked out the text last night, but I refrained from reading it aloud. If I understood correctly, I’m supposed to wait for a waning moon, and there’s something about four queens. I don’t know who or what they might be, but it seems important.”

Jean-Pierre took the sheet of paper and read it intently, nodding as he did. I flinched, but he just shook his head. “Don’t worry. I don’t think I have the ability to cast this spell even if I sprinkle myself with a gallon of fairy dust. I’ve read it and written it dozens of times, and so far, I haven’t fulminated anyone.” He smirked. “So, the queens, yes. I have a hypothesis about them. Wait a second.”

He disappeared into the back of the library and rummaged in an obscure armoire with wrought iron grills on the doors. After a while, he came back with a carved wooden box and put it on the table, next to one of the many five-armed candelabra which abounded in The Cloister.

“Open it,” he said.

I stood up and studied the box, which had a golden clasp and felt oddly warm under my fingers. A silken bundle hid inside it, and I unwrapped it carefully under Jean-Pierre’s attentive scrutiny. Wrapped in the fabric I found a musty-smelling deck of playing cards, possibly an antique version of the cartas de jogar I had become acquainted with during my years in Portugal.

“A card game?” I asked, holding the simple tuck box with disappointment.

“Not just any card game, but Le Tarot de Marseille,” he said, taking the deck and shuffling it with the professionalism of a well-seasoned croupier. “Look.”

Jean-Pierre fanned the cards, face up, over the silken tablecloth in a horseshoe shape. Then, he picked four of them and put them in the center for me to see.

“Their Majesties, the Queens of the Tarot of Marseille,” he said with a neck bow, like a loyal page in court.

The cards depicted four women sitting on thrones and wearing crowns, with their names in old French: Reyne de Deniers, Reyne de Coupe, Reyne de Baton and Reyne d’Epée. None of them were particularly pretty, nor especially magical looking.

“And how am I supposed to work with... Their Majesties? Should I hold the cards in my hand as I read the spell?”

“Ah, it’s not so easy.” He shook his finger.

“It never is, huh?” I rolled my eyes. Somehow I had expected it.

“These are archetypes. Most people fall into one or the other, and adult women are usually represented by queens in the Tarot. Which queen they are will depend on their traits and personality. You would need one of each to cast this spell with all its force, but one queen alone could probably use it, too. Cups are water, swords are air, coins are earth and staffs are fire. The elements are a common occurrence in witchcraft, as you would know if you weren’t a stray.”

“I see,” I said. My knowledge of the Tarot so far had been limited to freaky-looking psychics who advertised their hotlines on late-night television. Still, I decided to be open-minded about the subject, just in case. “Sounds interesting. So, which one am I, and where do I find the missing queens so I can use the spell properly?”

“That’s a question I can’t answer for you,” Jean-Pierre said mysteriously, putting the cards back together and wrapping them up.

I was almost expecting him to give me yet another book to add to my long to-read list when the door to the library opened and Elizabeth stormed in, her dark and voluptuous body squeezed in a whimsical olive-green gown.

“I hear we are getting arc lamps,” she growled, looking half-indignant, half-curious.

“Excuse me?” I blinked, wondering what arcs she may be talking about.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know anything about it!” she shouted, pointing at me with an extremely sharp finger which vaguely resembled a claw. “Clarence just left my office and twisted my arm until I promised to allow you to bring that madness into our nest!”

“Oh, so he’s back already,” Jean-Pierre said with a cocked eyebrow. “That was quick for him. I wonder what he caught this time.”

“Does this mean you give me permission to start working on the electrification project?” I asked, suppressing a leap of joy. Living in The Cloister wasn’t so bad, but... hot water! I could almost feel it running down my back after days of cold showers. I was in a dire need of a normal bath.

Elizabeth grunted like a panther, but nodded slowly. “I hope you understand that, if your project brings the outsiders’ attention to The Cloister, I will snap your neck with my own hands and hang it like a garland over the gates of the cemetery―witch blood or not.”

A soft knock on the door announced Clarence’s arrival, and my heart skipped a beat as I tried to decide whether I was happy or mortified to meet him again after my failed attempt to kiss him.

“Oh, garlands! I see you are already celebrating the arrival of electricity,” he said with a wide smile. With his old-fashioned haircut, he suddenly reminded me of a Jane Austen character. Which was a complete shame because I had always loved Jane Austen, and now I was trapped in a catacomb with Mr. Darcy. Or rather Mr. Bingley.

“Good day,” he greeted me, unaware of my dreamy ponderings. His eyes narrowed and he studied me like an X-ray. Finally, he put his hand on the small of my back and steered me toward the exit. “Shall we go shopping for drills and wires, Mrs. Andersson?”

Chapter 21

Clarence

Alba had been behaving in a strange way for the past couple of days, and I didn’t really need vampire senses to notice that.

At first, I had attributed it to the abrupt ending of our last dinner, when the wine had clouded her judgment―an ending I had tried not to dwell on for the sake of my sanity, although not very successfully―but then I had also noticed that she wasn’t the only one avoiding me in our little underground community.

Brother Mercier had kept himself questionably busy for someone who had no more pressing matters to solve than feeding himself once or twice a week and memorizing classical texts ad eternum. And there were two things I knew for sure about that sleazy old friend of mine: first, that he would never, under any condition, turn down a chance to talk about Ovid to any victim with operative ear drums, unless conscience-stricken or starved to death; and second, that he had a soft spot for long-haired warmbloods with a narrow waist, and now, we had one of those pacing the halls of The Cloister night and day. She might be slightly stinky-blooded, but still fairly pretty and at an arm’s reach.

“Before you say anything, I don’t want to know what you are reading, and―no―don’t you dare start quoting any Romans to me right now, or I will strangle you,” I warned Jean-Pierre as soon as I crossed the doors to the library. He was sitting with a book in his lap, looking like the innocent monk he never was, and I saw his finger underlining a paragraph enthusiastically, the words ready to spill out of his lips. “Seriously, I’m not in the mood for Roman rhymers right now.”

“Don’t insult those who are cleverer than you, Auberon.” His voice shook with the orgasmic admiration the classics always incited on him. “It’s like Ovid was writing this with a tightballocks like you in mind.” I disregarded the insult, partly because I had taught it to him in a fit of creativity. “Listen to this, mon cher crétin: We are ever striving after what is forbidden, and coveting what is denied to us,” Jean-Pierre read from his smelly old book and eyed me from beneath those hairy owl eyebrows of his. After living with someone for hundreds of years, it became gradually easier to spot when they were lying to you, or at least hiding something. And this old, bloodsucking monk, was definitely concealing something foul-smelling beneath his Latin poetry.

“What do you think?” he said in a mushy tone. “The only thing I still haven’t decided is what you might covet the most, mon camarade.” I didn’t miss the lascivious gleam in his eyes, nor did I think it was unintended.

“First of all, save your camarade shite for your fellow revolutionaries. And second, the only thing I’m coveting at the moment is a straightforward answer. I was wondering what you have been hiding from me since the last time I left Mrs. Andersson alone with you for more than three minutes. And please don’t tell me it’s what I think because I wouldn’t want to kill you.”

Jean-Pierre closed his book, a rare occurrence if ever there was one, and stood up, hands on hips, narrowing his eyes as he spoke, “What are you talking about?”

“I don’t know. I suspect you did something to her. With her. I don’t know. I feel the energy between you two, but I can’t read it. And I know that, otherwise, you would have been torturing me with obscene verses from the Ars Amatoria as usual. But you haven’t. And that’s bizarre. I know bizarre when I see it.”

“I bet you do, and so does she. Let me put your mind at ease and assure you that I didn’t lay a claw on her. But she loved those paintings of yours; did she mention it?”

I stood still. All this time, I had known that the possibilities of Jean-Pierre touching Alba were slim. He may be dodgy at times, but he was my friend―if creatures like us could ever be friends, that was. But the paintings... they hadn’t even crossed my mind. My jaw fell open as I understood what that French turncoat had done, and I took a deep breath to dispel the urge to sink my fangs in his hairy neck and dye his beard bright red.

“Splendid. So now she thinks I’m dangerous―and demented.”

He didn’t seem one bit sorry as he served himself a glass of wine and toasted in my direction.

“Oh, but aren’t you?”

“Not more than you, fil a putain.”

“If you are going to swear, Auberon, at least learn to pronounce Old French properly. Or you know what? Better, don’t do it at all. It ruins that gallant facade of yours―it makes you look almost manly.”

I punched him when he echoed my father’s words. Not as hard as I wanted to, but enough to feel slightly better.

“The woman had a right to know,” Jean-Pierre growled. I knew he wouldn’t hit me back. I might be a sissy according to my progenitor, but I knew that behind all those layers of black velvet, Jean-Pierre was just a scrawny bookworm with the legs of a spider.

“And I had the right to tell her myself,” I said, storming out of the library and wondering how the hell I was going to explain those paintings to the woman who had been haunting my sleepless nights since I had first caught a glimpse of her from the sky.

***

DAYS PASSED BY, AND Alba kept herself busy with the electrification project. I spent my time reading and arguing with Jean-Pierre about theology, secretly hoping she would ask me to help with something. Anything, really.

When she finally appeared in the library, all wide-eyed and excited, the last thing I expected her to request from me was to join her on a trip to a shopping centre.

In my two-hundred-and-something years of life, I had done my best to avoid mundane human establishments, and that included home improvement stores. I probably would never have stepped foot in one of those foul-smelling, modular construction abominations in a couple of centuries more―or possibly never― if it hadn’t been for the craft-less witch who had finally decided I was deserving of her words once again.

“We’ll skip the bathroom section,” she had promised, batting her absurdly long eyelashes at me and pretending she hadn’t been ignoring me for three days, “and anything with mirrors.”

Only the devil knew how little I wished to throw myself into an enclosed space boiling with all sorts of tempting―and equally dangerous―warmbloods, but I didn’t want to deny her my help after promising to support her project. She had spent the previous days in some cafeteria―one with lots of cheap Earl Grey tea, judging by her smell, and just as many wall outlets for her laptop, mobile phone and all those shiny contraptions she carried in that glorified Father Christmas sack of hers―and I supposed she had finally devised a plan to connect The Cloister to the grid. She was in a deliciously good mood when she had finally approached me.

I made sure to feed properly the night before, to avoid any extra trouble, and joined Alba on a taxi ride after sunset to a shopping center out of town. As soon as the vehicle pulled over, the smell of popcorn and artificial flavorings made me nearly vomit the previous night’s dinner. Thankfully, I managed to keep the floor clean of bile after some efforts―which included sniffing her hair to fill my nostrils with something more pleasant.

“That’s where we’re going,” she said, pointing at a white and red building, which looked just like an enormous shoebox made of corrugated metal. “I’ll pick the materials myself, but I’ll need help carrying the boxes. Would you prefer to wait outside?”

I shook my head and followed her into the store, fighting the loud buzz of electric wires and the extreme mixture of smells coming from each and every direction. Wood, asphalt, sweaty feet and armpits, car fumes and at least seventy different brands of perfume weren’t the most pleasing mixture of smells for the sharp nose of a vampire. But I had promised Elizabeth to help Alba in anything she needed and―to my deep chagrin―I had sorely missed her company―and her banter―for the few days she had mostly ignored me.

While I fought my overwhelmed senses, I made myself inconspicuous and watched her navigate the store with professional ease. I was surprised to confirm how everybody in that place seemed to be looking for something, and not only that, they also pushed their trolleys around like they actually knew how to find it. I had to admit that retail services had changed enormously since the last time I had been a regular customer, and I currently felt like the proverbial fish out of water.

“Do you know where I could get this?” Alba was asking a shop assistant. He was athletic and olive skinned, and wore a teal reflective vest with a plastic name tag―Diego.

Diego’s pupils dilated to the size of Liverpool Cathedral when she smiled at him and pointed at one item on her long supplies list.

“Of course, follow me,” he said kindly. “You and your husband got a long list there, don’t you? Building a new house?”

Alba blushed and pressed the list against her chest. “Oh, no, he’s not my husband,” she stammered, oblivious to the deeper meaning of plastic-tag Diego’s remark. “Just my coworker. We are doing some renovations in our... office building.”

After that, Alba and plastic-tag Diego got into a long conversation about double- and single-pole breakers, whatever they were, and I started to grow impatient as he got closer and closer to her in the process, handing her cryptic black boxes with switches as their fingers brushed casually during the discussion. Finally, when I had almost decided to come back alone at closing time and make sweet Diego part of my supper, another customer approached him, and he had to excuse himself and keep working.

“Look, you know what?” Diego said, throwing Alba a friendly smile, “I’m giving you my private phone number. If you have any questions about your installation―just call me. I’m an electrician, so you can trust me.”

And I’m a vampire, so you can’t.

“Well, thank you so much!” Alba said, taking the visit card and slipping it into her jeans pocket as she turned around and pushed her trolley happily down the aisle.

“Do we have everything we need?” I asked her, scanning the area for mirrors as we proceeded to the checkout.

Alba nodded. “Let’s go. I’ll need a couple more things, but I can order them and have them delivered to the house on Westside Avenue.”

As we approached the cashier, I noticed the wide mirror wall right in front of the checkout area, and I frowned. It was unlikely that anyone would pay attention to my missing reflection, but the last thing I wanted was to attract curious stares in such a crowded place.

“I’m sorry, Alba, I think I shouldn’t be standing here,” I said, pointing discreetly at the mirror. “Do you mind if I wait for you outside?”

“Of course, no problem,” she said with a nonchalant wave of her hand, as I headed to the exit. “I’ll be right there.”

As I was standing outside, two ladies passed by my side and their obvious witch smell made me frown. They gave me a sidelong glance and walked straight into the store, pretending not to notice me. With Salem just a couple hundred miles away, it wasn’t such a rare occurrence. But still, these looked different.

At first sight, they were just two middle-aged women wearing promotional t-shirts and old-fashioned skirts, but everything about them screamed that they were no ordinary humans, and no strays either: I could feel the energy of proficient witches radiating from their skin, visible to my eyes like an armor made of gray light. An energy our Alba didn’t have. As they disappeared into the building, I caught a couple of words in a foreign language and decided to stand guard by the glass doors just in case. No, these were definitely no ordinary Salem witches.

The revolving doors locked as soon as they stepped in, leaving a few surprised customers trapped in the middle―and me outside. The security guards rushed to the exit and tried to calm down the shoppers as they made rushed phone calls and fumbled with the buttons which operated the door mechanism. That casual malfunction stank of witchcraft to me, and I started to grow worried.

In the meantime, the witches walked straight to Alba and started to talk to her. Trapped outside the building unless I wanted to cause a scene, I concentrated on the three women and tried to listen to their conversation through the glass doors, but I just managed to make out a couple of words.

Danger.

Help you.

Back door.

Damn. I had left her there, alone with the witches, and there was nothing I could do now without people noticing me. Fear and worry for her well-being reared their ugly heads in the back of my mind.

In the store, Alba put her trolley between the women and herself, a deep frown starting to form in the middle of her beautiful forehead. To my relief, she didn’t seem to be scared―just unsure.

I winced at my own foolishness, hesitant whether to rush to the back door to confront the witches or stay where I was and see how things developed. I could have smashed the glass door in one single blow, but there were too many onlookers to try something so conspicuous.

Those stinky witches had come to convince Alba to run away with them. And just the thought of her leaving us―leaving me―made me want to tear the whole building apart. But still, I had no wishes to end up as a laboratory case study in human custody.

I balled my fists and pushed away the visions which had been clouding my mind lately.

You need to trust her, Clarence.

She’s strong enough; she will manage.

And she will make the right choice.

With a growl of frustration, I stood on the other side of the glass and waited, wondering whether we were really the right choice for her and petrified I’d soon be faced with the answer.

Chapter 22

Alba

By the time the two women approached me, I had already prepared the standard answer I always gave to the assorted people who used to knock on my door when I still lived in a normal house.

“Sorry, I can’t talk―I’m running late for a human sacrifice,” I told them with a wide smile. Thus far, it had always worked well with overly religious visitors.

“Really?” The tallest one had glasses and a bunch of white hair in a messy top knot, while the other was thinner, although just as sloppy as her friend. “That is something we would definitely love to join you in.”

“She’s just joking,” said the other one, looking with narrowed eyes toward the exit, where people had started to congregate due to some door malfunction. They spoke in a soft, melodic accent, which reminded me of Francesca. “Although there’s nothing amusing in what we came to tell you.”

She grabbed my arm, but I shook it off.

“Excuse me?” I said, trying to spot Clarence among the growing sea of heads outside. He was nowhere to be seen and must have remained in the parking lot. “Who are you?”

“We are your friends,” said the first one. “And we have been informed that you are in danger. We know you have been captured by a clan of...” she lowered her voice and spoke into my ear, “vampires. Dangerous creatures who are keeping you as a slave. Is that true?”

I started to laugh nervously, holding onto the handle of the trolley and pushing it to form a barrier between the women and me. For a second, the images of Clarence’s paintings flashed through my mind, but I brushed them off, more concerned at the moment with how those women had found me and why they knew so much about me.

“I have no idea what you are talking about. Please leave me alone, or I will alert security.”

“The security guards are too busy at the moment, taking care of that stubborn door,” the other one said, “but you don’t need them. We didn’t come here to harm you, but to save you from a looming danger. Come with us, we can get out through the back door. We can help you, sister.”

“I’m not your sister,” I protested, as I started to walk away from the checkout line and felt a pang of remorse for all the items I was about to leave behind. The woman grabbed my arm again; however, this time her touch felt like an electric shock. I screamed, but nobody noticed in the turmoil. Everyone was panicking around the glass doors and talking at the same time. We were seemingly trapped in the store.

“It’s true, you’re not. You are just a stray. But we’ll help you change that,” said one of the women. “There’s greatness in you. It’s just dormant. Come with us and let us open a whole new world of wonders for you. We can save you.”

“I don’t need anyone to save me. I’m perfectly fine, okay? I’m nobody’s slave. Now leave me alone.”

“You really don’t know anything, do you?”

“I said. Leave. Me. Alone!” I shouted, taking advantage of the growing chaos around us.

The women’s sugariness evaporated as they tried to catch me. I sneaked between the legs of a man larger than a tank and managed to leave the crazy women behind. The revolving doors were still stuck, and the people trapped inside were banging against the glass and pleading for someone to help them out.

I ran in zigzag lines, not sure of where to go. Finally, I spotted the restrooms, rushed into one of the stalls, and locked the door.

The steps approached slowly. The women knew I was trapped, and there was no need to rush anymore.

Getting myself locked in that cubicle was one of the most stupid things I had done in the past weeks, and I had done many lately.

I heard someone flush a toilet and the sound of water running. Some girl washed her hands. At least I wasn’t alone in the restrooms, and my chasers wouldn’t dare to do anything suspicious. Behind me there was a window. I climbed on the toilet bowl and checked it out: it was a milky-glass fixed opening, with no handle to open it.

To my dismay, the other stall occupant left, and I remained alone with the witches.

“I see you don’t believe us,” a voice said, knocking softly on the door of my booth. “Why don’t you ask those bloodsuckers about their previous witch? Do you know what happened to her?”

No, I didn’t, but they had given me Julia’s diary. I could just read it and find out.

I wedged my fingers between the wall and the window frame, but it was firmly bolted to the wall.

“You poor thing. They must have brainwashed you. You are coming with us, and you will also reveal the location of their nest. If you want to or not,” said the other voice, and I heard them pounding against the flimsy bathroom door. “Leaving you here would be an irresponsibility on our part. You’ll thank us one day.”

The door shook perilously, and a chubby arm slipped through the gap between the door and the floor. I stepped on it viciously, and it disappeared from my sight with a shriek.

Desperate, I started to rummage in my bag for something I could use to defend myself. I got out my phone, wanting to alert Clarence, then cursed aloud when I remembered that those stupid vampires were too cool to use cell phones like everybody else.

My fingertips felt a folded piece of paper, and out of my bag came the Fulminatio spell Jean-Pierre had given me. With shaking hands I opened it and started to read the cryptic text in a quiet voice.

“What is she doing?” muttered one of the women. They kept banging on the door, trying to get into the cubicle. One of the hinges gave way: they would be inside in less than two minutes. “I hope she’s not trying to wield magic in a public place, for Hekate’s sake!” they shouted.

I kept reading the spell aloud, only to realize I had skipped a whole paragraph of convoluted Latin words in my haste.

“Shit! Shit!” I groaned.

I went back and re-read the missing part, then continued where I had left. The order of the lines was wrong, but there was no time to start anew.

“Oh my Goddess, she’s reciting the Fulminatio!” one of the women yelled, sounding almost hysterical. “This one’s a public hazard!”

As I reached the last word, a current of electricity started to flood my forearm. Not really knowing what I was doing, I shook my arm and directed it toward the locked window.

What happened next was the most amazing thing I had ever seen in my life.

The glass exploded in front of my eyes, sending tiny, sharp shards all over the restrooms. I jumped from the toilet bowl to the windowsill and sat there for a second. The floor was at least nine feet away: I squinted and avoided looking down. Then I let myself slide to the warm asphalt below, falling with a soft thud.

Alright.

I steadied myself against the warm facade.

Did I just blow up a window with... magic?

A trickle of blood clouded my vision and I wiped it away.

The witches were screaming, about to jump out after me.

“There she is, Gianna!” one shouted.

I looked around the parking lot for the quickest escape.

The women were halfway through the broken window. I ran toward the road among the parked cars. A large Jeep blocked my path, and a family of five was buckling their kids into car seats.

Slowly. Very slowly.

I was about to jump on the hood of the offending car when a strong arm grabbed me from the waist and Clarence threw me over his shoulder like a sack of flour.

“You really are more dangerous than I thought,” he muttered, leaping over two cars like a tiger as he carried me over his back.

I sank my nails into his stone-hard shoulders, too afraid to fall to conjure a punchy remark.

“Clarence! I can walk on my own!” I screamed. We left the parking lot behind and reached the road which led to the shopping mall, followed by dozens of amused stares.

“I know you can,” he said, finally allowing me to stand back on my feet in the middle of a bushy area beside the road. “But you always end up walking into trouble.”

Chapter 23

Alba

We tread alongside the road, taking refuge behind the tall trees and bushes which grew on the other side. Clarence asked me at least twenty times if I was alright. Once I convinced him everything was fine and he stopped fussing, he still kept glancing at me with concern―almost like he felt guilty for what had happened.

“Why can’t we just call a taxi like normal people do?” I asked him after a while. I was getting tired of walking, and we were still far. “Are vampires forbidden to ride cars?”

It was past dinnertime, and I was weary, hungry and―even if I’d rather not tell him―sore. The cut over my eyebrow was still open and kept trickling into my eyes. I had to hold a tissue against it and I was starting to fear I might need stitches.

“We can ride cars all right, but your face and shirt are covered in blood and I don’t want the driver to call the police on me,” Clarence answered in a pained tone, stopping his march to look at me from head to toe for the hundredth time.

I touched my forehead, and I found it still tender and sticky.

“Are you sure it doesn’t hurt?” he asked, averting his eyes from the fresh blood.

“Not much. I think it’s just a scratch.” I grabbed a fresh tissue and started to wipe the half-dry blood away. “Better now?”

He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. “Still looking like someone just beat you up, but the zombie survivor look is gone, if that’s what you wanted to hear.”

“Is it true that vampires can heal human wounds?” I asked tentatively, sitting down on the arid grass to rest for a while. From time to time, a lonely car passed by, and its headlights washed over us briefly.

Clarence sighed with unease, like I had asked something utterly aggravating. “It’s partly true.”

“Then why don’t you just work your magic so we can call a cab and spare ourselves a two-hour walk? I can put on my cardigan and it will cover the stains on my shirt.”

“I’d rather carry you, then,” he said, his arms crossed. He was wearing slacks and a shirt and looked almost like a regular person under the light of the moon.

“No way. The Paleolithic Era is over, Clarence, if you haven’t heard yet.”

He chuckled softly but shook his head once again. Feeling uneasy, I tugged at the loose strands of hair which had escaped my pony tail during my little restroom adventure. “But I still don’t understand why you wouldn’t heal my cut.”

He scowled and took a seat next to me, with his arms resting on his knees. “Because it would be awkward,” he said, with a sense of finality.

I remembered the day those men had attacked me in the street and how he had mumbled a couple of magic words to make them forget. Why on earth couldn’t he just do the same and get rid of the cut on my forehead?

And then it occurred to me.

“Oh,” I said, noticing his eyes, which had started to flare in that strange, wolfish way. “This doesn’t work with magic words, does it?”

“No.” His voice was slightly hoarse, and he kept avoiding my gaze.

“Ok. Forget it.” I slouched, remembering how he had kept his distance the last time in the park. Maybe it was smarter to leave it at that. Everyone kept warning me against him anyway, although he had never substantiated any of those stories with his actions. “I’ll walk.”

His hand held me down as I started to stand up. “Wait,” he said. “I’ll do it. Just stand completely still. Don’t you dare move an inch, do you hear me?”

I nodded and held my breath as Clarence approached me with the distantness one would have expected from a physician. He put one hand on each side of my head and drew me towards him as I sat on the grass.

“Close your eyes. And. Stay. Completely. Still.” he repeated softly, but in a commanding tone.

I obeyed, lightheaded due to his closeness and his evergreen scent. His cold lips started to travel over my forehead. Then, his tongue brushed against my eyebrows, nearly causing me to faint. The smell of blood soaked the air, and I suspected that it wasn’t only mine. His cold skin brushed against mine, sliding from my hairline to my temples up to the very corner of my mouth.

Time stopped.

The cut on my forehead stung and burned. Next thing I knew, the pain had faded away, replaced by an irresistible wave of pleasure.

Remembering his request to remain still, I fought the urge to twist my whole body under his touch, as a surge of repressed shivers built up in the depths of my chest like trapped steam.

When I opened my eyes, I found him staring at me with something akin to hunger, his fangs clearly visible under the moonlight and my blood still on his lips. I jumped back, startled at the sight and the red gleaming dots in his gaze.

Clarence lowered his eyes, then stood up and stepped back silently, turning his back against me with a deep, irregular exhale.

***

“WHAT EXACTLY DID YOU do in that shop?” Clarence asked me, as I ate the falafel I had bought in a Lebanese stall near Saint Anne. After the taxi ride, we were strolling for the few blocks up to the cemetery as I finished my takeaway dinner.

“I just read aloud the spell Jean-Pierre gave me, and it blew up a window,” I said, wiping the sauce from my mouth with a paper napkin. “It was awesome. And I actually read it wrong! But it worked anyway, can you believe it?”

“Impressive,” he said, deep in thought. “What about those women? What did they want from you?”

“I don’t know,” I said, tilting my head as I tried to ascertain how much he might have figured out on his own. “I think they were... witches. The real ones, not like me.” I chuckled. “All I know is they wanted to take me with them and were very interested in finding out the location of The Cloister.”

“Just what I thought,” he agreed, shoving his hands in the pockets of his gray slacks.

I thought of asking him about Julia, just like those witches had suggested, but eventually decided not to. I would read her diary first and try to find out by myself what had happened to her.

“So, Jean-Pierre,” Clarence said, turning to look directly into my eyes, “did he tell you anything else? Anything... interesting?”

I gave him a distrustful squint. “Is this about those paintings?” I said, finally.

He lowered his gaze and nodded. “Are you very tired?”

“Not really. I feel better now that I’ve eaten something. And my forehead feels great, too,” I hoped I hadn’t blushed, but the heat in my cheeks told me otherwise.

Clarence smiled. He had noticed.

“Very well. Because I’d like to take you somewhere.”

***

WE TOOK YET ANOTHER cab, and he gave the driver an address in the historical center. The driver nodded and started the engine, and we both sat in the back, with our legs nearly touching. I pretended not to care each time his leg brushed against mine with the turns of the road.

The car went up a sinuous path which led to the top of Magdalene Hill, the small hillock which rose over the oldest buildings of Emberbury. On top of it lay the church of Saint Mary Magdalene, a neo-Gothic construction which overlooked the historical part of the city. Hordes of tourists visited it every year; but in all my years in Emberbury, I had never found the time to admire the building from the inside.

“You are taking me to a church?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “And a Catholic church at that?” The last thing that I was expecting was to attend Midnight Mass... with a vampire.

“Follow me, Isolde,” he said, winking as he took my hand. His good mood was back, which was a relief. He had been acting strange after our last dinner, and I hadn’t been too keen on talking to him, either, what with the horrific paintings and all the research for the electricity project, which had absorbed most of my waking hours.

Clarence knocked softly on the sacristy door. After a while, we heard heavy steps coming from inside. A bulky man, possibly a custodian, appeared behind the door sporting a bored expression. He smiled as soon as he recognized Clarence.

“Oh, my old friend, long time no see!” he said, extending his hand towards him.

“Good evening, Quasimodo,” Clarence said, placing a very generous tip in the man's hand as he shook it. “Would you unlock the bell tower for us, please? We are conducting a study about nocturnal city birds and need a better view.”

They both laughed, and I stood there like a clueless dummy.

“Oh, you never brought company till now. But I see you have good taste to pick your research subjects, don’t you, old man?” Quasimodo motioned us to follow him towards a narrow, spiral staircase. He got a key out of his belt and gave it to Clarence. “I’m leaving you now. I was in the middle of watching a game. Just leave the keys on the altar before you go, will you?”

“Of course I will,” Clarence said, patting the man on the back.

“You take care, girl,” the custodian whispered as he passed next to me, so that Clarence couldn’t hear it. A warning look clouded his gaze.

The man disappeared through a small door in the front of the church, and Clarence guided me back to the central nave, pointing at the altar.

“Saint Mary Magdalene,” he said, pointing at a beautiful depiction of the Virgin which hung on the wall, in the middle of the apse. “Do you know her story?”

I shook my head. “My parents weren’t very religious, to tell the truth.”

“They say she had seven demons inside of her when Jesus met her,” he explained, studying the painting with loving eyes. It showed Mary Magdalene as a delicate young woman with blond, vaporous hair and a halo of stars around her head. She held an exquisite golden goblet in one hand.

“And Jesus was in love with her,” I offered, mostly because that was the only part I remembered.

Clarence smiled and watched me with sudden warmth. “So they say.”

“Seven devils sounds like a lot of creatures to carry around,” I commented. “I have only two, and I’m always exhausted by the end of the day.”

“Hmm,” he mumbled, ignoring my remark. “Come to the tower, and we can talk about demons up there.”

As we started to climb the stairs, I realized there must be hundreds of them: after the first twenty, I made a mental note to start jogging as soon as I fell back into a normal working routine.

Desperate to take a break, I leaned against the stone walls and tried to distract him with small talk.

“Quasimodo? No way that’s his real name,” I said, staring at Clarence, who was still fresh as a rose.

“No,” he conceded, “but wouldn’t it be grand?”

He snatched my arm and dragged me back to the winding stairs, ignoring my grunts of protest.

By the time we reached the top, I was panting like a racehorse. Clarence didn’t even look the slightest bit tired, and I felt a deep pang of envy.

We emerged into a small, octagonal room with four flower-shaped windows and a huge bronze bell hung over our heads.

“This way,” he said, pointing at the nearest opening in the wall. I leaned towards the windowsill, mentally calculating the height and how many seconds it would take me to crash the concrete floor below us. Square root of two hundred feet divided by gravity... yeah, probably not much.

On the other side of the window, I recognized a slanted metal roof, which ended abruptly a few yards away.

“Come on, let’s get on the roof,” he said, tilting his head towards the unglazed opening.

“I just jumped through a toilet window earlier this evening, so I think I’ll pass. I have no wish to break my neck on those slippery tiles,” I said, wondering whether all this was an evil plan to get me killed and drink my blood afterwards. That way, I wouldn't count like a murder in Elizabeth’s statistics.

“Alba, I have been here hundreds of times, and I'm still alive.” He shook his head. “Very well, maybe not exactly alive, but you know what I mean.”

I bit my lip, trying to convince my reluctant body to jump over yet another window.

“If I die, please make sure you find some distant relative of mine to take care of my kids. I wouldn't want them to stay with Mark forever.”

“Forget Mark,” Clarence murmured, as he leaped gracefully out the window and waited for me on the roof tiles. He extended his hand, and I seized it. Trying not to shake, I passed one leg first, then the other.

So far, so easy.

I was standing on a freaking church’s roof, and my legs had suddenly turned into reinforced concrete. As much as I tried to step forward, they refused to obey.

“That's my favorite spot,” Clarence said, pointing at the very edge of the roof and skipping around like a ridiculously large pigeon. “Follow me.”

I sighed. “Not going to happen.”

“Come on, give me your hand.”

“Okay. Screw it,” I mumbled to myself, commanding my feet to move. Clarence’s arched eyebrow told me he must have heard me, but I didn’t care anymore about whatever he thought of my manners: in the next couple of minutes, I was going to slip and die. At least, my body would automatically rest on sacred ground―not everything was a minus.

“I forgot to tell you, I'm slightly afraid of heights,” I said, holding onto Clarence’s clothes like a lifeline.

“Didn’t you say you’d like to fly over the city like ravens do?” he said, tightening his hold on my sweaty hand. “The bird thing, as you call it?”

Yes, but I hadn’t expected you to drag me up a roof just to show me that. “Come to think of it, a verbal description would have worked just as well...”

“You can’t see the world from above and be afraid of heights at the same time. It just doesn’t go together.” He looked into my eyes, pressing my body against his as he passed an arm around my waist and held me tight. “Just trust me, Alba. You are safe with me.”

That’s not what I’ve been hearing lately.

Clarence strolled over the silver roof, choosing his footing meticulously now that he had his arm around me. I tried to step right where he did, although the only thing I really wanted to do was to lie down and weep.

Finally, we reached the furthest edge and he helped me sit down, with our feet dangling like ferns above the city.

“High places...” I took a deep breath and swallowed, fighting the need to crawl back to the bell tower. “They have always made me sick. I like to feel the ground under my feet.”

“Taking off is always scary,” he said with a nod, “but once you are airborne, all troubles become so much smaller that it becomes worth the risk.” His arm crawled over my shoulders, while his other hand held both of mine. He was cool, but it felt pleasant against the summery balminess. “Now tell your engineer brain to stop measuring the height and just take a look at this marvel.”

I snorted at his correct guess, and he gestured toward the lights of the city, which sparkled like hundreds of tiny diamonds.

“If you were a bird, which one would you be?” he asked affectionately.

“An ostrich, probably,” I grunted.

Clarence laughed so hard that I feared he would pull both of us into the abyss. “You are funny, Andersson. You make me forget how wretched I really am.”

The sight was breathtaking, with a startlingly clear night sky which allowed me to see up to my old house, the one I had lived in with my grandma on the outskirts of town.

“When we were living in Europe,” I said quietly, drifting back to my childhood in Portugal, “I visited many old churches with my parents. Some were more than a thousand years old. I liked to look at the gigantic domes and wonder how they managed to build all that without any of the machinery we have today.”

“They had time,” he said with a shrug. “That’s a scarce resource nowadays.”

I nodded, and we kept silent for a while, enjoying the secluded quiet of Magdalene Hill.

“This view is so beautiful,” I said, taking a deep breath. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

Clarence nuzzled against my head and studied me closely. “Actually, I didn’t bring you here to show you the view, but the altarpiece.”

“Oh. That one was lovely, too. Mary Magdalene. I didn’t know you were religious.”

“I used to be, although I’m not anymore.” He lowered his eyes and studied my fingers, braiding them softly. “But that one is special: she was my mother.”

I smirked, cocking an eyebrow. “Mary Magdalene was your mother?”

“No.” He shook his head, looking utterly serious. “I painted that portrait. The model was my mother, Rose.”

“Well, that must be my favorite of all your paintings,” I said sincerely. “It’s... it’s stunning.” The altarpiece had none of the hopelessness and sorrow that the rest of the canvases in The Cloister’s gallery shared. The colors were soft and airy, and Mary Magdalene looked like an earthly angel, with her long spun-gold hair and tender blue eyes.

Clarence continued talking, so quietly that I wondered whether the words were just for himself. “She was true to her name: Rose. The most beautiful woman I have ever met. Caring and gentle, so gentle... but so delicate, too. My father broke her. And then―,” his voice faltered, “―and then I finished her off.”

I leaned against his side, feeling him shake softly. “I’m sorry, Clarence.”

“It was my fault. It was all my fault.”

“Was it before you...?”

“Before I was turned?” He raked his fingers through his dark, long hair. “No. It started before that. But she died afterwards, when she found out about me.”

“I’m so sorry,” I repeated, feeling at a loss for words.

We sat there, in a tight embrace, while the car lights blurred into red and yellow lines in the distance. I wanted to reassure him, to tell him it hadn’t been his fault. But I knew too little to be certain. So I just remained next to him and kept silent until his body loosened up and slumped softly against mine.

“When I’m flying,” he said softly, caressing my hands with his long fingers, “I can still see the sun. I can admire all the beauties of the world. But I can’t touch any of them. I can’t be a part of that world anymore.”

“You aren’t missing much, trust me.” I elbowed him softly.

“Do you really think so?”

“Uh-huh.” I nodded. “Grass is always greener and so on.”

“But it is greener,” he protested, a soft smile starting to draw on his lips as he watched me intently. “And warmer. And so much more―” He nudged the crown of my head with the tip of his nose. “―captivating.”

I blushed, and I averted my eyes. “They say vampires can lure women with their charms.”

“Can we?” he said in a husky voice. “Never heard of that. But rumor has it witches can brew love potions.”

“I certainly can’t.”

“Then it must be something else,” he murmured, and his lips drifted down my hair, nibbling softly on my ear. I felt his sharp teeth slide from my ear to the crook of my neck, and I flinched when they almost pierced the delicate skin under my jaw. He noticed my startlement and swayed softly backwards, then pressed his cheek against mine, expectant. I stared into his mysterious maroon eyes, as an electric current crawled from my core to the tips of my toes.

“Something else, indeed,” I whispered, and pulled him against me. His fangs caressed the tip of my tongue and raw energy ran through my body when he snarled with hardly contained need.

I might have been kissed before, but that first kiss with Clarence would become my true first kiss ever. I had never felt as elated as I did the moment we finally gave in to the urge which had been consuming us for too long.

Ecstatic and lightheaded, I abandoned myself to the simple bliss of just being, as my lips joined with his, and we lost ourselves in a slow, passionate kiss over the roofs of Emberbury.

Chapter 24

Alba

The following week passed in a blur, as I worked on Elizabeth’s paperwork and put the finishing touches to the electrification project for The Cloister, for which Clarence and Jean-Pierre’s help proved to be invaluable. Clarence helped me measure the labyrinthine rooms and corridors of the catacombs and put his artistic talents to use, drawing dozens of old-fashioned ink blueprints. Jean-Pierre turned out to be a surprisingly good mathematician, able to solve five digit multiplications in his head and familiar with any text on physics from Galileo to Einstein.

The three of us spent most hours of the day in the library, plotting and calculating, and Jean-Pierre’s behavior showed no traces of the Green Fairy absinthe-induced incident whatsoever. He was back to his content librarian self, drinking only wine as far as I knew, and I couldn’t but be outright thankful for it.

As for Clarence, he stayed friendly and courteous as usual, but there was no further mention of our kiss atop Saint Mary Magdalene’s church. After a couple of days, as the distance between us grew wider and only the professional conversations remained, I started to seriously wonder whether that kiss over the city had been just a product of my imagination.

Still, the way he shuddered with each of our accidental touches somehow confirmed my suspicions that he, just like me, hadn’t forgotten about it. Whenever I closed my eyes, I would relive that moment and remain entranced until somebody waved in front of my face and got me out of my daydreams.

I arranged for most of the electrical supplies to be delivered to the town house on Westside Avenue, and I started to feel like my life actually had a purpose. I wasn’t going to have a blank tombstone, after all. Ultimately, my heirs might be able to engrave something on it, something like: “herein lies the woman who brought an illegal electricity connection to a nest of vampires who didn’t really need it.”

Not too heroic, but definitely quirky.

Lillian and Alonso, the most elusive members of the clan, weren't exactly delighted about the project. They complained a few times about the unnecessary risk of exposure; but after Elizabeth gave me her public blessing―particularly once I showed her with my laptop how to read an eBook and make an internet bank transfer―they moved aside and watched the progress with respectful indifference. Francesca was as outlandish as usual, a mixture of school mistress stiffness and vampiric whimsicality, but she bent over backwards to keep my daughters entertained for hours and teach them plenty of useful things, from music to chess and even a few words in Italian. Many days we all shared the library, which meant I could spend time with the girls and work at the same time.

The most exciting part came once I decided we were done with the drawing and calculating, and I informed my small team that it was time to drill a narrow tunnel between the catacombs and the wire trenches beneath Saint Anne’s Park. The vampires took happily to the digging job, and after three tries, which took them roughly a couple of nights, they managed to hit the right spot, emerging right in the middle of a wide underground trench without damaging the public grid.

“There’s one little thing,” I said, aware that I still hadn’t found a solution for a really important element during my days of planning. “There’s no way we can switch off the power in the main line, so I have no idea how we are going to connect our cables to it.”

“Why?” Jean-Pierre asked, wiping the dirt off his pale forehead. Clarence and Jean-Pierre had been working in the tunnel for the whole night, but none of them seemed tired in the least.

“Are you seriously asking me that?” I climbed up a ladder and peeked into the narrow circular opening, feeling like the worst engineer in history. Clarence rushed to hold the ladder, and I smiled at his untiring chivalry, which sometimes bordered the ridiculous.

“I don’t know, you drafted the project,” Jean-Pierre said. “Didn’t you think about that in advance?”

I was too embarrassed to admit to Jean-Pierre that I had no idea of how to solve the issue.

“What’s the worst that can happen?” Clarence asked with a concerned frown, offering me a hand to get down and leaving me as tingly as usual.

“Many things can happen, and none of them are good. We can cause a power outage in half of the city. Or a huge explosion. Or in the worst case, someone could end up dead.”

“Define dead.” Jean-Pierre smirked, his fangs white and shiny in his mouth. “I’m on good terms with Death.”

I dusted off my dirty sports shorts. “If you touch a live power line, the current will go through your body and give you a shock, which in turn will make your heart stop,” I said, matter-of-factly.

“Sounds just like the time I became enlightened in Mount Athos after six months of blood fasting and prayer. Only quicker,” Jean-Pierre said, with an unconcerned expression. “No problem, I’ll volunteer. Just give me instructions.”

I crossed my arms, still hesitant about the way to proceed. “I’m not sure. Maybe we should leave it and try to find a different way.”

I started to browse through my printed materials, wondering whether there was a way to make the connection without blowing up the whole city and us with it.

Meanwhile, my phone rang, an unknown number showing on the screen, and I excused myself to a dark corner of the catacomb halls to pick up the call.

“Hello?” My hands were dusty and left white marks all over the phone.

“Where the hell are you, and why aren’t you answering any of my calls?”

“Oh, hello Mark, nice talking to you, too,” I said, rolling my eyes and cursing myself for having picked up an unknown number call in the first place.

“The divorce papers are waiting. When do you intend to show your pretty ass and sign them?”

“I told you. On the first of July. Next week, alright?”

“You are bringing the kids. And they are remaining with me until further notice. Understood?”

I remained silent, not knowing what to say. I probably had no legal right to keep the girls hidden indefinitely, but I had no wish to hand them to Mark for him to do as he pleased with them.

“I thought you were too busy. When are you going to take care of them? When you come home at 10 PM?”

“Not your problem.”

“Oh, yes, but it is my problem. I’d like to make sure they are taken care of, and not alone for most of the day, then abandoned with a crazy man who tends to become violent more often than not.”

“Are you calling me what I think you are calling me?” Mark growled.

“I don’t know. I thought you were the expert in legal terminology.”

All of a sudden, talking back to Mark had become a bit easier. Being away from him and doing useful things for the first time in years must have a good effect on my overstressed nerves.

“Enjoy the last days of your vacation, darling,” he hissed, repeating his threat, “because the next time you see those kids, it’s going to be in their graduation photos.”

And then he hung up.

Damn. I was still terrified of Mark, but I wouldn’t let his threats spoil the rest of my day. Pressing my eyelids together, I waited for my heartbeat to normalize before returning to the vampires.

A loud thump called my attention, and I realized―too late―that Jean-Pierre was climbing up the ladder with a pair of pliers and a bunch of electrical supplies in his pockets. He had tied a piece of metal wire to his ankle and attached it to the rock walls of the tunnel, in order to use it as some sort of makeshift ground wire. Clarence stood beneath him, holding the ladder with one hand and cheering at the Frenchman with the other.

“Wait!” I shouted, running toward them. “What are you two doing? Have you gone nuts?”

Clarence winked at me, and Jean-Pierre plainly ignored me and stuck one hand into the trench above his head.

“Ready?” shouted Jean-Pierre from above our heads.

“No!” I yelled, waving my arms like an aircraft marshaller in a futile attempt to stop them.

“Always ready, Brother Mercier!” Clarence answered, closing his fist in a gesture of encouragement. “Blow them away!”

“No, definitely don’t!” I shouted, about to die of anxiety. A heavy electric screwdriver slipped off Jean-Pierre’s hand, and I managed to jump back right before the tool hit me right on the head.

“Oops, sorry,” Jean-Pierre said, waving in apology.

“Watch out, Mercier!” Clarence protested, as he threw the screwdriver back up to him and rubbed my shoulders caringly. “Please don’t kill my favorite human! I’m still going to need her after this!”

Jean-Pierre put both hands into the hole over his head and closed his eyes, feeling the walls of the tunnel with his fingers.

“Don’t worry, Isolde,” Clarence said in a reassuring tone, “Jean-Pierre has been reading all your documents each night while you were sleeping. He says we only have a thirty percent potential for error.”

“A thirty percent?” I screamed, pulling at my hair in desperation. “That’s a darn big percentage!”

“Let’s leave those petty statistical details for later.” Jean-Pierre chuckled. “I’m about to dig in. Poking the snake in three, two, one―”

The white-haired vampire started to shake wildly, making the whole ladder wobble. His body contorted, and his head tilted back. He started to grind his teeth so loudly that I worried he might crush them into dust.

When he finally stopped trembling, his voice sounded like he was standing on a rickety train.

“Job done!” he cheered, as the darkly comical tremor in his voice slowly faded away, and he started to clap his hands. “We are officially connected to the grid!”

***

I NEVER REALLY FOUND out how Jean-Pierre managed to make the connection possible without causing the worst short-circuit in the history of Emberbury, but when I tested the wires, they were live, which allowed us to continue with the distribution necessary to bring power and lighting to the main spaces of The Cloister. The three of us worked as a team, drilling and measuring and bolting things to the stone walls. The whole system went up quickly and relatively effortlessly. During those delightful, exciting days, I found myself smiling more often than usual. They might have been the best ones I had seen in many, many years.

One day, after breakfast, when we had almost finished installing power points and light fixtures, and the last boxes of bulbs had been delivered, I left my girls sewing witch hats with Francesca and went to meet Clarence in the conference room.

I found Clarence standing in the middle of the corridor, with a yellow screwdriver in his hand. He looked like he was about to use it as a magic wand to pull a rabbit out of his hat.

“Why on earth do you need to wear a top hat to bolt plugs into the walls?” I asked, studying his unsuitable choice of attire with disapproval.

“Because today's the big day!” he stated merrily. He had even put on a cravat, but strangely enough, had missed a button at the top of his shirt. “Aren’t we testing the installation today?”

“Good idea,” I said, shaking my shoulders to stop thinking about that disturbing undone button, which showed part of his perfectly sculpted chest and hindered my thought processes. “Where should we start?”

“The main switch, don’t you think?” he said.

Of course, where else.

We had installed the main switch in the conference room, behind a painting of Samson and Delilah. When we entered, the place was silent and empty. Jean-Pierre had gone out hunting and still hadn’t returned, and there were no traces of the other vampires, who must have retired into their rooms to let us work in peace.

Elizabeth had allowed me to splurge on a gigantic chandelier for that space: a hand-crafted crystal wonder with eight arms and hundreds of faceted beads, which hung in elegant cascades over the conference table. We still hadn’t managed to test it, though. At present, it looked like a sad black spider on the ceiling, projecting dim shadows over our humble candlesticks.

I put my hand over the light switch and Clarence signaled for me to wait. He came to my side, squeezed my hand fondly and blew off our candles, leaving us in total darkness.

“Will you do the honors, Isolde?” he said quietly, as his arm found my waist and pressed me against him in the pitch blackness.

Jittery, I breathed in and pressed the button.

And, of course, nothing happened.

“It doesn’t work,” I sighed with disappointment. “Story of my life.”

“I think you forgot to switch on the main fuse,” Clarence said, clearing his throat. I heard him walk over to the other side of the room and fiddle with the fuse box. He must be taking advantage of his night vision, which was much better than mine. “Try again now,” he said, coming back to where I was and putting a hand on my shoulder.

A loud click startled me, and all the bulbs in the chandelier started to glow at the same time, buzzing with a delicious electric sound.

“Yes!” I cheered, and hugged him in celebration, dancing happily around the room while the crystal beads showered the walls with hundreds of rainbows. His hat flew off, but he didn’t seem to mind.

“Let there be light,” Clarence said, glancing at me with his eyes full of pride.

“And there was light,” I finished, beaming with happiness.

“And it was just like magic,” he added, kissing the top of my head. “You are so talented, my dear.”

“Thank you,” I answered, sinking my chin in his chest and holding our merry embrace for a little too long. Hesitant, I waited for him to break the bond. But instead of letting me go, he made our hips come together, gently pushing me closer with a skilled move of his knee. By then, my whole body was buzzing due to his proximity.

My hands drifted to the nape of his neck, as though led by an outer force, and raked urgently through his silver-sprinkled raven hair. I got lost in his scent of rust, pine trees and blood cherries. He breathed in just once, and his back swelled, hard and strong under my arms, so wide that I could hardly join my fingertips around him. Our legs intertwined, like two branches of ivy growing together. Each part of our bodies seemed to have a perfectly matching nook to fit in the other, and my lips finally closed over his.

Clarence lifted me into his arms effortlessly, and I gasped as my feet lost contact with the floor. It felt like flying.

“My charming Isolde, I think the potion worked,” he whispered in a rough voice, raining kisses on my neck.

My body swayed in acknowledgment, too light-headed to speak. He tilted his head and sought out my eyes, breathing heavily as the kisses became soft nibbles. “Come to my suite,” he muttered huskily. “Let me make love to you. Will you?”

Suddenly drowsy, I nodded eagerly, keeping my eyes closed.

My flared skirt billowed out like a ballerina’s as we twirled out of the room, and I wasn’t sure which of us said, “I thought I’d never see the light again.”

***

WE SAILED DOWN THE halls, Clarence holding me in his sturdy arms as he kissed me. He leaned sideways, as he tried to open the door of his room just with an elbow. He ended up banging my head against the doorframe by accident.

“Ouch!” I complained, rubbing the crown of my head. “This doesn’t happen in the movies,” I mumbled with a grin.

He arched his eyebrows with concern and kissed my hair, his brick red eyes ablaze with passion. “I’m so sorry. I’m out of practice.”

“Are you, really?” I asked with incredulity, gasping for air, and his gaze hardened for just one second. Then, he caressed my neck with reverence, using his free hand, and distracted me once again with his avid kisses.

I had never been to Clarence’s suite, and what I saw in there took me aback. The space was ample, mysterious, and disturbingly sinister. Dozens of candles burned in vintage brass sconces on the walls and most of the surfaces were covered in black walnut shelves with hundreds of books―so many that he must have run out of space and started to stack them in rows, horizontal and vertical, in a sort of artistic chaos, only accentuated by the many oil paintings on the walls. These were dark and disturbing, although not as much as the ones I had seen in the art gallery. A drafting table occupied the furthest corner of the room, concealed under stained sheets of vellum and poster board, half-finished sketches of skulls and screaming faces and dispersed drawing utensils of all kinds, including watercolors, gouaches and pastels.

And then, there was the bed.

A colossal ebony bed with a canopy of black velvet curtains and black silken bedding, all rimmed with lace woven of pure golden thread and flanked by disturbingly graphic paintings of the souls suffering in hell.

I swallowed, trying to stay in the moment. He lay me gently on the soft silk sheets and covered my arms and legs in a trail of soft pecks. I sighed, melting into a shiver which was a mixture of pleasure and disquiet, and watched him through half-closed eyelids as he unbuttoned his shirt with urgency and loosened his scarlet cravat, staring at me with red-rimmed eyes full of lust.

“Who are you really?” I asked, grasping his waist with despair, trying to reconcile the grim space with the man I thought I knew.

The corners of his mouth lifted in an innocent smile, and he kneeled on the bed next to me. “I forgot a long time ago.” He sniffed my hair. “Will you remind me, Alba?”

I exhaled, a fog pervading my mind, and pulled him toward me to kiss his frozen lips. He swallowed hard as my tongue drew the outline of his sharp teeth.

Then, he remained still. His hands found the buttons of my blouse and started to undo them carefully, like they were made of rose petals and he was afraid to break them―to break me. He was gentle and desperate at the same time. He moved like a feline.

I swayed, as an invisible breeze pushed me left and right, like a boat adrift. I closed my eyes, trying to let go.

Clarence reached the last button and his lips paused over my belly button, tickling and licking and making my whole body bolt. His hands played with the elastic of my skirt, right where my C-section scar was.

I remembered how off-putting Mark had always found it.

And then, I froze on the spot.

Suddenly, I didn’t see Clarence anymore. Only a disturbing black space in the dim candlelight remained, where the echoes of the perfect maidens of his past still resounded. I couldn’t help wondering how many of them he must have brought there before me, to that same velvety bed, over the last two centuries: beautiful women, younger women, childless women. Flawless, porcelain creatures like Francesca, svelte women without scars, free of pitiful post-breastfeeding cleavages like mine; angelic beings who had only heard of stretch marks and overabundant hips in fairy tales.

And the fact that those hands caressing my body had produced the most infernal works of art the world would ever see wasn’t helping, either. As much as I wanted to ignore the surroundings, that room was frightening as hell.

Don't let his overly cheerful facade fool you... there’s a dark side to Clarence Auberon which very few people know.

Clarence Auberon will be your death.

Ask them about their previous witch. Do you know what happened to her?

All of a sudden, I was numb. Blind. I couldn’t take it anymore, and despite the desperate need for his body, I pulled away, torn, miserable and scared.

“I can’t do this,” I said, covering my bare chest with the glossy black sheets and pressing them against my face. I wished I could teleport somewhere far, far away. “I’m sorry.”

Clarence stared at me with a mixture of surprise and sorrow, but nodded and backed off swiftly. He quickly started to put his shirt back on.

“Don’t be. Is everything alright?” he asked in confusion, brushing a finger against his teeth, which were back to their ordinary human semblance. “Did I scare you? Did I... hurt you?”

I stared at him blankly, too overwhelmed by my own flaws to utter any coherent answers.

“Please, forgive me,” he whispered with half-closed eyes, clearly unable to understand the thoughts which were haunting me. “For whatever I did wrong.”

I shook my head. “It’s not you,” I muttered. “But I need to leave. Now.” He stood up, as if to escort me out, but I extended my palm in front of me to keep him away, holding the sheet with my other free hand. “Alone.”

Clarence looked sullen, but he nodded and handed me my blouse in silence. He turned his back to me as I got dressed. For a second, I wished I could shift into a raven and fly away, just like he did sometimes.

I stood up and left the room, leaving him petrified, sitting on the bed with his elbows on his knees and a half-buttoned shirt over his hunched shoulders. He didn’t try to follow me.

As I closed the door behind me, I frantically tried to fix my hair and smooth the wrinkles of my skirt. I must look like someone who had just come out of a shipwreck.

But of course, I had to bump into Lillian and Alonso of all people, who were coming my way from their bedroom.

“What did I tell you?” Alonso snickered, pinching Lillian’s hip playfully.

“Another one bites the dust,” Lillian said, leaping away from Alonso’s grab with graceful elegance. She appeared miraculously on the other side of her partner and started to fondle his chest with exaggerated grimaces, in a successful effort to upset me.

“Poor little human,” Alonso added with disdain, as he offered his collarbone to Lillian, and she bit it with a contorted pout. “Just don’t expect him to be so nice anymore.”

“It’s not like she can compare to Francesca, can she?” Lillian sneered, leaning wickedly against Alonso, then turned toward me with a drop of blood on her lips. “So few people around here, and so much free time to burn...”

I covered my face and ran to my room, hoping the two nasty vampires couldn’t hear me when I started crying.

Chapter 25

Alba

Francesca gave me a sidelong glance when I stormed into my room, sniffing the air around me with judgmental sophistication. She squared off her delicate shoulders and twirled a black chess horse in her minute fingers, then used it to kill a little white pawn with an ominous thump.

“I see,” she said cryptically, in lieu of a formal greeting, removing a smug Iris from her lap.

“You see what?” I snapped, banging the door closed so hard that it made the flames of the candles flicker.

“That I’d better leave now,” she shrugged and stood up, patting my daughters’ heads, which she had adorned with long velvet bows. “It was nice to meet you, my darling children.”

“What the hell? We’re not going anywhere.”

Francesca blinked. “Of course you aren’t,” she added in a sweet, slightly offended voice; then eyed the children and added quietly, “And please. We don’t swear here, Alba.”

“Hell is not a swearword. It’s a place,” I blurted.

“I’d rather call it a state of consciousness, but that’s just me.” She shrugged and stepped outside, her skirt sweeping behind her. “Elizabeth will be back tomorrow, by the way.”

With an exasperated puff, I grabbed the kids by the wrists and dragged them outside.

We spent the rest of the day in the city, avoiding the courthouse area and its surroundings. We had pizza and ice-cream and watched a children’s movie at the cinema. The girls were ecstatic with the unexpected day out, and kept singing, asking questions and praising Francesca. I slapped on a smile and tried not to think about anything else but the two little sweethearts who skipped and bounced around me, unaware of the gray thoughts which plagued my mind.

We returned after sunset and were lucky enough to meet no vampires in the halls of The Cloister―I wasn’t in the mood to deal with any of them. Once the children collapsed in bed, sleepy and satisfied after all the fun, I settled in my plush armchair and ate pizza leftovers in silence as I browsed Julia’s diary, lulled by the soft breathing sounds of my two precious daughters.

I opened Julia’s notebook to my last read page, which was marked with the note Clarence had once sent me to invite me to dinner. I sighed and buried the bookmark in the last pages, concentrating on Julia’s elaborate handwriting. The following passage must have been written when Julia was in her thirties:

October 30th, 1960

The night of the witches is near, and I feel the power starting to run through my arms. I’m sure it’s not an ailment, because it doesn’t bother me in the least, and I felt it last year around this time, too. Just like that time with the green light, which I never managed to repeat after he left.

While everybody keeps talking about Kennedy and Nixon, I keep seeking refuge in Stan Sheen’s bookstore. He’s the only one who doesn’t talk about politics the whole day, and we had an interesting discussion about a Russian woman he had seen on TV, who is seemingly able to move objects without touching them. Telekinesis, they call it.

After he told me, I started to practice on my own, and I’m almost sure I managed to move a hair and a grain of rice just with my mind.

I must practice this some more to be sure. I will report about the results.

Interesting, I thought, as a pang of excitement flooded my body. I immediately pulled out a hair from my scalp and lay it on the table, watching it intently and hoping for it to start moving. After ten minutes trying to hypnotize a lifeless strand of hair, my hopes weren’t so high anymore, and my eyes had started to become dry from lack of blinking. Shrugging, I blew it away and kept reading.

The following entries were rather dull, so I skimmed through the text without paying much attention to them. After a few pages, one of the records called my attention. The handwriting was oddly unsteady, and as I read the words, a sense of foreboding seized me:

January 1st, 1962

I wish I could leave this place.

Yesterday, the vampires invited me to their New Year’s Eve party, and for the first time in years, I didn’t decline. Lillian and Alonso kept teasing me to play drinking games with them. It was fun. All of them were oddly cheerful and attentive. Clarence, Jean-Pierre and Francesca joined us after a while, and even Elizabeth seemed to be enjoying herself.

But then I blacked out, and I can’t recall the second half of the night.

I woke up naked under the sheets, and Clarence was next to me. He was sitting in my bed, staring at the ceiling with his arms crossed and his back against the headboard, and as soon as I opened my eyes, he left the room without saying a word.

All I know is that the pillow was covered in blood, and so was his shirt. I had bite marks on my neck and breasts, and they hadn’t even bothered to heal them. And I’m blue and sore everywhere. Literally everywhere.

I think he tampered with my memories, but of course, there’s no way to know for sure.

And now I just want to cry.

I feel humiliated, but I have no proof of anything. Not that anyone here would care.

Oh, Ludovic, I miss you so much. I wish you were here.

I dragged my fingers through my hair as I read the entry again and again.

No, I shrieked in my head.

No, please, don’t let that be true.

The idea made me feel suddenly nauseous, and I had to dump the pizza leftovers into the copper bin under my desk, or else I would have thrown up all over the carpet.

Why, Clarence? I asked myself, holding back the tears.

Was this what everybody had been warning me about?

I inferred from the text that he had taken advantage of Julia while she was drunk and unable to give her consent, then he had erased her memories to pretend nothing had happened.

Despicable.

Disgusting.

But accurate as life itself. The way of the predator. The law of the jungle.

I was such an idiot for getting myself involved in a vampire nest and believing they were normal people, just quirkier.

Mirrors can’t reflect a creature with no soul, he had told me once.

Back then, I still believed that all living creatures must have a soul.

At the moment, I wasn’t so sure anymore.

My desperation to escape Mark had made me turn a blind eye to the warnings which had been all over the place, including Clarence’s monstrous paintings, Elizabeth’s murky businesses and Jean-Pierre’s inappropriate advances.

I wondered what had actually killed Julia. All of a sudden, I doubted the story that it had been just old age. The witches at the store had suggested otherwise. Had it been Elizabeth? Had it been... Clarence? Who knew?

But one thing was for sure: I wasn’t going to stay around to experience her fate in my own flesh.

***

“WAKE UP, GIRLS, WE’RE going to see your daddy,” I singsonged, shaking Katie and Iris softly.

It was early morning, and I had decided to leave without telling anyone. I could remember Clarence telling me how no humans got out of The Cloister with their memories intact. Even if they weren’t able to delete my memories very far back, I wasn’t exactly looking forward to finding out. The sole thought of Elizabeth making me forget things was enough to make me shiver.

Elizabeth would be furious when she found out I had left unannounced. I didn’t want to be a complete jerk, so I wrote a resignation letter, hoping she would be able to find a new assistant very soon―although I suspected she wouldn’t. Luckily enough, she had never managed to draft our contract, and I casually mentioned that detail in my note, given that Elizabeth was as enthusiastic about legal matters as my very loving husband.

Who I was unfortunately going to meet again very soon.

Everything I had built, everything I had accomplished―all had turned to ashes in one single night. I couldn’t think of anything better than going back to square one: I was hopeless. And Mark’s divorce papers were waiting.

I dragged my luggage and my children up the stairs that led out of the catacombs, and as soon as I closed the trapdoor under the mausoleum, my heart shrank with the realization that this might be the last time I stepped through that door. The black stone angels stared at me with apathy, and I heard Lillian’s snickers in my mind.

The cab ride was a blur, with the girls talking non-stop about chess, Dracula and Francesca. My mind kept wandering into places I didn’t want to go back to. Places with black velvet canopies and depictions of the souls burning in hell; and the devil himself leaning over my nude body with the devotion of Mary Magdalene.

Desperate as I was to flee The Cloister, I wasn't crazy enough to throw myself directly into Mark’s arms; especially after his disturbing behavior during our last encounter. I dialed my neighbor’s number and crossed my fingers for her to be home.

“Oh, Alba, is that you?” May said, puffing, and I could almost smell the cigarette smoke through the line, a telltale sign that her husband just left for work. “I was wondering where you were; you didn’t reply to any of my messages. There's a lot of gossip going around, you know?”

“Gossip about what?” I asked cautiously.

May breathed out heavily, like she didn’t want to tell me. “It’s the other moms at the gym. They’re saying you ran away and left Mark.”

“It's not far from the truth.” I sighed. “This may be unexpected,” I said with my eyes closed, “but Mark and I are not very amicable currently. Haven’t been for a while. He asked for a divorce, and things have gone downhill ever since.” I didn't want to tell her more than the indispensable, because I knew that whatever I said would go straight to The Bored Moms’ Secret Services’ information treasury. Plus I had two kids and a taxi driver listening to my every word.

“Oh my gosh, Alba!” May exclaimed, and I could almost picture her expression of exaggerated shock. “Why didn't you tell me before? I suspected things were not right between you two, but I didn't know it was so bad.”

“Yes, it's that bad. I was just on vacation with the girls, but I have to sign some papers for Mark, and he also wants to see the children, so I’m heading back. But I need to ask you for a favor.” I hesitated. May was not exactly my friend. We had the classical hello-goodbye-here-have-some-cookies neighbor relationship, plus we met at the gym’s bar from time to time and talked about toddlers and how our lives were ruined. But I had nobody else to ask, so I ate my pride and went on, “He hasn’t been very nice to me lately, you know... and it would be great if we could stay at your place for a while. Do you think it would be possible?”

Please say yes.

The girl was a gossip machine, but I couldn’t think of anyone else to ask for help in the whole city. In the whole world.

“How long will you stay?” The fear in her voice was tangible. She was terrified I would crash on her couch with my offspring for years, right between the Blessed sign and the chalk paint dresser. Our presence there was going to ruin her modern farmhouse decoration.

“Just for one week. I need to find a place of my own, but I hope Mark and I can reach an agreement until then. I’m sure little Andy will be happy to have someone to play with, don’t you think?” May had a four-year-old boy, so this wasn’t completely implausible.

“Yes, Alba, of course,” she said tightly, after a very brief pause. “Come whenever you want.”

***

BEFORE WE GOT OUT OF the taxi, I explained to the children that they weren’t supposed to tell anyone about our secret little vacation in The Cloister. After a few minutes of conversation, I remembered that tricking toddlers into lying was never an easy task, and ended up resorting to reality-bending methods:

“You can tell daddy and May about the nice hotel we stayed in, okay? Tell them about the skylight on the ceiling, and the fun things nanny Francesca taught you.”

But maybe skip the stories about Dracula and walking under Saint Anne’s cemetery, will you?

“You can also tell daddy about the pretty garden with sculptures,” I added for good measure, as we approached May Yang’s house, and I prepared myself mentally for lots of kissing, hugging and feigned excitement.

“You can use our guest room,” May said, opening the door of a frilly pink bedroom, which triggered a stream of “awes” and “ahs” from the girls. If only adults were so easy to please―I wished my life could get better just by looking at lacy curtains.

“May, this is really kind of you,” I said with sincerity, leaving my bags by the bed. She hugged me once more and let out a theatrical sigh.

“We are together in this,” she whispered, giving me a weak high five. “You know,” she walked around the room, emptying a few drawers to make space for our things, “Han and I are having problems, too. And you know what they say... I’ll scratch your back, and you scratch mine.”

“Right now I have nothing to scratch your back with, but I hope Mark and I will work something out,” I said gloomily. Although I could ask Jean-Pierre to scratch her with his claws if she wanted.

“When are you going to see Mark?” May asked, leaving a few clean towels on the bed.

“Now,” I said, and I hugged her once more before leaving the house with my daughters.

Chapter 26

Alba

Mark’s car was in the driveway, but the whole house was so dark that, for a second, I wondered whether he had vampires staying over.

Inside, all the curtains were drawn and blocked out the blazing sun. The only light was the flashing of the TV screen, which was showcasing violent movie scenes as we entered. My husband was lying on the couch in an unrefined posture, right next to what I had taken to call Mark’s Altar: a collection of football trophies and pictures of his various life achievements, which adorned the mantelpiece since we had moved in. Those items were a subtle statement and had nothing to do with decorating: their sole mission was telling the world that the man of the house was a person accustomed to winning, with no intentions of adding the word defeat to his polished vocabulary.

Mark wasn’t expecting us until a couple of days later, and it wasn’t by chance that I hadn’t warned him of our arrival. All in all, it was still my house, and it felt wrong to seek his permission; and also, I didn’t want to lose the small advantage of catching him unprepared―his spontaneous outbreaks were bad enough already.

“Hi, Mark,” I muttered fearfully, approaching him from behind and waiting next to the TV, but careful not to obstruct his vision. Years of cohabitation had taught me to avoid unnecessary battles, and I was terrified of how he would react when he saw me.

Mark jolted in his seat, realizing he wasn’t alone anymore, and extended his hand towards the remote to turn off the TV. Iris and Katie greeted him excitedly, but he just detached them from his pants and stared at me.

It was strange to find him home at 11 AM on a weekday, so I wondered whether he had been sick. He was wearing track pants and his chin showed an unusual shadow of stubble―all of that was a rare sight in my otherwise perfectionist husband. Taking in his disheveled looks, I felt a sudden pang of guilt. Was it my fault that he had let himself go like that? Had my departure hurt him so much?

“Have you been all right?” I asked tentatively, keeping the distance between us. The girls ran upstairs to their room, happy to be reunited with their old toys, and left us alone in the living room.

Mark ignored the question and stood up, pacing in my direction. The tension between us felt like a quickly thickening fog.

“Where have you been?” he snarled, his face almost crashing against mine as he leaped toward me and tried to wrap his arms around my back.

I stepped back and gulped.

“I told you, we went on a little vacation. I needed time to think. But we’re back, as promised.”

“Did you miss me?” he said, licking his lips, and I held his gaze without answering. “You were with that guy, weren’t you? The one who gave you a shiner?” I recoiled a few steps more until I bumped against the dining table. “Sounds like a romantic. Is he good in bed?”

“Mark!” I shouted, aggrieved, as I scurried toward the door. “That’s none of your business!”

“I would digress, but okay.” His eyes narrowed and gleamed, full of badly concealed secrets. “The papers are waiting on the kitchen table,” he said, his towering figure looming over me like a bad omen and blocking the door. “You can read them now, and I’ll have them mailed officially to you later. Just sign everything, and I will leave you alone. Happy?”

It sounded tempting.

No more yelling. No more crying in the pantry or looking back in fear while walking on the street.

Just a signature, and everything would be over for good.

“Good. But I'm not signing anything without reading it first.” I exhaled slowly to calm down my labored breathing.

“It’s just a freaking divorce petition, for God’s sake,” he snapped. “It’s not like you are selling me your soul.”

No, because that I already gave you for free.

He moved aside and let me enter the kitchen, where a stack of papers was already waiting for me in a folder with the logo of his office. A pot of cold coffee lay on the counter, and I poured myself a full cup before starting to read.

“Oh my God,” I gasped, studying his absurd divorce petition with incredulity. The long list of allegations against me included accusations of deserting and mistreating him, neglecting the children, behaving unreasonably and―best of all―ongoing and repeated adultery during our marriage. The agreement let him keep the kids and the house in exchange for overlooking all my alleged felonies.

Holding that stack of lies in my hands, I couldn’t help but wonder how I had ever considered that same man my pillar, my life companion and my one and only ally. Who was that stranger standing in front of me?

“This is a bunch of lies,” I muttered, shaking my head in disbelief, sipping the horribly stale brew and spitting it back into the cup.

He had been generous enough to leave me a small apartment we owned in Boston, which was currently rented by bankrupt tenants who hadn't paid a penny for the last six months, but also refused to leave the premises. Mark could have kicked them out in five days if he had wanted to, but he never cared to do it. It seemed to be his last and final joke: he would leave me virtually homeless, but I’d still own a home on the papers. After all these years, he was striving to fully ruin my life, not only taking away my kids, but even the very roof over my head.

He just smirked and tilted his head with feigned innocence.

“Mark, I can’t sign this. Child neglect? Adultery? Have you lost your mind?” I didn’t know whether to cry or laugh hysterically.

“You don’t have to sign now, just wait for me to send it, will you? Just wanted to see your face... because, you know... it’s priceless.”

“I’m never signing this,” I managed to say, then shoved the papers into his chest, but he put them back on the table and pushed them toward me.

“You will, my darling,” he said in a threatening tone. “You’ll see.” He was grinning now, like he had total control over the situation.

Making use of the last bit of bravery inside me, I threw the papers into the sink and poured the hideous coffee over them, cursing through gritted teeth as I held back the tears.

“Too bitter for your taste?” he said, leaning against the kitchen counter and watching me with smugness.

With a growl, I walked out, throwing my arms in the air in surrender. I went upstairs, determined to lock myself in the bathroom and run a really long hot bath to help me forget about everything and everyone.

A lavender smell floated in the air as I entered the bedroom, and the pillows were so carefully arranged on the duvet that it looked like a picture from an interior design magazine. Mark must have hired cleaning staff, because the last time I’d checked, he wasn’t even able to fold his own pajamas in half.

I opened the small closet by the sink and stared inside, not sure what I was searching for.

After shave.

Hand cream.

Soap.

Red lipstick.

Wait, what?

I hadn’t worn make up in five years, let alone red lipstick. That thing was definitely not mine.

Feeling slightly paranoid, I took a deep breath and dove halfheartedly into the trash bin.

Tissues.

Dental floss.

Condom wraps

Oh, gross.

Using the tips of my fingers, I tried not to flinch as I picked up the revolting evidence, together with the lipstick, and put it all in a plastic bag.

***

I HAD NO IDEA WHAT to do with the stuff I had just found, but I kept it in the hopes that it might end up being useful. Mark had accused me of adultery in his divorce petition―how, when and with whom, I still had no clue―but I wasn’t going to sit back and let him destroy my life if there was anything I could do about it.

I needed to think, and walking outside alone usually helped with that―the bath would have to wait.

The air was suffocatingly hot as I followed the path which led out of our upscale family neighborhood and to the riverbanks. Even in my light linen dress, I started to sweat copiously under the midday sun. Seemingly, one didn’t even need to be a vampire to burn alive in Emberbury.

I strolled down the road, seeking the shadow and thinking about my favorite spot by the river: a nook under a blood-red maple, near the old wooden bridge. I still hadn’t decided whether I was furious, sad or simply numb.

Neglect. Mistreatment. Adultery.

Was he even serious?

Did he have any plans to prove all those accusations, or was he going to blackmail me into signing in some uncanny way?

The riverbanks were deserted at midday, and the grass was yellow and parched. The water level was very low, even for this time of the year, and I remembered strolling along that same riverside many years ago. It had been a glorious spring day, when I was still pregnant with my first child, and I had wandered carelessly, full of hopes and dreams that never came to fruition. A monarch butterfly had landed on my belly, and back then, I had taken it as a sign of good luck and hope.

Now there were no butterflies to be seen, and nothing to hope for, either. Bare survival suddenly seemed like a very attractive option.

A loud crack swept me out of my reverie: my foot had got stuck in a hole in the middle of the gravel path. I cursed, wondering what had gotten into me that morning when I had chosen the most complex Roman sandals in the planet before leaving The Cloister. I crouched down to untangle the heel, but it was beyond repair. With a sigh, I turned around and started to walk back.

I wasn’t excited about treading barefoot on the scorching curbside, so I tied the sandal to my foot and dragged myself back at snail speed, as the asphalt became soft and created mirages in front of my eyes with the looming midday.

It took me almost an hour to get back to the house, and by the time I reached it, Mark’s car wasn’t parked in the driveway anymore.

I held my breath, knowing instantly that something was wrong, very wrong.

When my key didn’t want to slide into the lock, I realized Mark wasn’t just gone―he had also managed to lock me out of my own house. That bastard, who hadn’t been able to change a single toilet paper roll for the time we had been married, had managed to install a new lock in the time I had been away. I knocked on the windows, but nobody answered. He must have packed the kids into the car and taken them to God-knows-where.

And all those feats in the time it had taken me to get to the riverbanks and back.

It was astonishing.

If I hadn’t been so outraged, I would have been impressed by his newly discovered skillfulness.

A desperate growl left my throat, and I slid against the doorframe, sheltered under the shadow of our lovely front porch.

And then it sank in.

My children were gone.

My sweet little girls.

The only thing I still had.

The street was empty, with everybody inside enjoying their air conditioning, so I allowed my face to find refuge in the palms of my hands, knowing that nobody would see me.

And then, on the balmy wooden floor, I allowed myself to break down for the things I never achieved and the ones I lost, and especially for the children I hadn’t had a chance to kiss goodbye.

Chapter 27

Clarence

“Don’t.” Jean-Pierre said.

Fiadh, the Irish waitress, was lying limp in my arms, a couple of bites away from eternal peace. I didn’t remember how she had ended up on that grassy mound. I didn’t recall luring her there―maybe it had been she who lured me in the first place, as I wandered in despair around Saint Anne’s, in the dazed agony which followed after reading Alba’s goodbye note and confronting Elizabeth about it.

Alba hadn’t mentioned her reasons. However, they weren’t hard to guess after the way she had looked at me before running away from my suite. The horror I had seen in those eyes would forever haunt me as proof of what others really saw in me.

To say I was devastated after my conversation with Elizabeth would have been an understatement. She had lost her patience with Alba. She wanted me to erase her memories.

Her memories of The Cloister.

Of everything we’d been through together.

Her memories... of me.

And if I didn’t manage, death penalty was the standard punishment for humans who knew too much.

I owed my second chance at life to Elizabeth.

A life I had never wanted.

Just like I had sent Rose Auberon to her demise, my touch had once again become a kiss of death for an innocent. Whatever I cared for was always destined to damnation. I should have let Alba be, instead of succumbing to temptation and sentencing yet another guiltless creature. Had I been strong enough, she would still be there, pacing the halls of The Cloister with her shy smile and that tousled hair of hers.

But now she was gone for good, and just the thought of losing her was enough to send me down the rabbit hole of madness.

As soon as I had comprehended the scope of my mistakes, the beast inside had taken hold of me once more. This time I had allowed it to, watching it like a mere spectator.

The hands about to finish that blameless woman’s life weren’t mine anymore: they were the beast’s.

“Why shouldn’t I, Jean-Pierre?” I turned around to look at the monk, who had appeared out of nowhere. He must have been following me. “We are monsters, and that’s what monsters do,” I said grimly.

“Because you can do better.”

“You and I have killed enough humans in the past to earn our passage to hell a hundred times. Tell me, Brother Mercier, who are you to moralize?”

“I’m your friend.”

I snarled, letting go of the sleeping waitress and collapsing on all fours on the ground. Jean-Pierre stood beside me with his arms crossed, expectant.

“You aren’t any better,” I growled, the grass scratching my face.

Jean-Pierre took the waitress’ pulse and exhaled with relief. Then he threw her over his shoulder and started to walk away.

“But I never strove to be a Robin Hood, remember?” he said meaningfully, his voice fading away. “You did. And you still can.”

Chapter 28

Alba

It was lunchtime when I finally wiped my nose on my sleeve and gathered the courage to go seek refuge―and food―at the Yang house.

May was holding a glass of lemonade―or was it actually a margarita?―as she came to open the door in a lace dress which might have fit one of my kids’ Barbies. She stood in the foyer, blocking the way with her small-framed body, and something in her wary attitude told me that Mark had also found the time to talk to her about me before his departure.

“Laura is mopping the floor,” May said, which in housewife slang meant don’t you even think about stepping in until it gets dry.

“I left my phone charging in your guestroom,” I said, seeing no Laura and no signs of wet tiles.

“I will fetch it for you,” May said, finishing her suspicious lemonade in one massive gulp. “Wait here.”

She closed the door in my face.

A black cat jumped on a wicker rocking chair on the porch and started to purr at me from the green and white striped pillows.

“Hey there!” I called, ducking my head to check the animal’s eye color. Sure enough, it had purple golden eyes. “Here, kitty, kitty! Is it you, Miss Jilly?”

After a minute, May was back, holding my phone with the charger swinging like a dead mouse below it. She had also brought a greasy paper bag decorated with red Chinese characters and all my bags on her back.

“Why are you talking to a chair?” she said, looking perplexed, as she handed me the phone.

“I’m talking to the cat over there. It’s my daughters’ cat.”

“Alba, there’s nothing there, but Mark told me about the drinking. If you need help...”

“What? No!” I grimaced and walked over to the rocking chair, decided to grab the cat and dangle it in front of May Yang’s face if necessary. But Miss Jilly jumped into the wall and literally passed through it like it was a water curtain.

I blinked. “Never mind. It went away.”

May pursed her lips, looking worried. “I thought you might be hungry, so I got you Sichuan beans. No garlic,” she said, thrusting the bag against my chest, but avoiding my eyes. “And I need to tell you something... my mother just called. She’s going to stay with us for a while, so I’ll need the guest bedroom. I couldn’t say no to her.”

“Oh, I understand, it’s okay.” I couldn’t believe this was happening. This sudden change in May’s attitude stank of Mark’s doing, too.

May left the luggage at my feet noiselessly, making it clear that from that moment on, I had become persona non grata in her house.

“When did you see Mark?”

That asshole hadn’t lost a second.

He had even managed to warn the neighbors against me.

May opened her mouth and closed it again, which made her look like a choking fish.

“Mark?” she said, with feigned candor, “I haven’t seen him for weeks. It’s not like he visits often. You should know that.”

“Did he call you, then?”

She remained silent.

“Whatever he told you, I probably didn’t do it,” I said with a sigh, folding the top of the Chinese takeaway as my hopes to get an ally―and a place to stay―evaporated.

“Of course not,” she said. She made no effort to deny anything.

“Did he tell you where he took the kids?”

May stared at me blankly, looking like she was about to cry. “I know nothing. I promise.”

“Okay. I’m leaving now. Say hi to your mom,” I said, turning around with all my bags over my shoulder and ignoring her surprised expression at the mention of her mother―who obviously wasn’t coming any time soon.

“Thank you, I will,” she answered, composing herself quickly. “You take care of yourself, Alba.”

Chapter 29

Alba

Lightning flashed, scattering a flock of larks like crumbs in the sky. I searched for ravens among them, but there were none. Summer rainfall used to be one of my favorite weather occurrences, back when I used to have a roof over my head. As a newly homeless person, they didn’t seem so enticing anymore.

I ran to my porch when the first drops hit the ground, and I managed to throw the bags in front of the locked door. A second later, the dark clouds herded in a looming black mass and crashed in resounding thunder. Buckets of water started to pour down the gutters, filling the air with the refreshing scent of wet grass and mud, and I decided to sit on the entry bench and wait for the storm to pass.

Julia’s diary was still in my bag, so I took it out and kept on reading.

August 16th, 1972

The pain inside my chest won’t go away. I was at the doctor’s, and they ordered a few more tests. The nurse looked at me encouragingly and said I shouldn’t worry because I’m too young for it to be serious.

Hopefully, she’s right.

I’ve been buying all the books I could find about witches and vampires. So far, apart from the little success I had with Kodrinova’s obscure manual, all I found were made up stories. I’m starting to lose faith. Hopefully, I’ll find a useful grimoire or at least a witch’s cookbook at the flea market before I’m too old to read without a magnifying glass.

November 3rd, 1972

My heart is not in good shape, and Doctor McKenzie wants me on bed rest. He mentioned an operation, but I’m too scared so I convinced him to postpone it. Elizabeth is going to use her contacts to get me a second opinion in the meantime.

On the bright side, I’ll have an abundance of free time to read all my antique shop finds.

March 26th, 1973

I’m feeling so much better now that spring is back. It’s been a hard winter. Back on my feet and to my job duties. It seems the new medication is working well, and Doctor McKenzie assured me I’m going to live to see my grandchildren’s children. He made me laugh with his comment. If only he knew that it wasn’t a happy laugh.

May 17th, 1977

Yesterday, I found the most interesting notebook collection at an antiquarian. They had already saved it for me under the counter because they know me as “the lady who always searches for esoteric manuscripts.”

June 21st, 1980

Bed rest can be so tedious. I miss getting outside, and I can’t even open the skylight myself, which means I’m trapped in the darkness day and night, because none of the vampires can do it for me, either.

A couple of steps tire me to the point where I feel like fainting, despite swallowing at least seventeen different pills every morning.

I have a feeling my days on this earth are numbered, and it feels like a failure not having been able to live up to the inheritance I supposedly carry.

My blood may be sour and revolting for my vampire companions, but real magic has mostly eluded me all my life. Now, I can’t even walk down the corridor without panting. I doubt I’ll manage to unveil the mystery soon enough.

February 3rd, 1981

Francesca has taken to visiting me every afternoon, which makes my days a bit brighter. She’s surprisingly warm-hearted, and she takes care of me in a way which would beat the most loving nurse.

I don’t want to die alone in a hospital, and these vampires are the only thing I have left in the world.

And I miss Ludovic. I miss him so much. I wonder where he is, and why he never wrote back.

I feel I’m too young to die, but Death’s bony fingers keep approaching. Francesca has offered to arrange a beautiful funeral for me. She promised to make sure my grave always has fresh flowers. The way she talks about death, it sounds like she almost yearns for it. She told me I can’t rest at St. Anne’s, so I’m bound to spend the rest of eternity next to Gabriel, in Saint Emery by the Sea.

I lifted my eyes from Julia’s writing, suddenly baffled. Who was Ludovic, and who was Gabriel? I had assumed Ludovic was Julia’s deceased husband. Things were getting confusing, but I had nobody to ask anymore.

February 28th, 1981

Francesca is so loving; she sometimes feels like a mother to me, despite her deceivingly young appearance.

Tonight, she admitted she envied me. She said she wished she’d lived a full life and earned a peaceful death. She says I should be grateful, because I will soon be reunited with the love of my life.

Then I cried. Not for my vanishing life, but for the love I never had.

And as she left my room, the tingling in my arms got so strong that I could see it, lighting the room with a green glow. Still crying, I realized what I had been doing wrong all these years. The answer had been there all the time, but I had been blind to it...

A loud meow interrupted me just as I was about to turn the page.

“Miss Jilly,” I whispered.

The elusive cat was sitting on the grass under the pouring rain, meowing at me. Its eyes shone like gold and purple mirrors in the cloudy afternoon, reflecting the distant lightning, but its fur was oddly dry, and the raindrops passed through its body like it wasn’t even there.

“You are a strange cat, did you know?”

Miss Jilly let out a long, urgent sound and started to walk away, waving its glossy black tail at me.

“And you are crazy if you think I’m following you in the middle of this downpour,” I added with narrowed eyes.

Miss Jilly meowed once again, and stared at me with such an intelligent, human look, that I thought for a second that she was about to say something. She didn’t, but she still managed to freak me out. I slapped Julia’s diary shut, wondering whether I was on the verge of madness.

“Okay, whatever. It’s not like I have anywhere better to be anyway,” I muttered, and sticking the notebook back into my bag, I left the safety of my porch and immersed myself in the torrential rain.

***

AFTER FOLLOWING THAT cat into the deluge for just a couple of minutes, I looked like I had just been disqualified from a wet t-shirt contest. It didn’t help that my dress was flimsy and yellow, and now also see-through, and that my speed was hindered due to having only one operational shoe left. Why didn’t I change shoes before leaving the porch?

Miss Jilly skipped over the puddles without a single splash, always pausing to look back and check on me. Finally, she made a halt next to a bus stop and waited for me on the metal bench. As soon as I stepped under the shelter, she vanished into thin air.

“Well, if that wasn’t weird,” I gasped. The unpredictable antics of that ghostly cat were going to cost me my sanity.

I sat under the small shelter of the bus stop and waited for the rainstorm to stop. Meanwhile, I inspected my handbag, and noticed with consternation that everything inside it was soaking wet―including Julia’s diary.

I opened the notebook, taking good care not to tear the damp pages; but the ink had already started to get blurry. Carefully, I skimmed up to my last read page, right where Miss Jilly had interrupted me, and continued:

...I have been sourcing my energy from hatred and wrath, and I achieved small results, but never the big accomplishments I always dreamed of.

Life has a cruel sense of humor, though: now that I finally found out where I went wrong, I’m about to be engulfed by darkness.

Hopefully, this diary will help whoever takes up the baton after me, now that this discovery can’t help me anymore.

That was the end of Julia’s diary.

I closed the notebook and pondered my predecessor’s words. If I understood correctly, she had managed to wake up her magic in a fit of rage. I had also felt such energy a couple of times: once when fighting Mark; the other in that home improvement store. Both times, it had been relatively easy to allow the fear and hatred to flow and even materialize into fiery sparks. What she was implying, though, seemed much harder to achieve. Especially in the current situation.

“Julia,” I said aloud, as the rain poured like angels’ tears down the lonely glass shelter, “wherever you are, I beg you, help me. I have nothing left in the world. Mark has taken away the house, the children, and even the access to our bank account. I don’t know where to go or what to do. If you can hear me, please, give me a sign, because otherwise, I think I will go crazy... if I haven’t already.”

The rain kept falling ruthlessly. After a while, I forgot about my hopeless plea. It was getting chilly at the bus stop and I just wanted to go home―if only I knew where that was.

The lights of an approaching intercity bus turned the rain into drops of golden fire. The long vehicle appeared unexpectedly from behind a row of houses, and stopped at a red traffic light, giving me just enough time to decipher the big rectangular sign on its front. Its final destination was written in square, greenish letters, and it was Saint Emery by the Sea.

I knew that town: it was a small place a couple of hours away. I sensed there had to be something significant about it: something important I was missing.

The damp diary became heavy in my hands, and I remembered Julia’s words just as the vehicle went past the stop without halting:

I’m bound to spend the rest of eternity next to Gabriel, in Saint Emery by the Sea.

That couldn’t be a coincidence.

I stood up and ran, waving my arms wildly at the bus driver.

“Wait! Stop!” I shouted.

The vehicle jolted and pulled over abruptly, just a couple of yards ahead of me. The doors opened with a deep hiss which sounded like a mammoth groaning.

“An awful day, huh?” the driver said, as I crept up the stairs and climbed into the empty bus.

“You have no idea.” I panted, taking a wet dollar out of my wallet. “The worst ever.”

***

I HAD BEEN TO SAINT Emery with my grandmother, and I could still remember perfectly where the only church in town was. It was a small white building with a blue roof and a pointed bell tower, which looked sinister and decrepit under the ongoing harsh storm. The cemetery was right behind it, protected by an iron gate.

When I arrived, after a two-hour ride, the gates were already locked, and I stood futilely in front of the timetable, half barefoot and with drenched clumps of hair sticking to my cheeks. Perhaps it hadn’t been too smart to just show up there without a plan. I still hadn’t received my first paycheck, and sacrificing part of my limited budget to pay for a hotel sounded sacrilegious.

Still, something inside my heart kept repeating that it was imperative for me to visit Julia’s resting place as soon as possible.

I strolled around the fence, wondering whether small town graveyards had video surveillance. Given the hideous weather, there was nobody around; still, jumping over a cemetery gate at night wasn’t exactly on my bucket list. If I were to be caught by the police, Mark was going to be ecstatic to have one more piece of evidence to use against me in court.

The gate was made of black wrought iron; I circled it warily and studied its intricate and wavy shapes. There had to be a way to get in there discreetly, leaving no traces. The lowest and most accessible point happened to be right next to a tree, and I took the happy coincidence as a go sign. Under the tree there was a wooden bench, and I stepped first on it, and then onto a branch. First, I passed one leg over the fence; then the other, until I found myself with both feet dangling in the air with nothing to prop myself onto on the other side. To make things worse, the lacy back of my dress got stuck among the spears that adorned the top of the metallic fence.

“Damn!” I muttered, struggling to detangle my clothes from the spears. In the meantime, my handbag slipped to the other side. It hit a black granite headstone shaped like a rose bouquet and its contents spilled all over the wet grass.

In a matter of seconds, I had become a human skewer dangling over a cemetery fence. Not only that, all my personal belongings were now spread on the ground below me.

So much for going in discreetly and leaving no traces.

This was getting worse by the moment.

I only needed the cops to show up and my evening would be complete.

My dress tore as I pulled at the airy fabric. At the same time, I lost my grasp on the ironwork bars and fell into the graveyard, right next to my handbag. My body hit the soft grassy ground with a brief thump, and I rolled on my back until I felt the cold surface of a tombstone on my skin. I remained there in a fetal position, holding my knees with my arms as I assessed the state of my bones.

Nothing broken.

Except my heart maybe, but what else could you expect from the only living person lying on a tombstone ten minutes before midnight.

Under the gushing rain, no less.

I didn’t hear the wings flapping, but the dusty white cloud was enough to get me out of my dark trance of self-pity.

“I had a feeling that I would find you here,” Francesca’s voice said. She was standing right next to me, wearing a black cloak. Her drenched hair peeped disorderly from beneath the hood, turned a dark honey shade as it had been wet by the rain.

“Francesca,” I said, crawling over the gravestone to reach her feet. She was carrying a small bouquet of peonies and looked just like Dracula’s bride.

“You really shouldn’t step on that,” she said with a wince, pointing at the names carved on the black stone:

Gabriel Reighton 1918-1944

Julia Reighton 1923-1981

“Julia’s tomb,” I muttered, and Francesca nodded.

I had found her.

Silently, I ducked my head and bowed to my predecessor.

“Why are you here?” I asked the beautiful vampire next to me.

“I like this place,” she said, smelling the peonies with her eyes closed. She really looked like she belonged there. “And I already told you―I came here to find you.”

“Why?” I stood up and tried to rearrange my dress, so that it would at least cover my bra.

“Because those wussy vampires are getting on my nerves, and there isn’t enough whiskey in Emberbury to muffle their whining.”

I let out a languid chuckle. “Is Elizabeth angry at me because I left so unexpectedly?”

Francesca lifted her face from the flowers, her eyes glimmering with incredulity. “Angry? She’s livid. And you have been banished from The Cloister forever, by the way.”

“Banished?” I blinked. “Like in... never come back again?”

“No, banished like in ‘send Clarence to wipe out all your memories or kill you if he can’t erase them.’”

My heart stopped, and I stared blankly at Francesca, unable to speak.

“I know,” she said, impassive, “I don’t think he will be able to, either. Your memories go too far into the past for him to erase them. It’s akin to a death sentence, in my opinion.”

“Oh my God.” I covered my mouth in horror.

Francesca shrugged, letting the hood fall over her back and revealing her exotic half-Slavic, half-Mediterranean features. “So, baby witch, what are you going to do?”

The rain had started to abate, and a puff of air sent a shiver down my soaked spine.

“I don’t know,” I said, trying not to sob. “Everything is falling apart around me. I don’t even know why I’m here.”

“You are here because you don’t want to give up. And because you didn’t really want to leave, did you? We need you, and you need us. Why in the world did you think sneaking out like that would be a good idea? Have people totally lost their manners in the 21st century?”

“No!” I held my forehead in my hands. “I mean, I don’t know. I was scared. And confused.”

“It was Clarence, wasn’t it?” Her face bore a clear ‘I told you’ look.

“I found out he abused Julia.” I sobbed, sitting next to Francesca on the wet grass. “I read it in her diary.”

“I strongly doubt that,” Francesca said, narrowing her eyes. “We are vampires, so you can imagine we all carry our fair share of crimes on our shoulders,” her tone was distant, haughty, “but certain things are off limits in The Cloister. I doubt he would ever lay a hand on Julia, let alone harm her. Particularly not Julia, given her past history.” She pointed at the wet grave with her chin. “Still, shouldn’t you discuss this with him instead of me? There must be a reason you care so much about that, particularly now that Julia is gone.”

Francesca kneeled over Julia’s resting place, and her cloak spread out wide behind her. She placed the flowers over the tombstone and muttered a prayer in Italian.

“What was she like?” I asked, tracing the names engraved on the stone with the tips of my fingers. A drop of water traveled down the narrow ridges of letter J, reminding me of a labyrinth game from my childhood.

“She was like you,” Francesca said with a wistful smile, which somehow softened her lofty expression.

“Like me?”

“Her eyes were like yours.”

“Do you mean they were a mixture of muddy brown and tadpole green?”

She ignored my self-deprecating joke and continued most earnestly, staring so deep into my eyes that I swayed back. “We vampires can’t look at ourselves in a mirror, but our reflections are clearly visible in a witch’s irises. Seeing them again makes us feel slightly more human.” Francesca definitely didn’t look very human that night, with her otherworldly paleness causing her to blend in perfectly with the statues of the graveyard. “Some of us relish that feeling, and others... well, not so much. But generally, ordinary witches aren’t exactly thrilled to let vampires get close enough to admire their pretty reflections in their irises.”

“I didn’t know that,” I conceded.

“No, of course you didn’t. And I’m certain Clarence finds that occurrence as fascinating as I do: seeing himself in a mirror must have felt like time travel to him.” She chuckled. “I know it’s like that for me. But a pretty picture is not enough to heal a broken soul, and until the unlikely day when he deals with all his past junk, he’s going to remain too volatile for his own good. And for yours.”

“Sorry, I’m not sure I’m following.”

“No. That’s probably why Lillian saw you fleeing Clarence’s suite in tears,” Francesca drawled, arching an eyebrow. I suddenly hated all vampire females for some obscure reason.

“That must have been the same day she kindly informed me that you two used to be together,” I said warily. “Sorry to ask, but given your willingness to give me advice... aren’t you afraid of his... volatility?” I asked, turning my ache into bravery.

Francesca smiled. “Oh, I can take care of myself, trust me.” The rain had stopped, and the cemetery had become suddenly silent. She lowered her voice. “And anyway, not that I’m fussy, but men are usually not my first choice.”

I looked at the beautiful vampire in front of me and nodded in understanding, feeling relieved by her revelation. A gush of rainwater ran down the roof of a small mausoleum behind us, sounding like a watery sigh.

“Although,” she continued cautiously, waving her index finger in the air, “I see no reason to lie to you just to spare your feelings. Lillian was right in that Clarence and I have comforted each other on occasion throughout the decades. Fidelity and monogamy are not exactly a must in the vampire world, you know?” She batted her eyelashes mischievously. “And time drifts away very slowly when you have too much of it on your hands.”

“I see.” My shoulders sagged miserably, even though I had no right―or reason―to feel jealous.

“You read like an open book.” A half smile twisted Francesca’s crimson lips. “Humans can be such entertaining company, especially when you don’t feel the urge to eat them. I really don’t blame him for his infatuation with you.”

“Yes. I’m sure you find everything so hilarious.” I stood up and put my hands on my hips. I wasn’t very tall, but I could easily tower over tiny Francesca if I wanted to. “Is that why you came? To make fun of me, like Lillian? To mock the stupid human who got scared and ran away?”

“No. I came to help you,” she answered, unfazed. “There are not many stray witches left, and even fewer who would be willing to bury themselves in The Cloister and help Elizabeth keep her million-dollar businesses afloat. And I hate it when Elizabeth loses money. It makes her presence unbearable.”

“Okay, then,” I said. “If you came to help me, then do it. What should I do?”

“Well, let me see.” Francesca gazed at the sky, like searching for answers. “Elizabeth is mad at you. You have affronted her, abused her hospitality and run into the world with forbidden knowledge of our kind. Very, very bad.” She clicked her tongue. “But she is also oddly fond of Clarence, and―” she winced, “she respects his opinion, for some bizarre reason. He can persuade her to forgive you and take you back.”

“I’m not very comfortable with the idea of talking to someone whose mission is to erase my memories and/or kill me.”

“Find him before he finds you. Confront him outside, in broad daylight. Tomorrow morning, or as soon as you can. As ravens, we are weak, and any injuries take long to heal. I’m not telling you to harm him, of course, but that will give you an advantage over him. He won’t be able to use oblivion on you or stop you from running away if you need to.” She caressed my cheek motherly. "That’s what I would do; but then, I’m not too attached to life on this plane anymore.”

I nodded. “Okay. Do you know where he is?”

“He could be looking for you behind that tree or searching for new stray witches in New Zealand. He’s a scout, and that often makes him hard to locate. Sometimes he leaves, and we don’t see him for weeks. And he was a bit distressed after you left, so he might be seeking consolation in the arms and blood of a fair damsel... or gentleman.”

She laughed, but I didn’t.

“Please spare me the details,” I implored.

A flashlight flickered on the other side of the graveyard, and I remembered that all my belongings were still laying over the grass. I jumped on my knees and started to pick them up frantically, throwing everything hurriedly into my drenched bag as the sound of steps approached.

“I’m getting thirsty,” Francesca said, smacking her lips and wiping the grass off the rim of her cloak. “I’ll see you at The Cloister. Or maybe not.”

And then she disappeared into a cloud of dirty white smoke, leaving me soaked and alone by Julia’s tomb.

The flashlight was getting closer, and the broad figure of a hunched man became clearer against the dark background: it must be the graveyard’s custodian, going for a routine night round. I jumped behind Julia’s grave and watched him, hoping he wouldn’t notice me.

Panting sounds alerted me that the man wasn’t alone. To my dismay, he was accompanied by a dog. And not just a dog, but a monstrous, thumping German shepherd with a mouth the size of a picnic basket and the restlessness of a wolf in search of a victim to eat for dinner.

“Who’s there?” the man shouted. The dog huffed and sniffed the grass like crazy, darting in my direction. When the animal found Francesca’s bunch of peonies, it started to munch on them mercilessly, shredding the petals to bits and spreading them all over the tombstone. Meanwhile, the guard strolled around and flashed his light over Julia’s grave.

I remained still, holding my breath.

The man crouched and retrieved a fallen object from the ground―my wallet!

No, please, don’t take it.

“Wow, what do we have here?” He opened the main pocket, his eyes sparkling with greed as he noticed a wad of cash Elizabeth had given me to buy some books. “Such a nice surprise!”

A small raven, which could only be Francesca, shrieked in the sky, causing the man to turn his face upwards. The bird plunged and started to attack the dog with its beak, biting and poking until the animal let go of the peonies. Then, she picked up the remaining flowers with her claws and hovered menacingly over the man and his dog, pushing them away from Julia’s tomb.

“That one’s possessed by the devil for sure,” the custodian said, taking all the money in my wallet and recoiling swiftly to the place he had come from. “C’mon, Toby, let’s go back. It’s freaking creepy out here tonight.”

Chapter 30

Alba

Getting out of the enclosed graveyard was easier than I expected, even in a barefoot and partly naked state.

Checking the contents of my handbag, I skipped along the cemetery fence, hoping not to bump into any locals in that disheveled state. I had lost the bag with the evidence of Mark’s cheating, but there was no way I was jumping over that fence once again.

A few yards ahead, I saw two women leaning against the wall, and I swiftly crossed to the other side of the road to avoid meeting them face to face. But as soon as they noticed me changing sides, they did the same. Their appearance was outright disturbing, especially because they were carrying large wooden staffs with large crystals on top and golden snakes coiled around them. Judging by the looming sensation that pervaded me in their vicinity, they must be witches. The real kind, not like me.

I turned around, decided to flee, just to find two more people hard on my heels. They were coming from the opposite side.

“Excuse me, madam,” one of them said. A policeman. His voice was raspy and authoritarian. A few steps behind him, a policewoman followed with her right hand resting discreetly on the handle of a weapon.

Damn. They must have seen me jump over the fence of the graveyard, and my scruffy attire probably wasn’t working in my favor, either.

Terrified to be caught trespassing, I started to walk faster.

“Police! Stop!” the policeman shouted at me.

The idea of getting arrested, especially with Mark digging for evidence to use against me in court, was enough to turn my feet into wings. Being taken into custody wouldn’t end well for me: I needed to flee.

I took a turn into a row of houses and ran from the four people following me: the witches on the left; the police on the right.

“Stop immediately!” the policewoman yelled.

Before I had time to decide, she shot into the air from afar. Perhaps she was just trying to startle me, but it worked. I fell on my knees and raised my hands in surrender.

“Please, I’m not dangerous,” I shouted in an unsteady voice, watching them approach.

“Handcuff her,” the policewoman said, and her male companion obliged. The cuffs were cold, and they pierced the skin of my bony wrists.

“Why did you run away, madam?” the man asked me as he threw me into the police car. “Do you know that’s considered arrest evasion?”

“There were two... women following me, and I got scared,” I said, pointing toward the cemetery gate.

“So you jumped over a cemetery gate to escape two ladies? Well, that’s a bit weird, isn’t it?” The policeman raised an eyebrow. “Can you describe the assailants? Because we didn’t see anyone but you. Did they try to attack you?”

I bit my lip. “They didn’t do anything to me. They were just leaning against that wall and were carrying large wooden staffs...”

“Staffs?” The policeman narrowed his eyes. “What kind of staffs?”

“Like the ones owned by wizards... with golden snakes and shining crystals on top...”

“She’ll need to take a drug test at the station, Wendy,” the man said, turning to his companion, and he closed the door of the police car with an irritated puff.

***

“THIS WAY,” THE POLICEWOMAN said, helping me through the glass doors of the police station with a gentle push.

This couldn’t be happening to me.

“Trespassing... resisting law enforcement...” The other policeman was talking to someone behind me, but his voice sounded like he was inside a tin can.

“Wait here,” someone else said.

People kept dragging me here and there, and I just obeyed submissively. I had never done anything illegal in my whole life, and I couldn’t have chosen a worse moment to get myself arrested.

“When can I go home?” I asked the policewoman, whose eyes seemed kind beyond her grave mask. She sat me on a bench and frowned.

“It depends,” she whispered, like she didn’t want her companion to hear. “Hopefully soon, if you don’t have any past records. Now you wait here, and someone will come for you.”

She left me in the empty room. The lock turned and she disappeared through the door. The clock on the wall confirmed my suspicions that it was long past midnight.

When the policewoman came back in, I had already eaten all of my fingernails, and I was about to start with the ones on my toes. I was cold in my torn and wet dress; but also tired, and so fretful that I could have produced enough electricity for The Cloister if I could power it with my growing anxiety.

They took me to a counter, behind which a man with saggy bags under his eyes glanced at me with the fed-up look of those who have already seen everything. He remained impassive when the policewoman summarized how they had found me trespassing and I had tried to resist the authorities.

“Date of birth?” he asked, although he had my ID in front of his nose and it was obvious.

As soon as I said it, I realized it was my birthday. I had completely forgotten about it.

“Happy birthday?” he said, furrowing his forehead.

“Birthday?” A handsome policeman with short blond hair appeared in the interrogation room, whistling merrily.

“What are you doing here, Lombardi? Shouldn’t you be in Emberbury? In case you haven’t noticed, some of us have to work and build up this country.” My interviewer didn’t seem so happy to be working the night shift.

“I just heard there was a birthday party here, and I didn’t want to miss it,” the other one answered with a wide grin.

“Get out,” said the man in front of me.

“Can I talk to the cemetery trespasser for a couple of minutes? I’ve always been fascinated by necromancers.”

“I’m no necromancer,” I objected.

“I said get out, Lombardi,” repeated the other policeman, and the newcomer left with a shrug.

“Sorry you have to be here on your birthday,” the man on the counter apologized, “but it was really foolish of you to run away when the police tried to stop you. Are you aware of that?”

I nodded. “I just... wasn’t really thinking.”

He filled out some forms and made me sign them. “That’s it. Your bond is set to $500,” he said with exhaustion. A web of red veins marred the white of his eyes.

“I don’t have that much money with me. Actually, a man with a dog took all I had in my wallet. And the money wasn’t even mine.”

The man yawned. “So, let’s get this straight: first, you said that two... magicians... witches... whatever, were following you. And now, that a man with a dog took all your money. Not only that, the money wasn’t yours. Please, madam, why are you testing my patience? Don’t you want to go home? Because I’d love to. I miss my bed. And my wife. Just tell me who is going to post your bond, all right?”

I slumped on the chair and closed my eyes, too tired to argue. It must be almost dawn, and I couldn’t think of one single person who might be willing to drive all the way to Saint Emery to get me out of jail. Mark was clearly out of the question: that bastard would let me rot there forever if he could and enjoy it immensely as well. Mom and dad had passed away, and college friends... I hadn’t called any of them for ten years, so they weren’t going to be thrilled. Finally, Francesca was a vampire, responded only to snail mail, and as far as I knew, couldn’t walk under the sun without turning into fowl.

This narrowed the choices to just one person, and I knew beforehand she wasn’t going to be happy to receive my call.

“Okay...” I sighed. “Please call Mrs. May Yang.”

***

MAY YANG ROLLED HER eyes at least ten times in a row when the door to my cell opened and she found me sitting on a plastic chair and holding the leftovers of my dress with a vintage cherry amber brooch. She was wearing a silk robe dress, which made her look like she had just crawled out of bed, and led me out of the police station under the attentive glances of the few remaining policemen, who no doubt wondered whether the robe would open just enough for them to catch a glimpse of her perfect thighs. Her brand-new white pickup waited outside, parked by the entrance. She opened the door for me, probably to keep my filthy fingers from coming into contact with the pristine snowy metal.

“I must be crazy to be here,” she said, as she buckled her seat belt without even looking at me.

I stared at the floor, feeling like a complete loser. I dreamed about sticking my head into a hole and staying there forever, like a big, featherless ostrich.

“When Mark said you had gone bat shit crazy and were drinking too much, getting lovers and neglecting the kids, I didn’t believe him. I mean, I had a feeling there must be some truth in it, but I wanted to think he was... exaggerating.” May said, changing lanes expertly and heading to the highway.

“But now you believe him word for word,” I offered, eyeing May’s warm wool cardigan with longing. “What if I told you all this is a misunderstanding?”

“You will agree you aren’t making a very convincing case,” she said, pointing at my dirty knees and my cold bare feet. “For a start, I just paid good money to get you out of a jail cell.”

I nodded. She had the right to doubt my words.

“So why did you come anyway?”

“We had coffee at the gym yesterday,” she said casually, “and Renée said she had seen Mark while you were away.”

“And he wasn’t alone,” I ventured.

“You knew about it?” May seemed surprised. She grabbed a few chocolate chip cookies from a bag on the back seat and offered me one. They were a bit stale, but munching on them felt oddly comforting.

“I just found out about it yesterday. But I don’t mind. We are almost divorced anyway. I pity the girl, to be honest.”

“It just made me realize that, if it were me, I wouldn’t like Han to walk around the neighborhood parading a new lover and saying such nasty things about me at the same time,” May said, wiping the crumbs off her face with the back of her hand. “If something like that happened, I’d like someone to listen to my case. At least give me the benefit of the doubt. I thought you deserved to be heard.”

“Thank you, May.” I closed my eyes and allowed the exhaustion of the day to finally start to trickle. The chocolate chips melted in my mouth and reminded me of my grandma’s kitchen, where there was always something baking in the oven.

“I’m sorry for kicking you out of my house,” May said, nudging my knee amiably. “I shouldn’t have believed Mark right away.”

“It’s fine. Thanks for driving all the way here to get me out of that hole. I almost froze in that cell, you know? They went crazy with the air conditioning.”

“There’s something else I found out yesterday,” she said, biting her lip in hesitation. I looked at her, expectant. “The girls at the gym. They are good listeners, as you know.” Oh, yes. Those women were sharper than the secret services. “They said Mark and his new girlfriend intended to fly with your daughters to Costa Rica. He wants to leave them there with his girlfriend until he gets full custody. And they are staying at Mark’s parents’ place for a couple of nights right now. He also suggested you would have no chance of defending against his accusations, because...” she paused, “because you are so...” May gave me an apologetic smile and left the sentence unfinished.

“Stupid?” I offered.

May shrugged, widening her grin. “Sorry.”

The sun was high in the sky as we drove past the city limit sign of Emberbury.

“We’re driving straight to my house so you can shower and change those dreadful clothes once and for all,” May said, “I’ll lend you something of mine.”

Awesome, I might be able to tie my hair into ponytails with her size zero pants. Still, the shower offer sounded tempting, although there was a place I needed to visit before that.

“I know this is going to sound extremely weird, but...” I said, biting my lip, “would you mind taking me to Saint Anne’s cemetery first?”

Chapter 31

Alba

When she heard my request, May stepped on the brakes so hard that she made us both bolt toward the front window.

“You must be joking,” she yelled, putting a finger to her temple in a very descriptive gesture. “Another graveyard? Do you have a death fetish or what?” She narrowed her eyes and leaned toward me without releasing the wheel. “Are you one of those freaks who like to get laid on tombstones?”

A laugh escaped my lips against my will. “No, I’m not!” Below them would have been more accurate, anyway. “It’s hard to explain,” I said. Revealing the existence of The Cloister would have put May in trouble and, besides, she wouldn’t have believed me. “There’s something important I need to deal with as soon as possible. I’ll go back to your house afterwards, okay?”

May pulled up near Saint Anne’s Park and grabbed my wrist before I got out of the car. “Promise me you will get professional help once the divorce is over, will you?”

“Don’t worry about me.” I nodded, trying to look convincing. “See you in a bit.”

Crossing the park, I reached the gates of St. Anne’s Cemetery. They were locked, as usual, and I didn’t have a key anymore. As I circled around the fence, I wondered what level of crazy one needed to reach to trespass upon a cemetery twice in less than twenty-four hours.

A very high one, probably, but no doubt I was above it.

Grabbing the gate with both hands, I stuck my face between two iron bars, and shouted at the top of my lungs, “Hello! Is anybody there? Clarence, come out! We need to talk!”

Nobody answered.

“Elizabeth!” I yelled, “I know you are angry, but I can explain!”

A flock of sparrows chirped from the treetops. The graveyard remained silent. Seemingly, vampires didn’t take banishment orders lightly.

“Fine! I’m leaving,” I grunted, giving up. There was no way I could force a vampire to come out and meet me against his will.

Two security guards passed by. Once they disappeared into the trees, I scribbled a note in a small piece of paper. Then, expecting to attract a certain sparkle-loving raven, I removed two red amber beads from my brooch and left them beside my message.

Then I walked away and hoped he would find it.

***

IT TOOK ME THE BEST part of the morning to walk all the way back to the suburbs. Instead of bothering May once again, I decided to just break into my house like a burglar. Using a big rock, I shattered the glass pane on the kitchen door, got my hand through the hole and turned the handle from the inside. The alarm went off, but Mark had forgotten to change the password, so it was easy to turn it off timely. Mark was gone, and so were the kids, but at least I’d have a place to stay until his return.

Showering with hot water felt delicious and I could hardly believe how much grime one could collect after one day of wallowing in graveyard mud. After that, I put on a pair of comfortable jeans and a short-sleeved peach blouse and set out to celebrate what was left of my birthday properly, even if it was on my own.

I went to the basement and found the most expensive champagne bottle in Mark’s cellar, then poured myself a glass and sat on the porch, watching the sunset as I thought of a plan. A slight drizzle had just started again, and I closed my eyes to enjoy the soft dripping sounds and the rain scent, well aware that this was just the calm before the storm.

As far as I knew, Mark had taken the children to his late parents’ house while he waited for their flight to Costa Rica. The house was located in a luxury residential area west of Philadelphia, a five-hour drive from Emberbury. Public transport sounded like a very slow option, but the chances of May wanting to drive me so far were also quite slim. The only thing I could think of was convincing my neighbor to lend me her car for a couple of days and getting there by myself.

Yes. I’d just go and ask her. The sooner, the better.

Only I had to get rid of the champagne glass first, so that she didn’t mistake me for one of those people who liked to drink and drive. It was bad enough already that she considered me a necrophile.

I poured the champagne on a flower bed, finding an odd pleasure in the sight of Mark’s exclusive bubbly being spilled pitilessly on the ground.

“That’s going to ruin those lilies,” said a voice behind the magnolia tree. Seconds later, a cloaked man appeared beside me with a whooshing sound, and my heart skipped a beat at the sight.

Chapter 32

Clarence

Find me before time does, the note said.

The signature read Isolde, and two red amber beads, plucked from her Art Nouveau brooch, lay on the ground beside it, resembling fresh drops of blood on the grass. Alba had left her message under the tree where we had almost kissed, on a joyful night with a bittersweet ending which seemed eons away now. I stuck the cherry beads in the pocket of my waistcoat and followed her scent, which still lingered among the foliage like an invisible thread leading to her.

Once I reached her house, I hid behind the magnolia tree for a while, debating what to do next. A sense of finality washed over me, and it took all of my courage to address her, aware as I was of the inexorableness of our encounter.

“Are you the phantom of the opera, or is there a compelling reason why you need a cloak in July?” she said when she saw me. Her face hid the startlement that her loud heartbeat betrayed.

“It’s raining, isn’t it?” I answered, swirling my cloak under the drizzle, with the sole intention of amusing her. I couldn’t help but seize the opportunity to fire up that smile, even if I knew it would be short-lived. However, her tight, narrowed shoulders, together with the tremor in her voice, told me that she was acquainted with the true reason for my visit.

“And in case you were wondering, this phantom hasn’t forgotten his promise to take you to the opera one day,” I added, in a useless attempt to break the ice.

“Will it matter once you erase all my memories of you?” she asked bitterly, approaching me slowly, like I was a dangerous beast. Which I technically was.

“Oh, Alba.” I shook my head and kicked an invisible object on the floor. “Why did you have to leave like that? Elizabeth was outraged when she read your note.”

“I know,” she said, and her messy hair fell on her eyes. I fought the need to tuck it behind her ears. The repressed desire to touch her was almost painful. “So, are you going to do it? How does it work? Should we say goodbye first, or get straight to the point?” Her voice was unsteady. “Maybe say a prayer in case the magic doesn’t work and you end up killing me? I don’t know what the custom is.”

She extended her hands and took mine, then stared at me in defiance, with glassy eyes full of bottled-up teardrops.

“Elizabeth is my queen,” I told her, as a vein started to pulse under my chin. “I owe her my life and my obedience. She just wants us to be safe, and this leaves me little choice.”

“You would just kill me?” She blinked back the tears and studied me like we had just met for the first time. “Is this how it ends? After all we’ve been through, you’ll just do whatever Elizabeth tells you. So much for me being the light at the end of your tunnel.”

“For hell’s sake, Alba!” I shouted, shaking her hands off mine. “You know I wouldn’t. But what if those witches find you again when we’re not around, and they discover The Cloister? It could be fatal for all of us. You can’t walk around knowing things you should not―it’s too risky for everyone involved!”

“But I’m scared of forgetting. Even more than dying,” she said softly, leaning against the porch railing.

“Do you think it’s easy for me?” I stomped the floor with my foot, and the whole porch shook, making her wince. “I don’t know how I’ll go on once I slip from your memory. Once you are gone for good, and I don’t exist anymore in your past.”

This was so hard. So. Bloody. Hard.

I had killed before, many times. But even though Elizabeth had ordered me to end the witch if the oblivion didn’t work―and it wouldn’t, after so many weeks―I would never be able to extinguish Alba Andersson’s light. I’d rather end my own life on the spot than take hers. She should know that.

Hell, I was even too selfish to make her forget me. To even try.

I wasn’t there to follow the queen’s orders, but to let that witch charm me into disobedience.

“Humans can’t walk around knowing about us” I said, echoing Elizabeth’s words. “It’s too dangerous. So tell me, Alba, what am I supposed to do?” I asked in desperation.

“I don’t know,” she said, sitting on the wooden floor. “Maybe trust my word?”

Chapter 33

Alba

“I need my memories,” I said firmly. “I need to remember how I brought the light to The Cloister, because that’s the only remarkable thing I’ve done in years. The only feat which will remind me of my own strength as I fight Mark. Without that, I’m just a victim of his whims, a loser who never achieved anything of value in this life. And I don’t want to be that person. I want to know I have the power to accomplish my dreams.”

Clarence stood in front of me, his maroon eyes warm and fierce, and the dark and excessive cloak waving in the warm breeze.

It had taken me half of my self-control not to run straight into his arms, and the other half not to run away from them.

“Damn, Alba,” he said, holding his head with clenched fingers. “You know I can’t do it. I bloody can’t.”

He turned around and started to walk away.

“Wait! Where are you going?” I shouted, following him in the largest strides I was able to manage.

Clarence looked back at me, standing in the middle of my lawn. “I’ll trust you,” he said. “I’ll tell Elizabeth my job is done, that you forgot about us. You wanted to leave The Cloister, then leave. Pretend we never met. Pretend you don’t remember. But if you break your promise, and it comes to her ears, my head will be the first to roll.”

“Followed by mine,” I pointed out.

“That would be a shame. I like the way it stands on your shoulders.”

I snorted bitterly, then I took a cautious step toward him, holding his gaze. “Let’s just keep our heads in place, shall we?”

***

“I NEED TO FIND MARK before he leaves for Costa Rica with the girls,” I said, swallowing hard. “He wants to leave them there indefinitely with his girlfriend. Just so I can’t be with them. It’s absurd.”

“Allow me to go with you,” he said unexpectedly, offering his hand. I stared at him, still unsure about his intentions.

“Is this a trick?” I asked, dying to hold him, but afraid to be deceived.

“No tricks. Just some... friendly help.”

“Friendly help with or without memory wiping?” I squinted with mistrust.

“Definitely without.” He smirked. “At least for tonight.”

“Fair enough. Can you drive?” I asked.

“To some extent,” he said, with a half-smile.

“Good. Wait here.”

***

MAY WAS LESS THAN ENTHUSIASTIC to lend me her shiny new white pickup, and she would have been even less if she had known about the two glasses of champagne I had soaked up that evening and the remote date of my last driving experience.

She dropped her cigarette and made me sit at the wheel, putting her head through the window with an utterly worried expression.

“Will you manage?” she said, her knuckles white against the open window.

“Everything under control,” I lied, and pressed the gas so ridiculously hard that the engine stalled. “I need to get acquainted with this model, that’s all. How do I change gear, by the way?”

May looked at me in horror. “It’s an automatic, for God’s sake. Where on earth did you learn to drive?”

“Actually, it was in Germany,” I said with a grin. “I learned with a stick shift. They have more pedals, you know?”

I didn’t mention I had never tried again ever since.

My poor neighbor waved at me from the sidewalk as I drove away, her face twisted with panic as I fumbled with the control panel to turn on the headlights.

I stopped briefly in front of my house and waited for the passenger door to open.

Clarence sat down next to me and smiled, just the way he used to do before everything went wrong. “Where exactly are we going?”

“To kick Mark’s ass,” I said, pressing the gas as I headed toward the highway.

“I think I’m going to enjoy this trip,” he said, and his ivory fangs shone under the street lights.

***

PHILADELPHIA WAS STILL hours away, and my eyes were starting to droop after two nights of nearly no sleep. The built-in GPS showed our destination was more than a hundred miles away, and even the dubiously helpful vampire sitting in the passenger seat―and his entertaining remarks―weren’t enough to keep me alert any longer.

“I need you to take the wheel,” I told him, scanning the road for a place to pull over. The lanes had started to become blurry, to the point that I wasn’t sure whether I could see three or four. Clarence nodded obligingly, and we exchanged seats at a gas station.

“You can move the seat backwards, but you probably know that, don’t you?” I asked, watching him struggle with his knees against the wheel.

“Certainly,” he said unconvincingly, raising the seat so much that his head bumped against the roof of the car.

“Clarence, I don’t want to sound snarky or anything, but... um... were there any cars when you were born?” I asked, adjusting my seatbelt as tightly as possible.

“That’s entirely immaterial.” He sounded offended, but he was turning the wheel left and right with the engine off. I pressed the start button for him, starting to feel concerned.

“Okay... you have driven a car before, haven’t you?” I asked nervously. We merged back onto the highway with a couple of rough jolts, and I thanked all known Gods and Goddesses for our lane being empty.

“This is easy as pie, my dear, just relax.” He almost crashed into a speed limit sign as he spoke. “I see people driving cars all the time.”

“You see them?” I said, twisting my hands as a truck honked wildly at us, flashing all its lights in anger. “I’m not sure that’s enough. Maybe we should just stop and sleep somewhere?”

He turned toward me, affronted, and I pushed his face back toward the road. “What’s the point in engaging a vampire if you don’t allow him to do things for you at night?” The way he said it, it could have meant just about anything. “Come on, everything will be fine. Didn’t you say we were in a hurry?” He tried to squeeze my palm, but I swiftly placed his hand back on the wheel.

The white pickup sped up, swerving all over the road, and I said all prayers known to man in at least three different languages. I might be a poor driver, but Clarence was hands down the worst chauffeur the world had ever seen. Still, there was a chance Mark and the children might leave for the airport the very next morning, and once they landed in Costa Rica, the prospects of finding them again would be much slimmer.

“Do you have a plan?” Clarence asked. “What are you going to do once we get there?”

“I’m not sure. First, I’ll try to talk to Mark. If it doesn’t work, I’ll do whatever it takes to make them miss that flight.”

“I hate to be a doomsayer, but it doesn’t sound very well thought-out to me.”

The car almost went off at a bend of the road―an occurrence I’d had thought impossible on a highway―and I yelped so loud that Clarence released the wheel to cover his ears.

“Are you trying to crash the car on purpose just to get rid of me, like Elizabeth wanted?” I shouted, steering the wheel with my left hand to get the vehicle back on track.

“Of course not, I just had a lapse. Just close your eyes and take a nap, will you?” Clarence’s eyes were fixed ahead and shimmered with a mesmerizing red glow of excitement. He was like a kid playing bumper cars, and I would have sworn he was having the time of his life. “Let me take care of this for you, lovely Alba.”

“I’d love to, but I’m not an immortal, in case you forgot,” I said, wrapping my fingers around the handlebar above the door like it was a lifeline. I shut my eyes to block out the traffic. “May I ask who your driving instructor was? Because he or she sucks.”

He pondered before he answered. “Well... you, I suppose?” he said with an innocent smile.

Someone overtook us from the right side: Clarence had managed to meander onto the left lane while my eyes were closed and was happily traveling in it at snail’s pace.

Oh my goodness.

I was just about to die.

Chapter 34

Alba

4:30 AM.

Still alive.

Still not detained by the highway patrol.

A wide boulevard flanked by regal-looking rows of gigantic sugar maples announced our arrival to one of the fanciest suburbs of Philadelphia, where my parents-in-law had built their extravagant family villa a couple of decades ago. Mark’s father, an architect, had died in the nineties right after finishing his masterpiece, but his wife had lived in that house until her recent passing, taking good care not to change one single thing in the elegant residence. Currently, the house was unoccupied, while Mark tried to gather the courage to sell it against his deceased mother’s last wishes.

Clarence slowed down the vehicle, and I sighed as we left the highway behind, thankful I had lived through the bumpy ride. To his defense, he had gotten slightly better after a couple of hours of practice, which had somehow diminished my stress levels.

The boulevard was nearly empty at that hour, and I determined it might be safe to finally release the handlebar above the door. I rubbed my poor fingers, which had become stiff after clutching a plastic handle for an hour, and I let out a little yawn. Clarence stole a glance in my direction, and the corners of his mouth curved in an affectionate smile. Being able to drive for the first time in his long life had put him in a fantastic mood, but I was sure his cheerfulness would vanish as soon as we took time to discuss a few important issues which had remained untouched during our ride―namely, the situation with Elizabeth and my concerns about whatever had happened between him and Julia on the eve of 1962.

My intention was to ask him on the way, but I had ended up being too busy surviving.

“Should I turn right or go straight?” Clarence asked, as we neared an intersection.

“Just keep straight,” I said, suppressing yet another yawn and trying to remember where the house was. “It must be just a mile or so until―”

A deafening explosion interrupted me mid-sentence, as the airbags burst on our faces.

Something struck the right side of my lower back, and I screamed. The white pickup started to whirl around itself in the middle of the junction.

As the car spun, it crashed into a traffic pole, then a road sign. When it finally stopped, the abrupt silence was deafening.

The driver who had hit us, no question a drunkard in a small red convertible who had overseen the stop sign on his side, managed to abscond the scene even before our vehicle stopped spinning.

I felt my face and my back, afraid of what I might find. To my surprise, I was mostly unharmed and I could move all my limbs. I was just really sore. There was no blood, and nothing felt broken. May’s car, on the other hand, hadn’t come off so lightly.

“Are you all right?” Clarence asked, his knuckles white against the wheel. When I nodded, he exhaled and let his head fall forward, muttering something I couldn’t make out.

“Try to restart the car,” I said, pointing at the right button. He pressed it, but the car was dead. “Okay. Let’s get out of here.” I tried to open my door, just to find it stuck. “I’ll have to go out through yours.” I leaned over his knees and reached for the handle on the other side. “Well, at least this one works.”

He rose and offered a hand to help me out. Once outside the vehicle, we both stood on the asphalt, holding hands in the half-darkness as we stared in dismay at the remains of May’s new car. The rear-left side was all bumpy and scratched, and had the convertible hit us in a slightly different angle, it would have been my body and not the car chassis which would have cushioned the crash. Luckily enough, the other driver had brushed by, instead of causing a full-blown T-Bone collision against my door. After that, the traffic light pole had smashed the front end of the pickup, crumpling the hood like it was made of cardboard. What had been a shiny new car five minutes ago had turned into a bunch of scrap metal in a matter of seconds.

“May is going to kill me,” I gasped, raking a hand through my hair.

“Tell her to get in line,” Clarence said with a weak smile, then shook his head and sighed with his eyes closed. “I’m sorry. It’s not funny.”

“It’s actually a tiny bit funny,” I conceded, squeezing his hand. “In a depressing kind of way.”

“No. I shouldn’t have insisted on driving. It was a terrible idea, and it could have ended much worse. I’m really, really sorry this happened.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” I said. It really wasn’t. “The house is not far, maybe a half an hour walk.” I pointed at a closed mall on the other side of the road. “Follow me. There’s a shortcut.”

May’s car had landed on the curbside, so I just grabbed my handbag from the back seat, locked the doors and left the pickup where it had stalled. We would deal with it later. I really didn’t feel like talking to the police once again, and I was certain Clarence shared the sentiment.

The air grew relatively chillier as dawn got closer, and Clarence put his arm around my shoulders, letting his cloak cover both of us. Suddenly, that Dracula disguise of his didn’t seem so out of place anymore.

“I’m starting to like this thing,” I said, tugging at the velvety cloak as we passed by the deserted main entrance of the small shopping mall.

“Maybe one day you’ll be as fond of its owner, too,” he said with a faint simper.

“I don’t think finding reasons to be fond of him is the issue here,” I answered slowly, examining his burgundy eyes for clues.

Clarence stopped walking and leaned back in surprise, his shoulder brushing the glass facade beside us. “No?” he asked. “Then why did you run away and tell Elizabeth not to expect you back? Wasn’t it because of me?”

Memories of Julia’s diary appeared clearly in my mind’s eye, together with Lillian and Alonso’s hurtful words. As much as doubts were eating up my insides, I couldn’t gather the nerve to ask him. Not in that moment, and not with Mark awaiting me at the end of that road.

I shook my head.

“It was something else,” I said, ducking my head to sneak out of his cloak, where I was starting to feel too confined.

“I wish you would tell me what,” he said, crossing his arms in frustration as he let me go. “It would make things so much easier to address.”

I bit my lips, hesitating. Even if he denied everything, would I believe him? Julia was dead, and the truth had died with her.

“Not now,” I said, and grabbing his forearm, I started to walk again. “Today is my birthday, and I’ve had enough crap already.”

When I turned around to study his reaction, I noticed two reflections on the glass facade beside us. I stopped abruptly and realized he was staring at the glass, too. Our eyes met with a gasp of recognition.

“This can’t be true,” he whispered, tapping over his image on the glass wall.

Astonished, I squeezed his hand, then I released it.

His reflection disappeared immediately, like it had never been there.

“Do it again,” he said, extending his arm for me to take it.

As soon as I seized him, the reflection appeared again.

“Magic,” he muttered with incredulity.

“You said mirrors can’t reflect a creature with no soul,” I said, reciting his own words. “I suppose this must prove something.”

“I have never seen anything like this,” he moved in front of the glass pane, studying his face with bewilderment. “It’s been so long... this is...” his voice broke. He looked away and remained silent for a few seconds.

“Looks like we have a miracle going on here,” I said, gaping at him. It was like I could turn his reflection on and off just with my touch. I had no idea what that might mean, but it was indeed unexpected.

“You are the miracle, my Isolde,” he said, and then he embraced me: the shy, distant embrace of someone who doesn’t wish to be rejected once again.

I tightened his arms around my waist, giving him tacit permission to hug me properly, and his eyes burned into mine as their inner fire stirred. The electricity between us was irresistible, mightier than any fears or doubts I might have, and it made me forget about Julia, Mark, Elizabeth, and all the things and people which had been keeping me awake for the past few days.

I threw my arms around his neck, my lips seeking his in desperation and craving the coolness of his. My body had missed the sheer strength of his sturdy embrace so badly. I could feel his chilly breath on the side of my neck, and it made me shiver, as I twisted and got lost in the present, with no awareness of what had been or what would still come to pass.

“Happy birthday,” he murmured, leaning backwards to look at me, “my sorceress.”

The first ray of sun burst behind the buildings and flashed on the large glass surface beside us. Clarence’s irises flickered, a mixture of dismay and desperation boiling inside them, and his fingers slid away from my back, accompanied by a soft rumble.

A gray cloud of mist appeared where he had stood, and just like that, he was gone.

Chapter 35

Alba

The black raven darted into the air, then hovered furiously, rising and falling with evident frustration. I winced when his sharp claws landed on my shoulder, but he settled on the thin fabric of my blouse without leaving one single scratch. Clarence rubbed his soft feathered head soundlessly against my cheek, leaving there a chaste, unfulfilled kiss which left us both lingering in the instant before dawn.

After a while, he took off again, flying over the glass buildings. I felt awfully alone and loathed the shameless, untimely sunrise.

Hopefully, Mark would be dealt with by sunset.

I kept walking, followed closely by Clarence from the air, until the manicured lawns of Eastern Hemlock Road appeared in front of me. By the time I reached the Andersson house, I was so tired that my whole body felt numb. Mark and the children would still be sleeping, which might give me the advantage of surprise. I was ready to tape my body to the hood of Mark’s car if I had to, or run after them to the airport and make a scene at the check-in counter. Only one thing was for sure: after the things he had accused me of, I wasn’t going to let him get away with his evil plan.

The Andersson house had an imposing double stairway on the front side, edged by a pearly stone balustrade. It led from the first-floor balcony of the mansion to the ground floor, drawing an inverted U shape on the facade where the main entrance was located. The house stood out among the rest, all white marble and gray steel surrounded by majestic landscaping: the dream home of a talented designer who had died too soon to enjoy it. A man just as gifted as his son―such a shame that Mark Andersson Jr. had focused that innate intelligence of his on trying to ruin me.

The sleek silhouette of Mark’s black sedan peeked out behind a carport, encircled by tall rosebushes. I let out a sigh of relief: they hadn’t left yet.

I imagined Katie and Iris tucked in their little beds, holding a teddy bear and breathing peacefully, unaware that mommy was right outside their window. Had anyone read them a bedtime story for the last two nights? Was Mark’s new girlfriend nice to them? And what was worse: what had Mark told them about me during my absence?

My presence on the Andersson’s porch triggered the intruder alarm, waking me up from my reverie. Not only me, probably all the occupants of the house rose from their sleep thanks to my carelessness.

A balcony sliding door opened on the first floor, and a shirtless Mark leaned towards the street, rubbing his face and yawning. When he saw it was me, he typed something into his phone and the alarm went silent again.

“Get the fuck off. This is private property,” he spat in a bored tone, waving me off with his hand. The tone of his voice made it crystal clear that negotiations weren’t a top priority on his to-do list.

I held his glare and started to climb the curved stairs. “I love how you always find a cute way to say hello,” I said with an eye-roll. The shadow of a raven darkened the marble steps and Clarence perched on a nearby tree, giving me courage. “I came to pay a visit to my daughters―hopefully, I’m not too early. It was hard to program a more suitable arrival time, because you locked me out of the house and conveniently canceled all of my credit cards.”

“Katie and Iris are asleep,” he said with an annoyed puff, “and anyway, I’ve been talking to them, and they don’t want to see you.”

I climbed the stairs and came to stand in front of him on the first floor balcony.

“I can wait for them to wake up. Can you make me a coffee in the meanwhile?”

Mark snorted. “You’re a pain in the ass, but I always liked your sense of humor.”

“Is that a yes?” I batted my lashes at him and sat on the last step with my arms crossed.

“They are not interested in you, in case you didn’t hear. Now get out of here. You are trespassing. Again.”

I shook my head in confusion. “Again?”

“What?” he continued. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out? I have contacts everywhere, and nothing surrounding you escapes me, darling. Although I’m really curious about how you ended up jumping over a graveyard fence one hundred miles from home. It’s not like we don’t have enough dead people in Emberbury, is it?”

Was he trying to tell me something?

I exhaled furiously. “If you were so well informed about my whereabouts, why didn’t you come and bail me out?”

“Because I was glad you had finally landed in your rightful place, of course. The more I learn about you, the more I trust that belief.”

“Sometimes I really wish I could kill you,” I said, twisting my finger against my temple. “Maybe I should just do it and end our suffering.”

Mark grinned with enthusiasm. “Glad that you said that. Smile, you’re on camera!” He pointed at the black security cameras, directed towards us. A small, red dot of light glared over the lens. “Now I can add that stellar performance to my growing list of evidence.”

Crap. And I had also lost the only proof I had managed to collect against him during my incursion into Saint Emery’s cemetery.

A sleepy woman’s voice came from inside the bedroom. It had that classy Boston accent with dropped r’s shared by most of Mark’s acquaintances. “Is everything alright, Marky?”

He turned around and drew the gauze curtain to peek inside. “Go back to sleep, Minnie. A wild beast wandered into the lawn and set off the alarm.”

Mark came out again and closed the glass door behind him.

“Unbelievable,” I gasped, standing up to face him and nearly foaming with fury. “Now I’m a beast―and a wild one at that. Isn’t that a bit rude, Marky?” I pronounced his nickname like it was a swearword, and it didn’t go unnoticed.

“Look, woman: I’d like to go back to sleep. Don’t make me call the police.”

“The police?” This time, it was my turn to laugh. “And what are you going to tell them? That your wife woke you up too early?”

“I could tell them she was threatening to kill me,” he said, pulling a solar light off a planter. It was shaped as a long, sharp-pointed stake with a retro-inspired lantern on the upper end. “I have it on video.” His tone was smug. He started to remove the dirt from the sharp end of the stake, ignoring my furious gaze.

Mark pointed the sharp stick toward me and pushed me away, toward the stairs. “Now, take a hike.”

The sharp point stained my blouse with dirt, and I jumped aside, startled. “Have you lost your mind? Sorry to remind you, but this will be recorded, too!” I pointed at the cameras, and he nodded with approval.

“Huh, smart girl,” he said, punching into his phone to turn them off. “Much better.” He poked me again. “Now, shoo!”

“Mark, I beg you, don’t take the girls abroad,” I pleaded. If harsh words didn’t work, maybe kindness would. “I know what you are planning, and it makes no sense. Why can’t we share them in a civilized way? It’s not okay to travel so far without at least asking me.”

“That’s exactly what you did when you took them on that so-called vacation of yours with your lover,” he growled.

All my good will evaporated. “You hit Katie in front of me and called her a spoiled brat! And it wasn’t even the first time! How was I supposed to let them stay in the same house as you? I just wanted them to be safe!”

“Safe? With a nanny who read them horror stories while you were humping your friend?”

“That happened only once!” I screamed.

“You are no better than me,” he said smugly, leaning against the house wall.

I looked around and saw another garden light nearby. I grabbed it and pointed it at him like a spear.

“I can play dirty, too.” I directed the sharp tip toward his bare chest, and his smirk quickly vanished. “Let me in,” I said firmly. “Or at least, promise to bring them back home. Cancel the trip. We can share the house. I’ll sleep in the garage if that’s what it takes. But I don’t trust you alone with my daughters, okay? You are a violent lunatic.”

“I don’t think you’ll have much leverage to win custody of those kids’ after working as a prostitute at a brothel during the last weeks. How did it go? Did you enjoy it? Finally, a job worthy of your wasted education!”

“What the hell?” I shouted, my jaw dropping. That was probably a bluff, but it was offensive, nevertheless. A nervous flap of wings resounded in the background, imbuing me with renewed courage.

“I thought it would be a nice touch to add that fun little story to your records.” He cackled. “My friends might have helped a little bit to fabricate some useful evidence.”

He was obviously trying to provoke me.

And it was working great.

“You are crazy, and I hate you!” I screamed, my hands trembling as I held the pointed stick in front of me.

“You’re so easy to tease.” His shoulders vibrated with amusement.

Growling with fury, I tried to remember the words of the Fulminatio spell, so I could use it against him just like I had done with those Italian witches. But the twisted Latin words weren’t more than a vague, hazy memory in my mind.

“Finis omnium...” I muttered under my breath, hoping to feel that characteristic tingling in my hands once again. I had so much anger boiling inside me that, had I managed to channel it, it would have sent Mark flying straight back to his office in Emberbury.

“Internitionem...” That was the last word I could remember. My hands were cold and lethargic, with no traces of magic whatsoever. I let out a howl of frustration, while Mark held his belly and laughed at me like a madman.

“And I am supposed to be the crazy one?” he said, wiping his eyes.

A gorgeous woman in a lace nightgown appeared behind an open window, on the other side of the mansion. She was staring at me, and unlike Mark, she didn’t seem amused at all.

“What was that about, Marky?” she asked. She was magazine-cover beautiful, except for the deep frown which marred her movie-star face.

“Go inside, Minnie,” Mark ordered, waving at her. “My ex-wife here has been taking Latin lessons in her free time.”

“Sounded like black magic to me,” the woman said, pursing her lips. “Not that I know anything about that.”

Minnie disappeared back into the house, and I remained alone with Mark once again, the anger still simmering inside me, but unwilling to manifest.

“Did you see that woman?” Mark said, gesturing toward the house. “Not only is she much prettier than you. She also has a Harvard degree and knows how to suck a dick properly. And now she’s going to be your daughters’ new mommy. Awesome, isn’t it?”

Something popped inside my chest.

I pushed Mark against the wall of the house, blind with fury, but he didn’t move an inch. He just stood on the first floor terrace with his amused grin, stronger and bigger than I, enjoying his physical superiority. Then, he slapped my backside and pushed me away, making me trip with the first step of the outdoor staircase. “Get going, bitch. Time to get lost for good.”

As soon as Mark hit me, the raven―Clarence―appeared in the sky and dove toward Mark. He came out of nowhere, attacking Mark’s neck and arms with impassive accuracy. Mark flailed his arms, trying to beat the bird, but Clarence was relentless, drawing blood at dozens of spots. Still, he avoided Mark’s eyes, and he could have caused much more harm, had he wanted to.

“What the hell?” Mark was livid. As soon as he recovered from the shock, Mark crouched and recovered the garden stake from the floor. He held it with both hands and aimed it at the raven, who kept charging him with flaming red spheres instead of eyes.

I just stood in shock, observing the scene with detachment. It was like watching a movie. My body was there, but my mind was miles away, staring absently at the man and the bird entangled in a gory fight.

Mark twisted his arm behind his back and waited for Clarence to approach. When the raven charged against him, Mark thrust the sharp stick into his opponent’s chest with a single, precise movement.

The bird let out an ear-piercing shriek and plunged down, disappearing into the bushes of the garden in a weak flutter of feathers.

I covered my face with my hands, letting out a horrified gasp. After that, a sepulchral silence ensued.

A motorbike passing.

A gush of warm wind rocking the delicate voile curtains.

And then, nothing.

“What was wrong with that bird?” Mark spat, kicking a black feather off the landing.

The feather fell softly, looping in spirals before soundlessly striking the grassy ground a dozen feet below us.

Clarence had told me once that vampires were hard to kill, but ravens were much easier to harm.

At that very moment, my brain entirely disconnected from my body.

I wasn’t just angry. I had turned into a formless mass of rage, mixed with a wave of something I still wasn’t able to name, but felt too much like the grief of losing a loved one.

Without thinking, I stormed toward Mark, deciding to hurt him as much as possible and make him pay for all the suffering he had caused me.

Mark blocked my attack with one single hand. He was laughing loud again, hardly hiding his delight. He pushed me towards the railing and hugged me so hard that I thought he was about to squeeze my lungs through my mouth.

His lips settled on my ear, and he spoke in a low rumble, “You useless little creature. Nobody plays games with Mark Andersson. You should have learned that, after all this time. I haven’t lost a case for a decade. Do you really think I’m going to lose my own?”

He released me with a sneer and I started to weep against my will. I hated myself for crying in front of him and giving him the pleasure of seeing his antics work. He had won, and I didn’t know what else to do.

I just let the tears roll down my cheeks, accepting my new reality.

But then, the black feather rose from the ground, ascending in soft waves, and landed at my feet like a silent message of hope. I took it and pressed it against my chest, ignoring Mark’s demeaning stare.

Suddenly, the murky energy inside my chest was dispelled by something greater. It felt like a soft bubble, and it was edgeless, electric.

It started to rise inside me like a tidal wave.

It was unstoppable.

The electricity ran once again through my arms, making my fingertips jiggle.

“And then I realized I had been trying at magic wrong all this time...”

Yes, Julia had been doing it wrong, and so had I.

The key to turning on magic wasn’t channeling wrath.

I knew it for certain as I felt the energy grow inside me, gratitude and grief gathering like the powerful thunderclouds of an imminent storm.

This power didn’t come from hatred, but from love.

Love for the man who had sacrificed himself for my sake.

Love for the two little girls who slept in their tiny beds, unable to defend themselves from the monster in front of me.

A love that was greater than me, and superior to anything I had ever known before.

Rays of pure white light shot through my fingers, then turned purple as they hit Mark in the chest and bent him against the balcony railing.

Mark’s eyes opened wide, and he gasped.

When I shook my arms once again, he lost his footing, and his torso surpassed the marble balustrade.

I came out of my trance, realizing Mark was about to topple over. As much as I hated him, I was not a murderer. I realized, maybe too late, that I wouldn’t be able to carry such guilt inside me.

Using all my strength, I tried to pull him back onto the floor.

Now he had learned his lesson.

It was enough.

He shook off my hands, but that made him lose his balance. His body moved backwards and swung dangerously over the railing.

“If I fall, you fall with me,” he growled, and grabbed my arm before losing foot.

We both plummeted into the abyss in a grotesque aerial hoop, and my body hit the ground below the stairs first, crushed under Mark’s significant weight.

I felt the taste of blood in my mouth, and after that, only darkness remained.

Chapter 36

Alba

I must be dead.

How else could you explain that translucent black cat who was trying to talk to me?

The ambulance sirens wailed in the distance.

“You did so well,” the cat praised, “I almost thought you wouldn’t find out in time.”

The cat licked my face, my neck and my chest. Its tongue didn’t feel raspy, like normal cats’ did―it was more like a beam of warm light, and it reminded me of the floating sensation that one gets after lying in the sun for a while. Then it blew into my mouth, and my lungs filled with air once again.

I wanted to ask so many questions, but I was unable to speak. The cat licked my head some more, and something inside it clicked, untying my vocal cords from whatever had been holding them still.

“You will be alright,” the cat said, arching its back elegantly. “And so will he.”

“He, who?”

“Both of them,” the cat said.

The ambulance must be very close already. I could hear the vehicle parking, the back doors opening with a metallic bang and nervous voices giving orders, as someone dragged wheeled equipment toward the house.

“Am I dead?” I muttered.

“No, but unless you take matters into your own hands, you soon will be. Mark is the least of your problems, believe me. Much darker forces are behind you. Haven’t you noticed them lurking in the shadows? If you want to survive, you’ll have to become the witch you should have always been.”

“But I don’t know how to become a witch,” I complained, sounding like a whiny baby. “I’m just a normal person.”

“You are, and then you aren’t. You can be the Queen of Water, but you still have a lot to learn.”

“And who will teach me all that?”

“I can teach you everything I know. Once you recover, you should seek me.”

The cat leapt towards the nearby bushes and waved at me with its semitransparent tail.

“Wait!” My voice was like a thin silken thread about to break. “Don’t go yet. There are so many things I need to ask you. Where can I find you? I don’t even know your name!”

The cat smiled.

But cats weren’t supposed to smile.

Nothing made sense.

“Oh, but I thought you knew,” the animal said, hopping away just a second before the paramedics arrived. “My name is Julia. Julia Belak.”

Chapter 37

Alba

Cables.

Cables everywhere.

There were so many that at first, I thought I was back at The Cloister, running wires and installing electrical boxes while I listened to Clarence and Jean-Pierre’s harmless banter.

But then I noticed that someone had jabbed the back of my hand with a needle and left it there, causing my whole arm to hurt when I tried to move it.

Actually, there seemed to be no part of my body I could still move without wanting to scream.

“Where am I?”

The question was redundant. It was obvious I was lying in a hospital room. The space was dark, apart from the monitors that beeped, black and green, full of numbers and graphs I didn’t understand.

“Shhh,” someone said soothingly, stroking my hair.

Clarence was sitting still on the edge of the bed. One of his arms rested limp on his lap, and the other one held an old, tattered notebook. He set it on the mint-green bed sheet.

“I really shouldn’t be here,” he whispered, glancing nervously toward the door. The window was ajar, and he eyed it with apprehension, like he might jump out anytime. “But I needed to see you.”

“Is this a dream?” I asked. I squeezed my eyes shut and opened them again: he was still there. “Because a cat just talked to me.”

Clarence chuckled in confusion, caressing my head with arched eyebrows. “Some might argue that life is a dream, but as far as I know, no, you seem fairly awake now. I’m not sure about the conversation with that cat, though.”

“I’m so happy to see you. I thought Mark...” I paused, not sure of the right term, “killed you,” I said finally, putting my hand over his and wincing when the IV dug deeper into my flesh.

“I told you we were hard to kill.” He shrugged. “He just poked my shoulder and I passed out.”

“Is it serious?” My voice trembled slightly. “Your shoulder.”

“It can be fixed.” He tilted his head and glanced at me warmly.

I rested my head on the pillow, relieved.

“What happened to Mark?” I asked, as the memories started to seep back into reality.

“Mark is alright.” His eyes flared. “You cushioned his fall nicely, so he came out of the whole thing mostly unharmed. He was discharged yesterday.”

“It’s really strange that I survived, don’t you think? Did it have anything to do with you?”

He shook his head. “Unfortunately, no.”

“I thought you might have performed that little vampire healing trick of yours.”

“Sorry...” He grinned apologetically. “I can heal open wounds―like a bite―but not broken bones. Not what is inside.”

I stared at the white square panels of the ceiling. “It would have been too good to be true, I suppose.”

“But if you are interested in exchanging blood, we can always arrange it.” His tone cheered up and he flashed his fangs at me so quickly that I might have imagined it.

“Hmm, thanks for now. I’m good.” I tried to prop myself up on the bed, because talking to Clarence from a horizontal position was starting to feel awkward. He fluffed the pillow for me and helped me sit up.

“There’s good news, too. I’ve been talking to Elizabeth. I told her everything that happened, and she has reconsidered her banishment order. She offered you a second chance.” He twisted his hands, expectant. “Would you accept it?”

“I’d need to think that through.”

“I’d really like you to.”

“What made her change her mind?”

“She’s intrigued about that erratic magic of yours.” He winked, then straightened his expression once again. “You know, she’s usually opposed to second chances. This was a first for her.”

“I can imagine.” I really could. “But there is something I need to figure out first.”

Something related to him.

Clarence flipped the pages of Julia’s diary, then opened it and put it on my lap, pointing at a passage.

“I think I found out what it is,” he whispered. “January 1st, 1962,” he started to read. His voice became rough, and his eyes sailed hesitantly from the paper to mine before he continued. “I wish I could leave this place...”

“Did you talk to Francesca?” I interrupted him, and he nodded. “So you didn’t know Julia wrote about that night? About whatever happened between the two of you.”

“Technically, there was nothing between us to write about,” he said, tilting his head.

I avoided his gaze. I could have recited that text by heart, as it had been haunting me for days. He kept reading aloud.

“I woke up naked under the sheets, and Clarence was next to me. He was sitting in my bed, staring at the ceiling with his arms crossed and his back against the headboard, and as soon as I opened my eyes, he left the room without saying a word.

All I know is that the pillow was covered in blood...”

I flinched and lifted a hand to make him stop. “I already know what it says. What I’d like to know is your side of the story.”

“Lillian and Alonso overstepped the mark that night,” he said wearily. “I found out too late to avoid it, and I’ll always be sorry about that. When I entered her room, alerted by the screams, they had already left. She was unconscious, so I stayed until morning to make sure they didn’t come back.”

I studied him thoroughly: he seemed sincere.

“I guess I’ll have to believe you.” I shrugged weakly.

“Tell me, Alba,” he said with half-closed eyes, “did I ever do anything to make you doubt me?”

“No...” My voice wavered. “But everyone keeps warning me against you: Francesca, Jean-Pierre, even people I don’t even know. And then, there were those paintings of yours... I don’t know. I just... panicked.”

He exhaled as he closed the diary and tapped nervously on the ornate cover. “I don’t blame you.”

“You must agree that those paintings are the creepiest thing ever.”

“There’s darkness inside all of us. We just deal with it differently,” he said, drawing shapes with his fingers on the back of my hand.

“I can assure you I have no dark side. I’m just what you see,” I answered meekly. Then I remembered about the rage which had almost consumed me when facing Mark, a rage fueled by my innermost fears of never being enough and losing what I loved most. It had nearly led me to kill the father of my daughters.

He smiled and nodded. “As you say.”

I grunted, feeling exposed.

“Please, come back to The Cloister,” he whispered, leaning toward me and taking my hands in his, “I would miss you terribly if you didn’t. And there’s the night at the opera―I wouldn’t like to remain in debt for eternity.”

“It’d be nice to finally find out what that Isolde thing is about,” I conceded, returning his smile.

Steps approached from the hospital corridor, and Clarence stood up so fast that my eyes weren’t able to follow him. He brushed his lips against my forehead and rushed toward the open window.

“You already know what it’s about,” he said in a low voice. “It’s about two people who fell in love, although they shouldn’t have.”

“Happens too often,” I murmured, but he was already gone, and only the dancing curtains remained.

The nurse entered my room carrying painkillers and a thermometer.

“Feeling better tonight, aren’t you?” he chirped, handing me a glass of water to swallow the pills.

“Much better,” I said, closing my eyes and slowly drifting back into the world of dreams.

Epilogue

Alba

“Congratulations, Ms. Lumin.”

Clarence raised his champagne flute in the air and pretended to take a sip. I snatched it from his hands, sparing him the show, and drank it myself in one go.

Under the skylight, I listened to the summer rain play an out of tune symphony on the glass. I was back at The Cloister, relishing my first evening of freedom after reaching a prodigious agreement with Mark.

“I can’t believe Elizabeth managed to refute Mark’s accusations and get me such a great deal,” I said with appreciation.

The vampire queen had gone to all lengths to help me win the case, using her centuries’ worth of knowledge of the law and writing to several business partners to assist with cleaning my name and proving that Mark’s allegations and demands were a complete fabrication―and virtually ridiculous.

She had also managed to find a copious amount of evidence about Minnie, who had been with Mark for at least one year before he had filed for divorce, and spiced everything up with the mention of Mark’s violent tendencies.

Katie and Iris would remain with me from Monday to Friday and visit him during the weekends and some holidays. They would phone me every day when in his custody, so I could make sure everything was fine. And if he ever dared to do something stupid again, he might also lose those rights.

I was ecstatic and single again.

And I had my old job back.

It was evening, and my daughters, together with the rest of the clan, had disappeared into the music room to listen to Francesca play Bach at the piano. They had had dinner and a warm bath, thanks to our new electric boiler, hidden beneath a tombstone and sponsored by Madame Elizabeth Swamp’s enterprises.

Julia’s diary lay untouched on my antique mahogany bureau. I opened it carefully, grieving the irreparable water damage, which had made the content of some pages fade forever into oblivion. If it were my life described in there, I wouldn’t have minded for a few chapters to vanish forevermore. But it was Julia’s, and that made the loss more unfortunate.

I tapped on the bed, and Clarence sat next to me, expectant. Taking a finger to my lips, I asked him to remain silent as I read aloud:

“...I have been sourcing my energy from hatred and wrath, and I achieved small results, but never the big accomplishments I always dreamed of.

Life has a cruel sense of humor, though: now that I finally found out where I went wrong, I’m about to be engulfed by darkness.”

“She was an inspiring little creature,” Clarence said, and his eyes got lost in memories I’d never be a part of. “Just like you.”

“I was too drowsy to tell you at the hospital,” I said, feeling suddenly chilly and throwing a cardigan over my shoulders, “but I saw her. After I fell off that balcony.”

Clarence cocked his eyebrows, clearly stunned.

“That can’t be. She died. Francesca was with her that night.”

“She came to me as a cat. That black cat with purple eyes. My kids’ cat, actually.”

“You hit your head really hard,” he said, taking my arm and kissing the back of my hand.

“No. It wasn’t my imagination. I swear, she was real. Real like you and me here.”

“I am real indeed,” he said, with a mischievous smile, and set the diary safely on the nightstand. “And if you don’t believe it, I can prove it to you.”

The night creature leapt on my chest, making me fall backwards on the pillows, and I let out a giggle. A mysterious draft blew out all the candles, and we were finally blessed with a moment alone, under the shelter of nightfall and the light of the stars.

***

WHEN FRANCESCA BROUGHT Katie and Iris back to the room, Clarence was playing chess with himself and I was having a shower. The girls were so excited that their happiness was tangible.

“Francesca is going to teach us to play the piano like her,” Katie exclaimed, tugging at the blond vampire’s tulle sleeve. “Won’t you, Francesca?”

“If I have the time,” Francesca answered, with an almost inaudible chuckle.

I needed to ask her something urgently, so I wrapped a towel around my damp body and ran out of the shower. When I caught her, she was already strolling down the corridor.

“Francesca,” I said, “do you know where Julia is?”

She stopped in her tracks, stunned. “You saw her grave. I don’t understand your question.”

“She came to me like a black cat,” I whispered. “She assured me I was in danger, and said I must find her.”

Francesca looked uncomfortable. I could sense she knew more, but something was holding her back.

“When I went to Saint Emery, some women followed me again. They were carrying tall staffs with golden snakes coiled around them. The police thought I was making it up, but I promise you, I saw them. I think they were witches. But different ones. Not the ones I met in that store.”

“Coiled snakes, you say...” Francesca seemed absorbed in her own thoughts. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

She looked at the flame of a candle, mesmerized. “I might know something,” she declared tersely.

“Will you tell me?”

“Maybe.”

I felt awkward hugging her, but I was so relieved that I couldn’t help it. I put my arms around her minute, cool body, marveling at the softness of her skin and hair.

“Thank you, Francesca,” I said, while she remained uncomfortably stiff under my touch.

“I hope you are ready to open Pandora’s Box,” she said, and her light steps faded into the dark, damp halls.

End of Book 1

BOOK 2: Witch’s Mirror

Come, come, and sit you down. You shall not budge.

You go not till I set you up a glass

Where you may see the inmost part of you.

Hamlet, Prince of Denmark

Chapter 1

Alba

If you want to see the ghosts from the past, there’s nothing like staring into a mirror at night. With some luck, you might even get a glimpse of your own deceased self from the future.

Or at least, that’s what my grandmother used to say: and I’d rather respect her opinion, because some claim she was a witch.

After standing for hours in one of the most expensive couture stores in the whole city, surrounded by at least five floor-to-ceiling mirrors, I had found the underlying truth in my grandmother’s words: perhaps it was just a consequence of my long-standing exhaustion, but I had started to spot ghostly visions in the mirrors of the store, and I was getting worried.

Elizabeth had insisted I get a proper gown for the oath ceremony. It had been a couple of months since I started to work as an assistant for the vampires of Emberbury, and she was adamant about formalizing our pact in the old-fashioned way. I found the concept a bit outlandish―signed contracts were more widely used in the 21stcentury, after all―but I had to accept that a certain level of pliability was necessary when dealing with centuries-old vampires.

It was the least I could do for Elizabeth, who had been of great assistance during the ordeal my ex-husband had dragged me through during our divorce. I would always be grateful for her help: had it not been for her contacts and knowledge, I might be living in a cardboard box instead of standing in a marble-floored room, wrapped in yards of silk and surrounded by seamstresses who fluttered around me, showering me with ribbons and pretty trinkets, just like Sleeping Beauty’s fairy godmothers.

Only, come to think of it, I wasn’t Sleeping Beauty, but rather... the witch.

A good witch, hopefully.

An utterly useless, virtually incapable witch, but a potential one at least. An inept sorceress working for the most unexpected employers in a secret place called The Cloister, hidden beneath a graveyard where the last vampires of Emberbury led a peaceful and clandestine existence.

Now, these vampires had asked me to swear to forever abide by their five sacred rules. In their eyes, that would basically turn me into a loyal vestal of The Cloister. In mine, it was just an archaic formality meant to keep Elizabeth happy.

And in my eagerness to please our queen, I probably underestimated the extent of the commitment I was about to agree to. Had I paid any attention to the lessons learned during the past months, I would have realized that, when dealing with vampires, it was never healthy to undervalue them and their fancies. But somehow, the whole business with the pretty dress and the logistics of my newly regained singleness had made me imprudent... and I was going to pay for that candor very soon. However, that evening, I knew nothing about it―not yet.

“Stay still, or I will prick you,” one of the three seamstresses warned me.

By then, I was probably bleeding from at least three different spots, and the many-layered brocade dress was getting increasingly heavy and itchy. Especially the corset―had corsets been invented by the Spanish Inquisition? How did those women in The Cloister put up with them daily? Of course, it might help that they were already dead, or half dead... or whatever the right term was.

Alas, I was just a mortal girl, and my endurance threshold was consequently much lower than theirs.

“It must be a really exciting party you are attending in this gown,” another seamstress commented. They were all giggly and enthusiastic, and I could see why: the purple, floor-length garment they had tailored for me was short of a marvel and―although I would never admit it, not even under torture―it made me feel like a fairytale princess... and I enjoyed that.

“You have no idea,” I agreed, leaning backwards to avoid a particularly long needle aimed at my side and protecting my other flank with the antique diary I had been reading. It was a beautiful vintage piece, which had once belonged to yet another clueless, stray witch like me.

My phone rang, and Clarence’s name appeared on screen. As usual, my heart skipped a beat with anticipation before I picked up his call. He had been traveling often―too often―during the past weeks, doing errands for Elizabeth in the most ridiculously remote places. What kind of business a bunch of vampires could have in the most remote island of Alaska, was well beyond my understanding.

Clarence was having lots of fun with his new phone and the rest of the toys I had provided the vampires with after sneaking an illegal electricity connection into their nest. Thanks to my otherwise useless engineering background, I had even got them a Wi-Fi signal and a couple of laptops to play with. He might never become a software developer, but he was doing quite well, at least for someone born in the Georgian era.

“Isolde,” Clarence purred on the other side of the line. He must be in a good mood to call me that. “Non-dinner at The Midnight Owl?” he asked playfully. I was surprised he was offering to take me to dinner―or technically, to watch me eat while he talked―because we had managed to squeeze very few dates into his busy schedule after Mark’s nightmare had come to an end. I tried not to dwell on the reasons for his continuous absences and frequent cancellations, and kept telling myself it was all Elizabeth’s fault for giving him too much to do, too far from home.

“I’d love to,” I said, “but are you going to cancel last-minute just like you did last time? Because I’m really tired today. I’ve been running around for hours.”

“Oh, well,” Clarence said, a tint of sadness in his voice. “I don’t know...” How on earth could he not know? “Maybe you are right. Perhaps come to say good night before you go to sleep, would you?”

“I will,” I grumbled, grabbing my bucket-sized cup of coffee and missing it due to my sudden bad mood. The cup slipped off my fingers, and I skipped back, horrified at the thought of pouring a whole mug of coffee over the unfinished gown. The seamstresses gasped, and all the girls rushed in my direction to stop the disaster.

Stretching my arm, I tried to grasp the handle as the cup flew in the air, but it was too far already. And then, miraculously, the cup stopped its trajectory and started to hover in the air, just a few inches away from my extended fingers.

Everybody in the store―me included―stared at the floating cup, which glided magically, in perfect alignment with its porcelain saucer.

Someone let out a gasp, removing me from my mesmerized contemplation.

“Oh my God!” I uttered into the phone, willing my erratic magic to stop the random display at once―it didn’t.

“Is everything alright?” Clarence asked from the other side of the line.

“No,” I whispered so nobody else could hear me, as I tried to steady my shaking hands, “There’s a flying saucer in the room. I’ll call you later.”

Ignoring Clarence’s anxious questions and protests, I put down the phone. As soon as I did it, the cup plunged to the floor, spilling its contents mid-flight over the diary I had been reading. The pages turned all brown and damp, and everyone let out a collective sigh as the shards spread all over the workshop.

The seamstresses looked at each other, rubbing their eyes, and started to flutter around the coffee-sprinkled shards.

“Did you see that?” one of them asked me with consternation, bracing herself.

“No? I didn’t see anything,” I answered with feigned innocence, straightening my back and checking the state of the soaked notebook. It had already suffered water damage once, and the extra coffee shower hadn’t done it much good.

“It’s like time stopped,” a girl said.

“No way,” I answered. “I’m just... clumsy. And tired. I’m so sorry.”

I retrieved the journal and wiped it with a napkin. Sadly, it was too late. As I rubbed off the coffee stains, the leather cover detached from the pages and they fell to the floor with a soft flapping sound.

“Dammit,” I muttered. That diary was the only thing I had left from Julia, my predecessor and previous witch of The Cloister. She had written it during her years living with the vampires, and I had taken to analyzing each of her words in the hopes of discovering the missing piece which separated me from my anemic―and clearly unpredictable―magical abilities.

I knelt to pick up the fallen pages and noticed a mark on the inside of the cover. It had been dressed in a layer of gilded paper, which kept the binding in place. Now, the golden material had started to peel away.

“That thing was hovering in the air,” a seamstress was saying. “I swear it. Like witchcraft.”

“Nonsense,” I answered sternly, suppressing the instinctive urge to start crawling to help pick up the mess, which would have ruined my almost-finished gown. “It must be the lack of oxygen. The air is getting stale here; you have the heating too high. We should open a window before somebody faints.”

“Stand up, or you will ruin the skirt!” someone warned me, and they all started to swirl around me to check the state of the fabric.

“Ah,” one of them said, rubbing her forehead with relief, “At least the dress is okay!” She caressed the skirt with longing, and the others smiled with relief. I hoped they would dismiss my little magical glitch, so I didn’t need to ask Clarence to come and administer oblivion to everyone. It would not be the first time.

“That’s great,” I said, although my voice sounded more worried than I had wanted it to. On top of my existing concerns, now I would have to deal with the very real possibility of the rumor of a flying teacup spreading all over Emberbury.

The girls started to unbutton the back of my dress, and meanwhile, I flipped the journal cover in case it could be fixed. As I turned it around, I found a few words scribbled in a corner, under the binding.

Who could have put them there? Either the bookmaker had written the message before gluing the notebook together, or Julia had taken the journal apart later, written those words and then glued everything back to conceal them.

Why would anyone do that?

“I think we’re done for today with the fittings, Ms. Lumin,” the store owner told me. “Come back tomorrow for the last touches!”

“Thank you so much,” I said, as the fabric slipped to the floor with a swish, and I muttered a hallelujah when they freed me from the corset.

I stared at the message: it was Julia’s handwriting. I knew it because it was the same throughout the whole diary.

The text was brief and somewhat puzzling:

Don’t trust E.

Ask F.

I could fathom who E and F may be. There weren’t that many vampires in The Cloister, after all. However, if my guess was right, Julia’s message was trying to warn me about a certain vampire queen: and more precisely, about the one I was about to swear loyalty to for the rest of my life.

Chapter 2

Alba

Clarence was not in his chambers when I knocked on the door. Disenchanted by his absence, I searched for Francesca instead.

The music coming from the piano room led me to her. It was late, and gorgeous Francesca had already tucked my daughters into their beds before my arrival. I sat in the back of the room, waiting for her to acknowledge my presence.

An angel at the keyboard, she had a talent for soaking up scotch like it was nobody’s business, which hinted at her true unrelenting―sometimes even ruthless―nature.

“Shouldn’t you be with Clarence, pretending not to be in love with each other?” Francesca teased me, as her fingers kept flying over the keys. “He was looking for you earlier.”

I disregarded the second part of the question.

“He’s not in his suite,” I moaned, trying to hide the disappointment in my voice―and failing. “And he’s been acting so strangely these days. I have barely seen him for weeks. If he’s not locked in his room, he’s missing or on his way to places with names as obscure as Yesterday Island.”

“Yes,” Francesca exhaled with impatience as she missed a note. “Sometimes he reminds me of a two-hundred-year-old teenager.”

I closed my eyes. Men could be so simple and so complicated at times. Undead men, though―that was yet another level of tricky entirely.

“So, you came to keep me company,” she said mischievously. “How thoughtful of you.”

“Well, yes...” I clutched Julia’s notebook against my chest and walked over to the grand piano.

What I found most baffling about Julia’s secret message was how the rest of her diary was crammed with words of praise for Elizabeth. True, some pages were torn or missing, but the vampire queen had never uttered a single negative word about her previous assistant, and nothing I had seen or heard so far suggested any animosity between them. This made me suspect that Julia might have written that note in a passing fit of anger, possibly after an argument with the queen, and forgotten to erase it later.

“Is this about Julia?” Francesca asked, closing her scores and turning to me with a thick-bottomed glass in her hand. “I haven’t forgotten my promise to point you in her direction. I was just waiting for you to ask. I know you have been busy.”

Julia had appeared to me in a vision after a terrible accident, pledging to teach me magic if I sought her. It had taken me a while to recover and get into a routine after my rocky divorce, and now that things were finally settling down a little, I had no idea how to reach her―the fact that she had been dead and buried for thirty years didn’t help, either. Still, Francesca seemed to know things I didn’t, and back then, she had promised to help me. The note in Julia’s diary seemed to confirm the need for further research into the matter.

“Look at this,” I told her, showing her Julia’s wretched notebook.

“You should start taking better care of your things,” she scolded me in her governess voice, giving a reproving look to my neglected nails and the diary.

“I know.” I sighed, peeking guiltily at my half-eaten nails. “But look closer.”

Francesca took the diary in her hands, a puzzled look growing gradually in her blue eyes. When she finished reading the little inscription behind the cover, she let out a brief huff.

“I didn’t know anything about this,” she said, closing the journal and returning it.

I stood there, waiting for her to elaborate, but she just turned towards the piano and started to play again: this time, a very sad and slow melody.

“Francesca, do you intend to explain to me what this is about? Does this mean what I think it means? Is Elizabeth a threat, or...?”

Francesca leaned abruptly over the keyboard and hit all the keys hard with both hands, making the whole room shake and muffling the last part of my sentence beneath the rumble of the mistreated piano.

“Certain things can’t be discussed in The Cloister,” she hissed, her knuckles white against the glossy, black lid. “Vampire ears are much finer than those useless... funnels of yours, Alba.”

Did she just call my ears funnels?

“Do you want to have both of us banished?” she growled.

“No, of course not,” I said, biting my lip and mustering all the patience I could so as not to enrage the tiny vampire. “Then, where can we talk? I really need to know what I’m getting myself into.”

“Meet me tomorrow after the ceremony,” she said very quietly, her eyes glowing with a turquoise radiance. “We’ll go somewhere safer.”

***

I DIDN’T SEE CLARENCE for the rest of the evening and woke up the next morning to bell chimes on my phone, alerting me of both lousy weather and the Winter Solstice. The beginning of winter meant holidays, which newly translated into leaving my daughters with their father for the longest period since our separation. As much as it pained me to entrust Mark and his girlfriend with my children, an unexpected thrill washed over me as I imagined the bliss of taking a few days off. This year had been just short of a nightmare, and I had frequently dreamed about a brief vacation away from everything and everyone.

As I made my way to the conference room, I decided to discuss my free days with Elizabeth, as our contract signing kept getting postponed because of the impending oath ceremony.

The vampire queen sat majestically, alone at the head of a large, antique table.

“Good morning, Alba. To what do I owe the pleasure? Eager to take your oath?” Elizabeth asked, without a trace of a smile, as she detached her eyes from the thick and dull-looking book she was reading.

“Um, yes, sure,” I stuttered, remembering the warning in Julia’s diary. I rocked my weight nervously from one foot to the other and told myself everything would be fine. That the ceremony was just a formality to make Elizabeth happy. Just a pretty dress and a vow.

“Did you have any questions?” The way she glanced back at her notes showed her tolerance toward inept witches was already starting to run thin.

“Well, now that you ask, I was here to discuss my vacation days,” I said, tentatively. “We never got to talk about that. It would be good to clear this up before we sign anything.”

“What vacation days?” she asked, her voice an affronted rumble. “You just disappeared without notice a couple of months ago, right after I hired you. Why would you need any more days off?”

Truth to be told, my work at The Cloister wasn’t exactly exhausting. Mostly I just ran errands and met with Elizabeth or her business partners from time to time. But still, asking for a few days off didn’t seem unreasonable to me.

“It’s going to be Christmas,” I said, crossing my arms. “I’d like to go and see the snow.”

Elizabeth snorted. “Excuse me? The whole Emberbury is squashed under heaps of snow at the moment. Why would you need days off to see that? Can’t you just step outside and... I don’t know, open your eyes?”

I rubbed my temples. “Elizabeth, please. I’m just so... worn-out. I’m just asking for a short vacation; one week or two.”

“Currently, there’s no law in this state which would require me to grant you vacation time whenever you please.”

“I’m just asking nicely. Everything will be closed, anyway. What is so urgent that it can’t wait until January?”

“Everything is urgent when my businesses are concerned. Do you think they are going to close the stock markets just so you can throw snowballs and go sledding?”

I puffed in desperation. Elizabeth could be such a tough cookie sometimes.

“Please. I don’t know what kind of agreement you had with Julia, but this is the 21st century, Elizabeth. Keeping me here against my will is reminiscent of slavery!”

My comment caused her to stand up in a fury, nearly overturning the table. She leaned on her elbows in front of my face and stared at me with flaming almond eyes. What had gotten into me to make me pronounce the taboo word in front of her once again?

“What would you know about slavery, you spoiled little witch?” she rumbled.

I averted my eyes, wondering whether my years with Mark would count from her perspective. Probably not. “Nothing. You’re right.”

“Very well, then.” She stepped back, and I let out a sigh when she finally freed me from her formidable presence. “You have my answer. Anything else?”

I shook my head and stood up, defeated.

Elizabeth picked up a piece of paper from a pile and gave it to me. “Before you go, take this. I should have given it to you a long time ago. It might have spared us a few discrepancies.”

It was a handwritten note with the five sacred rules of The Cloister. I was already familiar with them, so I just stuck the list in the back pocket of my jeans.

“Watch your words, mortal girl. Don’t forget I’m your queen.”

Technically, she wasn’t yet.

“Make sure you memorize the rules. I will ask you to recite them in front of the audience.”

After this, Elizabeth buried her nose into her books and pretended I was already gone. That was how she typically sent people off.

“As you say, my queen,” I mumbled through clenched teeth. “I’ll see you at the oath ceremony.”

Chapter 3

Clarence

As I came out of my suite that morning, an enormous mirror with legs walked by my door and grunted. I gazed at my missing reflection as my eyes set on that cowboy aberration called jeans which had―to my sorrow―substituted petticoats in modern times.

“Mirror, mirror on the wall,” I said, lifting the golden frame with one hand in order to uncover a flushed Alba Lumin underneath it. “If it isn’t the fairest of them all!”

“Oh, Clarence, quite the stranger, aren’t you lately?” She raised her beautiful muddy green eyes and stared at me with a dash of sorrow.

I gave her a half smile and deliberately ignored the comment. “I’m certain Elizabeth is going to love your new acquisition,” I commented. Our queen had never been thrilled about mirrors, since they reminded her too much of her true nature. And this one was particularly large. And heavy. I wondered how someone the size of Alba had carried that monstrosity into the catacombs on her own. She never failed to surprise me.

“It’s for my room. She doesn’t have to know about it. I need to get ready for the ceremony, and I’m fed up with using the camera on my phone to style my hair.”

“Of course. I’m sure this is the smallest one they had in the shops.” She motioned to take the mirror from my hands, but I stopped her. “Please, allow me to carry it for you. Just let me lock my room first.”

I set the mirror against the wall of the corridor and searched for my keys.

“How was Alaska?” she asked, staring at me with a tilted head.

“Cold, barren and grimly devoid of lovely creatures with lopsided smiles,” I answered.

“I don’t have a lopsided smile,” she complained, right as one corner of her mouth started to twitch, as if on cue.

“Of course you don’t, my dear. Who said I was talking about you?”

The half-smile vanished as quickly as it had made its appearance, and she curled in on herself a little, her heartbeat speeding up audibly as she debated on her next question.

“What is keeping you so busy these days, Clarence?” she asked, standing on her toes behind me to peek into my room. “Why weren’t you in The Cloister yesterday evening when I came to say goodnight?”

“Oh, I had some... pressing matters to deal with.”

Her eyes wandered meaningfully over the unfinished solitaire game of cards on my bedspread and the many discarded charcoal sketches scattered around my desk like autumn leaves, and I rushed to close the door before she saw anything else.

Alba twisted her hands uncomfortably and avoided my gaze as she asked, “Clarence, please be honest. Have you been... avoiding me lately?”

Her words felt like a silver stake through my heart, not only because I had been missing her company terribly, but also because of the truth they carried. For a second, I pondered what the most gentlemanly answer would have been. A white lie? Or rather a sour truth? After a glance at her disheartened countenance, I opted for the former.

“Most definitely not!” I said with contrived joyfulness, but my slightly cracked voice betrayed me. “Which reminds me, I had been wishing to ask you if you’d allow me to escort you to the ceremony this evening.”

“Well, it’s not like the venue is too far, but sure, I’d love for you to,” she said wearily. “Unless you are too busy painting... or whatever you’ve been doing all night.”

Painting, she said.

I pressed my lips in a tight smile, overwhelmed by the memories which surfaced at the mere mention of that word.

If only she knew it had been a painting that had brought doom upon me a long, forgotten time ago.

***

LONDON, APRIL 1834

I didn’t hear the lady approaching, her steps muffled by the rumble of passing carriages in the foggy night. She was slight and dressed in elegant widow’s weeds, and her voice startled me as I stepped out of the mortuary and into the muddy London streets.

“Excuse me, Sir,” she said from under her dark mourning veil, “are you Doctor Auberon?”

A well-bred lady would have never roamed the streets on her own, particularly not at night. But the way she stood and spoke, formidable and compelling, spoke of an aristocratic background. A fascinating occurrence indeed.

“My apologies, madam, you must have mistaken me for my father,” I said, trying to discern her face under the dense net as I tipped my hat. Her voice sounded foreign, perchance Prussian. “I am just his humble assistant.”

“No, I am quite sure it is you I have been looking for. I am not in need of a trained physician at the moment. A gentleman well-versed in human anatomy will do just fine for what I had in mind.”

I stared at the lady blankly. In my thirty-something years of bachelor life, I had been propositioned by ladies more times than one would expect. Ladies seemed to be fond of physicians―even though, despite my age, I had never become a proper one. Most requests were discreet and dully appropriate, but from time to time, I would meet a lady with more unrestrained philosophies―those were the ones I usually took an interest in. Widows, particularly, had a way of overlooking social rules when faced with a man they may consider a decent pastime―or a marriage prospect, depending on their financial status.

“If you’d be so kind as to join me in my carriage, we could continue this conversation in private,” she whispered, and extended her gloved palm upwards, “it’s starting to drizzle, and humidity tends to ruin my hair.”

After yet another day full of horrors by my father’s side, I was on my way to induced oblivion anyway, so I decided to accept the widow’s indecorous invitation and climbed into her lavish coach, which was waiting on the other side of the street.

She sat down in front of me with a graceful, almost childish hop. Once we were in motion, she lifted her veil, revealing high, bony cheekbones and the mesmerizingly pale countenance which was usually a tell-tale sign of consumption. In the years assisting my father, I had seen so many people die from it that I didn’t even need to be a real doctor to diagnose her.

The lady produced a snuff box from under her coat and passed it to me with a sly smile. I smiled back and accepted it with curiosity, admiring the carved bone surface. The image of a skeleton decorated the lid, but I noticed a few ribs were missing―how unsystematic from the cutter.

“It lessens the ill effects of reality, doesn’t it?” the lady said after I took a pinch. She sniffed the ground tobacco from afar and put the box back without using it herself. “Although I was under the impression that you might need something stronger after a day at the morgue... or am I mistaken, doctor?”

“You seem to know me well, madam, yet I don’t even know your name,” I said, closing my eyes as the heady scent of snuff filled my nostrils. I had always loathed the smell of operation theatres and the stench of rotting humans which accompanied my father’s profession. He hated me for my weakness and my inability to become his successor, and kept dragging me to the most gruesome visits in a vain attempt to harden me. But after I had surpassed the thirty-year mark, it had become clear to him that I would never be more than a mere physician’s assistant. At that point in my life, frustration had turned into resignation to the career someone else had chosen for me. Meanwhile, snuff, opium and alcohol had become my most trustworthy companions, together with my secret affair with paint and brushes.

“My name is Anne Zugrabescu,” she introduced herself. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Doctor Auberon.”

I bowed, ignoring her insistence in calling me by my father’s title, and tried not to frown at her unpronounceable, exotic surname.

“The pleasure is all mine, Mrs.―” I strove to say the word, but I just tripped over my tongue clumsily and she laughed, making the round, dark mole on the left side of her face stand out. Only then, I realized how young and fine-looking she was, with narrow shoulders and full, red lips. She had pitch black hair and snow-white skin.

“Zugrabescu,” she repeated, almost licentiously. “It’s Moldavian.”

“You must have come a long way to seek advice on your condition here in London,” I ventured, increasingly intrigued by the beautiful foreign lady.

“Oh, but I already told you―” She blinked, just once. “I didn’t come here for medical advice, doctor. I am in very good health, thank you. What I’m searching for is a fine artist.”

A horse neighed, and the carriage stopped to a halt. I narrowed my eyes, wondering how she knew about my little secret. I had always kept my artistic tendencies hushed to avoid upsetting my father any further.

“I beg your pardon?” I said, baffled.

“I need someone to paint a portrait. Not just anyone.” She scrutinized me from head to toe in a forthright, overly intrusive way which I had never seen before from a refined lady.

“Excuse my audaciousness, Mrs. Zugrabescu,” My pronunciation must have been wrong, because her lips curved upwards with mischief once again. “But shouldn’t you be inquiring about artists at the Royal Academy, and not by the gates of a Dead House?”

“I certainly tried that first, but all I found were proper and prudish portrait artists who blushed when I expressed my wishes,” she said with a mysterious smirk, “so I headed to the place where I knew I would find what I needed.”

“Fascinating,” I said, as we waited for the coachman to open the door of the carriage. “And what kind of artist did you expect to find at a mortuary, if I may ask?”

She gave me a slow, sly smile before she answered. “A deeply tormented one, hopefully.”

Chapter 4

Alba

“Behold, the rising sun,” Clarence said when he picked me up at the door of my room that evening. Stuffed in the uncomfortable purple gown Elizabeth had chosen for me, and slightly oxygen-deprived due to the tight corset, it took me a while to realize he was actually referring to me and not to the yellow star in the sky he mustn’t have seen for hundreds of years.

“You don’t look too bad yourself,” I commented. His dark hair was deliciously unruly, and the sparse silver strays sparkled like steel threads in the dimly lit halls. He was wearing a black tailcoat and a white silk cravat, and I kept to myself the fact that he looked so dazzling that gawking at him must be, without a doubt, sinful. Clarence was conceited enough as it was and by no means needed further encouragement.

“Ready to become a vampire tonight?” he said casually, as we strolled down the hall and toward the ballroom where everyone was already waiting.

I halted abruptly, frozen on the spot, and stared at his flashing maroon eyes in horror.

“What did you just say?” I asked, or rather shrieked, as I elbowed him away from me and leaped back, calculating how long it would take me to reach the exit.

Would he be able to catch me?

Of course he would.

Clarence smirked and reached me in just two strides, then kissed the tip of my nose.

“I was teasing you, my Isolde. I just wanted to see your reaction.” He shook his head. “In all truth, I didn’t expect such a heated response.”

He rubbed his side where I had hit him, pretending to be hurt. I let out a deep exhale and pursed my lips as I took his arm once again, not before throwing him several distrustful, sidelong glances.

“That wasn’t funny,” I snarled, nudging him in the ribs again―just gently this time.

“Oh. I had always hoped you would let me bite you one day.” He sighed ruefully and lowered his eyelids in that sensual way of his. This time, I couldn’t tell for sure whether he was being serious or not.

I was spared the need to answer because we reached the ballroom, and Jean-Pierre opened the door for us with a genteel bow.

“Ms. Lumin,” he greeted me formally, “Clarence. Do come in.”

Lillian―who otherwise hated me―had put her artistic talents to use and filled the underground ballroom with hundreds of pink and crimson carnations, whose fragrance was so intoxicating that it made me sway.

All the members of The Cloister were sitting in the room, with Elizabeth on a stage at the front, posing proudly on a gilded armchair. Next to her there was a gigantic vase of flowers and a chair reserved for me. The others sat in two short rows in front of her, and a long, black carpet led from the entrance to the stage.

“May I have the pleasure?” Clarence said, and started to walk me down the short aisle ceremoniously. Anxiety started to throttle me as the situation suddenly reminded me of my wedding to Mark a decade ago. With some luck, this wouldn’t end up at the top of my list of unwise life choices, too.

I shook my head and took a deep breath, trying to dissipate the grim memories and telling myself that this oath was just a formality. I had been working in The Cloister for months, and I knew those people well―or so I thought. If this was so important to Elizabeth, who was I to deny her this little satisfaction? After all, she had offered me shelter when I needed it most, plus a salary, and many other things I would have never found anywhere else. It was the least I could do for her.

My daughters, Katie and Iris, were sitting next to Nanny Francesca, and I kissed their heads as I reached them. The children were extremely excited about the party: probably much more than I was. We had bought them matching lavender gowns and dwarf rose wreaths to wear on their golden, curly heads, and they clapped their little hands when they saw me.

“Be good and listen to Francesca,” I whispered, patting their backs as I passed by.

I took my seat, and Clarence retired to the background. Jean-Pierre struck a metal triangle with a small beater, and everyone fell silent.

“Dear members of The Cloister,” Jean-Pierre said, addressing the small group with his best priestly tone. He had been a monk in a previous life, and it showed. “Let’s begin.”

Iris squealed, and Francesca hushed her.

“In nomine Patris, e Filii...” Jean-Pierre said in a low singing tone.

Everyone stared at each other in confusion, until Clarence cleared his throat, interrupting the former monk.

“Mercier...” he hissed, eyeing him with an amused expression. “Wrong speech.”

Jean-Pierre slapped his forehead and crossed himself with a sincerely embarrassed expression. “Oh, please excuse me... déformation professionnelle.” He shook his head and took a deep breath. “Let me start again.”

Katie giggled, and Elizabeth rolled her eyes.

“Dearly beloved friends,” Jean-Pierre said this time, “we are gathered here tonight to pay homage to the sacred rules of The Cloister, by which our newest member, Ms. Alba Lumin, will swear faithfulness to our clan for the rest of her mortal life.”

I stirred in my seat with unease, as Jean-Pierre went on to talk about Julia and praise my college education, and finished by thanking me for bringing the gift of electricity to The Cloister. During the whole speech, Elizabeth alternated between mild scowling and looking bored out of her mind.

Once Jean-Pierre’s discourse was over, Elizabeth stood up.

“Now please recite the five rules for us,” she commanded.

I stood up and held out the paper she had given me the previous day as I declaimed the five rules:

Thou shalt not spread the curse,

Thou shalt not speak our name,

Thou shalt not kill gratuitously,

Thou shalt not stand before a looking glass,

Thou shalt not engage with outsiders.

After that, everybody applauded, and Jean-Pierre congratulated me with a handshake. Slumping back on my chair, I sighed with relief that everything was over, and the vampires started to talk in a soft murmur around me.

“Can we eat cake already?” Katie asked, but Elizabeth grunted and raised a hand, asking for silence once again.

“We are not done yet,” she said, taking a sharp knife from the table next to her.

To cut the cake, hopefully.

Francesca gasped, and the puzzled expressions of the others suggested that nobody had expected a follow-up, either.

“To conclude, let’s proceed to the blood oath,” Elizabeth said, lifting the knife over her head like a priestess about to perform a sacrifice ritual.

My hands started to sweat as I gawked at the gleaming blade Elizabeth was holding.

“Er...” I pointed at the knife. “That was just a metaphor, wasn’t it?”

“Elizabeth, is this... is this really necessary?” Jean-Pierre stammered, as he stepped between me and the queen, twisting his hands.

Elizabeth pushed him aside and leaned toward me.

“Kneel down,” she ordered with a chin nod.

Suddenly glued to my chair, I eyed her blankly, as my knuckles became white over the armrests.

“No,” Clarence said, joining Jean-Pierre on the stage to create a barrier between the queen and me. “Elizabeth, I beg you.”

But Elizabeth’s eyes were bloodshot, and she didn’t seem to be listening. She shoved both men aside in one clean move and pointed to Alonso.

“Hold her,” she commanded him, and the mustached vampire sauntered toward the stage with a smug smile on his face.

“Don’t you dare lay a hand on her,” Clarence growled at Alonso, but the other vampire just kept grinning with arrogance by my side. “Francesca, will you please take the children outside?” Clarence added, without turning around.

Francesca stood up, took Katie and Iris and forged a tight smile. “Come, children. Let me show you the pretty flowers Lillian has brought from the graveyard.”

Once the children were out of sight, Elizabeth addressed Clarence, “Will you please allow Alonso to fulfill his duty? Unless you would prefer to restrain the witch yourself?” She had started to tap the floor with her foot, driving me insane with the repetitive sound.

“Elizabeth, please,” Clarence’s voice was ragged, almost desperate, “what you are proposing is a barbaric, obsolete act. Don’t make Alba go through this. She has proved her loyalty to you many times in the past.”

“Has she, really?” Elizabeth raised a questioning eyebrow and licked her lips. “One can never trust witches completely. See what she did the last time. We need to make sure of her compliance.”

“Will anyone tell me what this is about?” I shrieked, standing up to hide behind Clarence’s tall figure. “Clarence? What’s going on?”

He put his hands on my shoulders and stared into my eyes.

“Nothing is going on. Not while I’m here with you.”

Elizabeth puffed with irritation and rolled her eyes once more.

“Clarence, dear,” she said, stretching to tap on his shoulder, “I think you might have forgotten your place. Remember why you are here? Remember why you are alive at all? Remember... your own oaths?”

Clarence’s eyes became somber, and his hands hardened, fingertips turning into claws over my shoulders.

“You do remember,” Elizabeth said with a nod, “good. Now, if you are not going to cooperate, then I would kindly ask you to retreat to the audience, please.”

Desperate, I tried to meet Clarence’s eyes once more, seeking reassurance. But he just detached himself from me and stepped back, seething. He was shaking, and his jaw was so tense that he resembled a bomb about to explode.

“I will not be an accomplice to this viciousness,” he said and to my horror, left the room, slamming the door.

“Clarence, wait! Don’t leave me here!” I cried, but Alonso was already pulling at my arms and forcing me on my knees. “Jean-Pierre?”

Jean-Pierre avoided my gaze and ignored my call, his attention fixed on a large vase full of pink carnations.

“And now, the true ceremony,” Elizabeth stated.

Dressed in a black gown, the vampire queen was daunting. An esoteric aura surrounded her, making her beautiful, terrible, and compelling at the same time. She stood over me, holding the blade over my head as if about to kill me.

I tried to resist against Alonso, but there was no way I could break a vampire’s grip. Lillian joined her hands with visible excitement, while Elizabeth took my left hand and started to speak in a rumbling voice.

“I, Elizabeth Swamp, Queen of The Vampire Cloister of Emberbury, before my faithful subjects, accept you as a member of our secret circle. I swear to protect you from whatever darkness may lurk upon you, and I expect your everlasting loyalty in return. As proof of your faithfulness, I now call upon my right to drink my servant’s blood and forge a lifetime bond between us, which will only be dissolved when you draw your last mortal breath.”

My entire body quivered, with the corset making it hard to breathe. Elizabeth’s silhouette started to fade around the edges.

She lowered the knife over my arm and slowly sliced a clean cut on my wrist. I let out a gasp, too dazed to feel the pain, and Clarence’s muffled screams thundered in response, coming from the other side of the catacombs.

When my blood started to trickle, Elizabeth wiped it with her free hand and licked it off her fingers, ghastly slurping sounds coming from her lips.

“Now your blood runs through me, and you are mine to command,” she said.

Her eyes were glowing red, and dizziness overcame me. I didn’t feel my limbs anymore. After that, Elizabeth started to drink blood directly from my wrist. I caught a glimpse of Jean-Pierre, whose face was buried in his hands.

When Elizabeth finally let go of my arm, the monk let out a deep sigh. The pain and degradation must be over.

“Welcome to The Cloister, Alba Lumin,” she said to conclude. “Now you are one of us.”

Alonso released me, and the last thing I remember was the coolness of the stone floor as I collapsed on it with a soft thud, gasping for air.

Chapter 5

Alba

I woke up in a room which wasn’t mine and smelled of roses. Shifting around in the bed, I tried to make out where I was. A lonely candle burned in the corner, and I stirred, trying to get used to the darkness. Francesca’s slight figure was leaning over a book in an armchair, her long, blonde locks falling languidly over the pages.

“Francesca...” I whispered, pain darting through my forearm. I lifted my arm where Elizabeth had cut me: somebody had carefully bandaged the wound with clean, white gauze. It hurt, although not as much as my shattered confidence.

“She can be ruthless sometimes,” Francesca murmured, looking at me with pity.

“What was all that about?” I asked, sitting up on the pillows and trying to remember how I had ended up in Francesca’s bed after the ceremony. “And why am I in your room?”

“Clarence brought you here and asked me to dress your wound.” She lifted a brow. “He didn’t even want to look at it. I think he was too embarrassed. With good reason, if you ask me,” she added in a flat tone.

Clarence.

He had just left me at Elizabeth’s mercy right after promising to protect me against her.

“Where is he now?” I asked, exhausted, still unable to understand his behavior.

“Who cares,” she said, brushing a stray lock of hair off her eyes. “How is your wrist? Did I do a good job? I didn’t think licking your cut was permissible, under the circumstances. So I did my best with what I had.”

I flexed my fingers. The pain was sharp, but the gauze was clean and dry. At least I wasn’t in imminent danger of bleeding to death.

“I’m fine. But I wish somebody would have told me about these quirky customs of yours... in advance.”

“Nobody knew she was planning a blood oath,” Francesca said, standing up and rummaging in a drawer. “This custom hasn’t been practiced for centuries.”

“Did she do the same to Julia?”

Francesca shook her head. “No. She never doubted Julia. You, on the other hand...” She clicked her tongue. “I think you upset her when you ran away this summer.”

“I thought that matter was closed already,” I grumbled, my mind starting to race.

“Closed?” Francesca blinked. “When was a loyalty matter closed for a vampire?”

I shrugged, not knowing what to answer.

“Vampires tend to be spiteful,” Francesca said with a shrug. “Forgiving is for the weak; forgetting... for the dead.”

I rubbed my temples and let her statement sink in. As I wondered where Clarence’s loyalties lay, a pang of anguish hit my chest, and I had to remain very still until the wave of sadness abated.

“Where are the girls?” I asked after a long silence.

“I put them to bed. Don’t worry, they didn’t see anything. You can tell them you cut yourself slicing the cake. If they are to live here, it’s better if they don’t hate Elizabeth. Or even worse, fear her.”

“Will she do that again?”

“I don’t think so,” she answered, but it sounded like there was something else she wasn’t telling me.

Silence fell over the room, and Francesca sat down on the edge of the bed, watching me intently.

“Now I realize that the diary was trying to warn me about this,” I stated. “You should have told me why Julia wrote that message. To be honest, we should have talked about all this a long time ago. It might have saved me a lot of trouble.”

“I was waiting for you to ask. You never came to me until yesterday, and I didn’t expect Elizabeth to do this.”

“Life got in the way, I suppose.” I sighed. I had been so busy putting my life in order after Mark that I had pushed everything else to the background. “So, what happened to Julia?” I lowered my voice as much as I could, knowing that Francesca would hear me anyway, but she frowned anyway, visibly annoyed. “Francesca, I need to know already. I’m sick and tired of so many secrets.”

She put a finger to her lips and scowled. “Not here.”

“Okay.” All this secrecy was starting to get annoying. “Where, then?”

“I’ll ask Jean-Pierre to take care of the children’s breakfast. Take a taxi to Saint Emery and meet me at the cemetery in three hours. Do you think you can walk? Or are you still lightheaded?”

I stood up. Someone had opened the back of my dress, and it sagged inelegantly over my shoulders. But it didn’t squeeze my lungs anymore. I took a deep breath.

“I’m fine,” I said, taking a few tentative steps around the room. “I’ll meet you there. Let me just change and get my wallet.”

***

THE TAXI DRIVER WAS pulling up by the gates of Saint Emery’s cemetery by the time I woke up. It must have been nearly four in the morning, and my wrist was throbbing, just like the growing wrath inside my chest. Sorrow had given way to anger: anger at Elizabeth for treating me worse than a slave; anger at Clarence for turning away in front of such humiliation, and most of all, anger at myself, for being naïve enough to believe that working for vampires was going to be a pleasant, harmless task.

What on earth had I been thinking?

As I got out of the vehicle, memories of my last time in St. Emery flooded my mind, and a knot started to tighten in the pit of my stomach. My first visit to Julia’s tomb had earned me a police detention. I trusted Francesca wouldn’t desert me in that same graveyard for a second time.

When I reached the gates, Francesca was waiting for me on the other side. She climbed atop the fence with the dexterity of a spider―long skirt and all―and offered me her hands as a stirrup. Then, the tiny vampire picked me up and effortlessly deposited me on the frosty ground, just like a gardener rearranging her flowerpots.

“Can we talk now?” I asked impatiently, wrapping my coat tightly around my shoulders. “Is this far enough from Elizabeth?”

Unlike Francesca, I had changed into a pair of jeans and a woolen sweater and coat, but I was freezing nonetheless, and I still didn’t know why she had made me go all the way to St. Emery.

“Wait and see,” Francesca said with a mischievous smile, then knelt in front of Julia’s tomb and started to push the stone aside with all her strength. A slight frown appeared on her terse forehead, and she let out a soft grunt.

Startled, I looked around frantically, worried the custodian would hear us. Nobody was coming. When the stone gave way, it revealed a dark cement pit under it. Francesca skipped into the opening with joviality and offered me a hand. I cringed.

“Your turn,” she said sweetly.

I stood by the open tomb and hesitated. There was nothing I wanted less than jumping into Julia’s grave. Except, maybe, jumping into my own grave.

“Come on, Alba. We have no time to lose,” Francesca said, crossing her arms.

She probably had some, immortal as she was, but I decided not to argue.

Sighing deeply, I sat on the rim of the opening and let my legs dangle over it without much enthusiasm. I scanned the hole for decayed coffins, but there were none. There must have been an urn somewhere, and with some luck, I wouldn’t step on it and sprinkle Julia’s remains all over my shoes.

“Do I really have to jump in?” I whined, watching Francesca crouch inside the dark, macabre hole. She started to scratch the dirt of the bottom with her bare fingers, and I winced.

“No, it’s fine, I already found what I needed,” she said, holding a large metal tin, like the ones my grandmother used for homemade cookies. “Look,” she said, handing it to me.

“Julia’s ashes?” I ventured, wondering why Julia’s ashes would rest in a Danish pastries tin and what I was supposed to do with them. Should I use them instead of fairy dust?

Francesca let out a brief, ironic laugh.

“Ashes? Of course not!” She waved around herself. “This tomb is empty. Neither Julia nor her late husband are here. Never have been.”

The sound of steps startled me, starting a slideshow of memories in my mind: memories of a night spent in St. Emery’s police station, after hopping over the fence of that same graveyard.

“Someone is coming,” I whispered, my heart in my throat.

Francesca tilted her head and nodded.

“The custodian,” she muttered. “Quick. Jump in!”

Oh, no.

The whole thing felt like dejà vu.

Running was pointless. He would see me anyway and accuse me of trespassing.

Again.

Closing my eyes, I gave in and let myself slip into the pit. A second later, Francesca pushed the tombstone over our heads, hiding us from sight.

Darkness engulfed us. Only one narrow slit of light filtered through the rim of the stone, just enough for Francesca to slip her fingers through and reopen the grave later.

This must be the stuff nightmares are made of, I thought grimly, as the scent of mud and mold reached my nostrils.

The steps approached, and I tried hard not to think about the fact that I was sitting inside a sealed grave. Next to a vampire. A few hours after someone had feasted on my blood.

I pressed my eyelids together and counted three deep breaths.

This night was on the right track to becoming one of the worst ones of my life.

A flashlight seeped through the narrow slit, creating eerie shadows inside the grave. I hoped the custodian wouldn’t notice the small opening and the misplaced stone.

A dog barked. I still remembered those glistening teeth from the last time.

After a few eternal minutes, the man walked away, and I let my shoulders fall back.

He was gone.

I waited, desperate to get out of the hole but worried the custodian would come back. A bug crept up my leg, and I slapped it with disgust, trying not to think what the creature might have had for dinner. Francesca, on the other hand, seemed very comfortable sitting in the dark cavity. She had curled up in a corner, with her arms around her knees, and was enjoying the cemetery scent with her eyes closed and a blissful expression.

“Francesca...” I murmured. “Would you be so kind as to get us out of here?”

“Mmm,” she hummed. “Isn’t this a nice place? It’s always so quiet.”

“I’d really like to get out now. Please?”

“Fine,” she said, sounding disenchanted, and she stood up with a rustle of skirts.

To my relief, she slid the stone slab open with a few dexterous moves, jumped out, and helped me climb onto the ground.

I shivered on the icy grass and waited for her to put everything back into place.

“What’s in the tin?” I asked, trying to open the cold metallic box she had given me.

“I will answer all your questions in due course, but dawn is about to break,” Francesca pointed out, and her eyes flashed with a dash of amusement. “And I’m sure you, too, would prefer to watch the sunrise from a different location.”

At least on that we could agree.

Chapter 6

Clarence

The broken paintbrush had a dark brown stain on its splintered end. A rusty smell of mortal blood―my former, mortal blood―still lingered on the raw wood. Sitting at my desk in The Cloister, I stared at the painting utensil and wondered why I hadn’t used it to stake Anne’s heart when I was given the chance.

That would have saved me decades of grief and many unpaid debts. Tonight, the chains of the promises made to Elizabeth at the rock bottom of my second existence were heavier than ever.

I wiped my face with a handkerchief: Vampire tears were a rare occurrence. Of course, I was not crying. It must be the dusty draught.

As I sat in my room and waited for Alba to rise, I fought the burning sensation in the corner of my eyes. Alba’s dress had been soaked in blood when I had found her. It had taken all my self-control not to defy Elizabeth; but I knew she was older and stronger than I, and she was correct when she claimed I was alive because of her charity. Still, I was a coward and a failure for not having been able to spare Alba such needless suffering. I had to question the reasoning behind my long-held loyalties.

I twirled the brush in my fingers, feeling the scar on my palm. It was still there, after all that time. Sometimes, Anne’s memories were so vivid that I almost expected the wound to start bleeding again.

She had been the spark that kindled the destructive fire inside me. But the fuel had been there already.

Thanks to her, I had witnessed many wonders which would have been denied to a mortal; but the wound caused by that humble paintbrush still hurt from time to time.

What would my life have looked like, had I never climbed into that carriage in April 1834? Anne would have doubtlessly killed me in a dark alley, without flinching, just like she did with the rest of her victims. Possibly thrown me into the Thames for the fish to feast on.

A grim end but not an unwelcomed one.

Conversely, I would have never flown over the ocean, nor witnessed the birth of countries, cities and innovations we could only dream about at the time of my second birth.

I would have never met Alba.

Thus, did I hate Anne?

I wanted to, but I could not.

Hating myself was so much easier.

The pain of leaving Alba to her fate in that ballroom would accompany me always. Just like the pain of watching Anne disappear every night with a different man. Back then, I hadn’t understood why. Funnily enough, I could sympathize with Anne’s needs so well now.

At least, Alba knew where I went after dark. But that never diluted the guilt, nor the memories.

***

LONDON, MAY 1834

“What happened to Mr. Zugrabescu?” I asked, dipping the paintbrush in a glass of thinner as I wiped my hands on a white cloth.

Anne was lying on a divan, her ample black skirts spread over the brocade upholstery and her hair held up in a puff with ribbons, a couple of shiny onyx strands falling over her naked ivory shoulders in lazy, wavy locks.

I had been working on her seminude portrait for many nights, in a room of her house in the outskirts of London, and we had become relatively close during those friendly soirées. She loved posing almost as much as making veiled advances toward me, although she had never allowed me to lay a finger on her, leaving it clear from the beginning that our relationship was to be exclusively professional. Which I found simultaneously maddening... and bewilderingly arousing.

“He passed away in our home country,” she said, stretching herself like a cat after a prolonged modelling session.

“My sympathies,” I said, taking a seat in an armchair next to her, reluctant to leave. She took a bottle of brandy from the side table and served a glass for each of us. It must be my fourth one, but that was of no matter to me. She seemed to find pleasure in blurring my mind as much as possible during my visits, and I never found a reason to stop her.

“Oh, it’s more than fine,” she said, licking her lips. “It was a long time ago, and he had the joy of dying in my arms. A much sweeter death than he deserved, if you ask me.”

It couldn’t have been so long ago: she looked barely five-and-twenty. I squinted at her as she stood up and headed toward the half-finished canvas.

“It’s not finished yet,” I cautioned her. I never showed my work to anyone before it was done, but she was starting to become impatient.

She ignored my objection and walked over to the easel. “I’m aware of that, but I believe I have waited enough. Let me see.”

Anne stared at the canvas, and her face contracted into a dreadful frown. She remained silent for a while.

“Hold on―” I started to say.

“Mr. Jameson said you were the right connection, but I am starting to doubt his word.”

“Mr. Jameson?” I blinked with surprise. “You never mentioned you were acquainted with him.”

The last time I had seen Jameson, he had been reclining on a floor pillow in a filthy opium den. He had tried to become a fine artist for a long time, but his eye condition had always caused him trouble with proportions and perspective. When I had finally agreed to show him my amateur paintings, he had been aghast. Jameson had offered to introduce me to Mr. Martin, whose imposing works had always been a source of inspiration for me. But I had declined the tempting invitation: my place was next to my father―who had instilled into my young mind that art was not a real career. Art, according to him, was the road to immorality for any God-fearing, honest man.

In hindsight, he might have been right.

Anne started to smudge the paint with a finger. “This is surely below my expectations.” She pursed her lips, those enthralling lips of hers, and ruined the depiction of her eyebrows.

“I beg your pardon?” I stood and tried to direct my irritation toward the brushes: I stirred them, splattering paint on the wall, then started to dry them systematically, one by one. She had just destroyed hours of work in one single swipe. “At the risk of sounding presumptuous, I daresay this portrait is my best work so far.”

“This?” She pointed at the rosy cheeks in the portrait, then at the delicate collarbones of her alter ego. “This is absolutely mediocre. Not what I’m paying for.”

Paying? Her words were so offensive that my temper flared. The paintbrush I had been holding split in two, and its sharp end stabbed the palm of my hand. I tried to fix the damage Anne had caused to the painting, but ended up smearing the canvas with traces of my own blood.

Blood had always made me nauseous. That was one of the reasons I never became a good physician, and yet another cause for my father to despise me.

Anne stared at me with sudden enthrallment and swayed as the tip of her tongue wandered over her upper teeth. She was enjoying my display of indignation.

“We never discussed a monetary exchange,” I growled. “You know well I have other sources of income, and I’m not doing this for the wages.”

“Then what for?” her eyelashes batted slowly, making her resemble a porcelain doll.

I averted my eyes, unwilling to answer.

She knew why.

We both did.

“I fear I shall need to find someone else,” she said, and started to walk toward the door.

“Of course not,” I said firmly, seething with fury under her disapproving stare. “Allow me to finish it.”

She glared at me with disdain, motioning to leave the room.

Something exploded inside me, and I turned around abruptly to grab her arm. By the look in her eyes, it was clear that she hadn’t expected me to touch her. Despite our unusual familiarity and my first impressions about her, touching Anne had always been off-limits. But I had had enough.

“You are so cold,” I said, taking in her state of partial undress.

Anne took a deep breath, then tugged at my arm, clasping it with surprising strength. She gazed at me with half-closed eyes and lifted my palm to her lips. Slowly, she started to lick the blood off my wound. I remained still, watching her. I was enthralled; hypnotized. There had always been something eerie about Anne. Something I could not grasp. Something which attracted me to her like a moth to a flame.

“Anne,” I murmured, enjoying the sound of her name, with that soft, humming n. Her mouth started to climb up my sleeve.

Suddenly, her nails sank into my palm, sharp as knives. I winced, startled by her unexpected display of violence.

She released me and pushed me against the wall with inhuman strength.

“I must leave,” she said abruptly, rearranging her dress. “And if you value your life, you should go, too.”

“I do not,” I said calmly, straightening my shoulders.

“Well, you should. I must go out now. You cannot stay here.”

“The streets are no place for a lady at this hour. Allow me to escort you.”

“I never pretended to be a lady,” she said with a soft laugh.

That much was true. From the first moment, she had posed as a widow in search of an occasional liaison. Even though she had yet to welcome me to her bed, her behavior during our encounters had been far from prudish.

“Go, Mr. Auberon,” she commanded. “Leave now, before I do something I shall regret.”

I nodded slowly, misunderstanding her reasons. In my obliviousness, I thought she was worried about me compromising her honor if I stayed. But then, no honorable lady would spend her evenings alone in her house with a single gentleman, not to mention go out on her own after midnight. Only women with dark secrets trod those poorly lit avenues in the wee hours of the morning.

Still, what kind of mysteries could Anne be hiding? Another man? A disreputable addiction? Where else could she go every night after our painting sessions were over?

The marks of her nails were clearly visible on my skin. I stared at them, tired of wondering. Tired of hoping.

I put on my hat, and I bid Anne farewell with a bow. But I did not leave: instead, I stationed myself round a corner and waited for her to go out.

When her slight, black figure appeared, swathed in the dense, nocturnal fog, I followed her surreptitiously into the darkness. Later, I learned that she had known I was there but pretended not to see me. Anne had a morbid sense of humor; I just didn’t know it yet.

She headed toward the docks, and I went after her, believing she could not hear me. First, she stopped to talk to a grim-faced man. To my shock, she disappeared with him into a dark alley, regaling him with smiles and giggles that made the veins pulse in my temples out of sheer anger. When she reappeared, less than fifteen minutes later, she was alone again. But she did not stop there: after the first one, there were two more.

Later, I learned she had been amusing herself at the expense of her imprudent voyeur. On an ordinary night, Anne would not claim more than one victim: however, on that occasion she made an exception just for my sake.

Clenching my fists and dying of jealousy, I spied upon her as she made her way back home. By then, I was aghast and sick with resentfulness. I believed I had finally discovered Anne Zugrabescu’s best kept secret. My logical conclusion was that she had become a woman of the night in order to keep afloat the extravagant lifestyle she had led before the death of her husband. In my naiveté, I told myself there was no way she could enjoy such an existence. How could she?

But how could I have fathomed what she really was? How was I to know that she was cursed with a relentless lust which made her seek warmth in perfect strangers as soon as dusk fell?

Her recklessness did not discourage me: on the contrary, her apparent brokenness woke up the dormant knight in shining armor inside me. My soul was wrecked after my profession had presented me with more death and sickness than most human hearts could bear. Finding yet another broken soul felt like the call of destiny.

I thought Anne must have been sent to me so I could save her. So I could change her life.

Fool.

During the following weeks, visions of Anne kissing other men haunted my nightmares, but I kept obsessing over her.

After many days of torture, I finished her painting.

Little did I know that her fate would soon become mine, for she was a lady of the night indeed, just not the kind I had assumed.

I never succeeded to change her life as I had set out to. Instead, it was she who changed mine one damned night shortly thereafter.

Nevertheless, even after Anne was long gone, I never quite forgot the pain of being a mortal in love with a predator.

For how could a human love such a creature without succumbing to sheer madness?

How could a lover watch his dearest wander into a stranger’s embraces to quench a perpetual, morbid thirst?

They say life goes in circles, and two centuries later, I would stand in Anne’s shoes, wondering how to look into Alba Lumin’s eyes without being consumed by the guilt of my gruesome nightly undertakings.

Chapter 7

Alba

“Alba,” Clarence said, rapping softly on my door. “Let me in. I brought wine.”

I groaned, sticking an arm out of the warm duvet to check the time on my phone: it was half past eleven in the morning, and I must have slept less than three hours, after a merry night of jumping into graves with Francesca.

“Go away,” I growled. “I don’t know about you vampires, but normal people don’t drink wine for breakfast.”

“But it’s almost midday,” he protested.

I rubbed my eyes, and the gauze around my hand reminded me of the past night’s events. A wave of fury shook me, and all my muscles tensed with rage. With a snarl, I wrapped the duvet around my half-naked body and opened the door just enough to stick my nose out.

“I don’t want to talk to you,” I spat, trying to close the door again, but he didn’t let me.

“But Isolde,” he said softly, setting his hand in the narrow slot between the door and its frame, “I came to make amends. Please.”

Clarence was standing in front of me with a dusty bottle of wine possibly older than me, annoyingly pristine in his favorite frock coat and silk cravat. He stared at me with such innocent eyes that, for a second, I entertained the thought of allowing him to enter. There had to be some truth about the stories of vampires being able to enthrall women, even though he kept denying it.

I shook my head, and I reminded myself of how he had been avoiding me for weeks without an acceptable explanation and, even worse, how he had deserted me in front of Elizabeth the night before. All of a sudden, all the wistful thoughts vanished.

“No amends,” I said sharply. “And don’t you Isolde me. I’m not in the mood.”

Clarence sighed and stepped back. “As you wish,” he said, his shoulders slumping. “I understand. I just wanted to let you know how awfully sorry I am.”

***

ELIZABETH SPENT THE rest of the day treating me like nothing had happened. The only clue about the torture she had inflicted on me the previous night was that she refrained from admonishing me when I appeared in her office ridiculously late and wearing a reindeer sweater in protest.

She handed me two binders of paperwork to sort and blatantly ignored my wounded hand for the rest of the day: the way she acted, one would have almost thought that stabbing an employee and drinking their blood was totally acceptable business behavior. Maybe it even was―among vampires, perhaps.

I was lethargic and absentminded most of the morning. I kept daydreaming about Clarence and how rare it was to find a man capable of apologizing as earnestly as him. But there were things one couldn’t just solve with a kiss and a glass of chardonnay. When I wasn’t feeling guilty for sending him away with his dusty wine in tow, my mind kept wandering to the contents of Julia’s tin.

“Elizabeth,” I said, once she dismissed me, “have you reconsidered my free days?”

She frowned but didn’t answer right away. “How many days?” she blurted―to my utter surprise―after a brief consideration.

“Two weeks,” I answered, as firmly as I could.

“That’s preposterous.”

“I don’t feel well,” I said, waving my bandaged hand in her face.

Elizabeth let out a deep sigh. “Five days,” she said finally. “More than enough.”

“Fine,” I mumbled under my breath. “Better than nothing, I guess.”

***

FRANCESCA WAS NICE enough to take care of the children in the library so I could rest after lunch. Clarence joined them for a game of pick-up-sticks, clearly hoping to meet me and possibly soften my upset heart a little. I watched them play from the corner of the room, with my arms crossed as I tried to evoke the deepest and scariest frown I could. They offered a peculiar―but equally endearing―sight: two vampires in their elegant period frocks sitting around a carved wooden table next to a four- and a six-year-old in frilly unicorn pajamas.

Francesca threw the sticks on the table, and they started to pick them up in turns, trying not to move the rest as they did so. When Iris’ turn came, she started to whine, complaining it was too hard for her.

“Here, let’s do it together,” Clarence said to her, gentle as always, his eyes glued to mine as he tenderly placed his hand on hers and started to pull at one of the sticks. “Things are easier when you work as a team.”

The last part was obviously directed at me, so I frowned a bit harder to show him I was still mad.

“That’s not fair,” Katie protested, “Clarence has skillful vampire fingers. If the two of them team up, I’ll have no chances of winning!”

Her innocent mention of skillful vampire fingers threw me off my angry pose and probably made me blush the color of ripe cherries. I turned toward the wall, wishing Clarence hadn’t noticed.

After a while, the pile of sticks became more and more unstable, and even Clarence looked distracted, staring at me most of the time instead of paying attention to the game. I saw he was having doubts about the best stick to tackle next. When he finally selected one at the bottom of the pile, I knew well before he touched it that his decision would make him and Iris lose the game.

“Wrong choice,” I muttered to myself, somehow failing to remember that he could hear even the breathing of a fly.

“Why is that?” he asked, his face beaming with expectation. He seemed delighted I had addressed him, after giving him the cold shoulder for the best part of the day.

“Well, isn’t it obvious?” I grunted. “If you knew something about engineering and structures, which is clear you don’t, you would realize right away that the stick you have chosen is going to make the whole pile collapse.”

He lay his chin on his hand with interest.

“Really?” he said with a naughty smile. “And which one would you recommend I pick up, my dear?”

I pointed haughtily at one toward the left, and he squinted at me with mischief.

“Well, thank you,” he said with playful defiance, “but I’ll stick to my stick.”

“As you wish,” I retorted with a shrug.

I was right, and he lost.

In retrospect, he probably did it on purpose, just to make me feel better.

“I told you,” I said triumphantly. “You should always trust the engineer, unless you want things to start collapsing.”

***

I LEFT THE LIBRARY and decided to take advantage of the free vampire nannies to lock myself in my room and open the tin we had retrieved from Julia’s grave. Inside it, I found a few sheets of yellowish paper torn from a journal. A journal I already owned. I was aware that a few pages were missing; now, I finally knew what had become of them.

Most of them were dedicated to Julia’s somehow feverish ramblings about a man called Ludovic, who seemed to have gone missing and whose presence in The Cloister she missed terribly. But two of them were different, and those were the ones which immediately caught my attention.

The first one was a map, drawn in a hurry in quick pencil strokes and marked with a thick, black cross. It was dated after Julia’s death―but the few existent captions were in her handwriting. The city was not mentioned, but the names of the streets were visible and scribbled in Italian. It might be possible to find the place with a bit of effort... and Francesca’s help.

The second one was even more exciting, because it looked like a spell. A summoning spell, it said. It started with the following notice:

“Light three white candles in front of a mirror and chant thrice before slumbertime in order to summon another witch’s astral projection. If the witch accepts your call, she will come to you in due time.”

To my utter surprise, this page was addressed to me. Not by name, but by title: “For my witch successor,” it said.

My hands shook with excitement: I had just got hold of Julia’s esoteric telephone number. Only better, because I might be able to reach her even in the afterlife―or wherever she was.

That night, I put the girls to sleep early and set out to work. There was no shortage of white candles in The Cloister, so it was easy to find three and arrange them in one of the many silver candlesticks the vampires had lying around.

In a low, trembling voice, I read the spell three times as directed. Then, I sat in front of my new mirror and waited.

The grandfather clock in the hall kept striking every quarter of an hour. It chimed eight times, and I started to feel sleepy.

I started to lose faith.

A greenish light appeared in the center of the mirror, and I pondered whether I had fallen asleep or not. A current of wind swept the room, and it carried to me the echoes of a voice I had heard before.

“It’s nice to see you again,” it said, as lightning ignited the room.

***

A BLACK CAT MATERIALIZED inside the mirror. I knew that cat: my daughters used to call it Miss Jilly. I suffocated a scream, not wanting to wake the whole Cloister up.

“Julia!” I whispered with incredulity, twisting my hands as I sat up. “It’s you! The spell worked!”

The cat curled up in a tight ball of fur and stared at me with its bright purple eyes.

“You are right,” she said. Her mouth didn’t move, but I heard the words clearly in my head.

“Why do you always look like a cat?” I asked, extending my hand to touch her. My fingers passed through her body like it wasn’t there and landed on the duvet. “An incorporeal cat.”

“It’s easier this way,” she answered, lifting a semitransparent hind leg and starting to lick it. “I live far away from here, and it takes less energy like this. My vitality is running dangerously low at the moment: that’s why I’m going to need you.”

“You need me?” I asked, blinking in confusion, “I thought you were going to help me.”

“We both have something to gain,” she said mysteriously.

“So you didn’t come to teach me magic?” I asked with disappointment.

The cat―Julia―sat on its hind legs and tilted its head before answering, “I will mentor you, just not now,” she said. “How has your magic been doing since last time?”

“Terrible,” I answered with a sigh. “I keep having unpredictable glitches... jars popping open, appliances stopping working as I pass by... but whenever I really need it, the energy is just not there. I think I’m hopeless.”

“You are not. You just need guidance, and I could offer it to you if you came to me. But I’d like you to do something in exchange.”

“Sounds fair,” I conceded. The green light around Julia was becoming gradually softer. “Tell me about it.”

“I’ll tell you everything, but we need to meet in person. Astral projection takes a hefty toll on my energy, especially to places as far as this. I can’t practice it indefinitely. Moreover, there are things I need to show you and places I’d like you to go.”

“Meet in person?” I stuttered. “But I thought you were...”

“Dead?” she interrupted me, and her tone was somewhat mocking. “No, no. It’s a long story. For now, please take my word for it. One day, when things calm down, we can discuss my life over a cup of coffee. Or over a cauldron of toad brew, if you prefer.”

The air shook with something which vaguely resembled a chuckle. Julia’s green aura had become thinner, and now it barely spread a couple of inches around her body.

“Where should I go?” I asked, wondering whether she was about to disappear.

“Northern Italy,” she said. “If you managed to call me, you must have my map, too. Meet me on the marked spot at noon, on Christmas Eve. I have something to show you. I’ll be expecting you, but please don’t be late. I won’t have much time.”

“Julia, wait... did you just say Italy? Italy, the country?” I asked, then realized I had been talking in a loud voice. Luckily, my daughters were sound sleepers and didn’t even flinch. Julia nodded. “No. I can’t go to Italy now. Elizabeth won’t allow it.”

“Elizabeth doesn’t own you,” she pointed out.

“I can’t promise you anything,” I said, shaking my head. I wasn’t even sure Elizabeth didn’t own me, after the blood oath.

“Then don’t. Just come.”

Julia started to fade, her body becoming more and more translucent. I knew she would soon be gone, and I opened the tin, frantically searching for the map to confirm with her the location of our meeting. But I was drowsier by the seconds, and my hands moved in slow motion. When I found the piece of paper, Julia wasn’t more than a slim puff of green smoke in the mirror.

I woke up, startled, with a strange pain in my neck after sitting in an uncomfortable position for too long. It was too early to get up, but too late to go back to sleep.

The mirror was empty, and the candles had burned out. The tin was still resting on my lap, open. I took the first piece of paper from the small heap and studied it closely: on the hand drawn map, a green cross which wasn’t there before had appeared, and over it now I could clearly read the words Città di Como.

Chapter 8

Alba

The next day, I headed to central Emberbury to drop the girls at Mark’s place after lunch. Before that, we stopped at a clothing store, because the children always seemed to run out of clothes whenever they spent time with their father―I presumed Mark just threw away dirty underwear instead of dealing with such plebeian things as doing laundry.

After choosing enough garments to last them for a couple of weeks, we continued to the checkout. On our way there, I saw a man talking into a mirror, which almost caused me a heart attack―it reminded me of my conversation with Julia the night before, and for a second, I thought it was sheer witchcraft. Upon closer inspection, I saw the label on its silver surface: “Hello. I’m your virtual shop assistant. Ask me anything.”

Ah, technology. Always lagging behind magic so badly.

“Show me blue casual t-shirts,” the man was saying.

“This is the Cote d’Azur model,” the mirror answered. A photo of the man appeared on the glass surface, wearing a photoshopped blue t-shirt. “You’ll find it in aisle number four, men’s section.”

The customer said thank you to the talking mirror and went his way.

“How fun! Can we try?” Katie asked with a wide, gap-toothed smile.

“Why not?” I said, counting the pairs of socks to make sure they would be enough.

“Show me purple dresses,” Katie asked the mirror, skipping with glee.

“Showing you children’s fashion,” the mirror answered, and started to show frilly dresses over my daughter’s photo.

“Wow, this gadget is smart!” I said in admiration. “How does it know you are a child? We didn’t even say it.”

“I’ve been trained for human shape recognition,” the robot voice answered.

“What if I’m just a tiny adult?” Katie asked, squinting maliciously.

“Okay,” said the robot voice. “Showing you dresses specially tailored for people of short stature.”

“Impressive!” I declared, fascinated by the talking mirror. “What else do you know about us just from our pictures?”

The mirror’s voice became lower and deeper, and it said, “I know your name is Alba Lumin, and there are two witches who want to talk to you. They are waiting outside the store right now.”

A lump formed in my throat as the image of two middle-aged ladies flashed in the glass for a split second. It was a good thing there was a rack of men’s shirts nearby to lean against, otherwise I would have fallen on my rear.

“Eh... excuse me?” I said, rubbing my ears/funnels to check they weren’t full of wax.

“Showing you toddler dresses,” the machine answered like nothing had happened, and started a slideshow of children’s fashion.

I blinked in confusion and looked at my daughters. “Did you see that?”

“Yes, I like the one with the seahorse!” Iris said, running in circles and pretending to ride a horse.

“No, I meant the picture of those two ladies?”

“What ladies, mommy?”

“Never mind.”

***

“DO YOU WANT THE HANGERS?” the cashier asked me. I could hardly understand her, because her mouth was so full of chewing gum that I could even guess the flavor―melon, no doubt.

I eyed the wire hangers pensively and remembered the mirror’s revelation.

“Yes, please,” I said, probing the metallic end: it wasn’t very sharp, but better than my nails in case the need for self-defense arose.

As soon as we stepped outside, I spotted the two ladies the mirror had shown me. They were standing on the other side of the sidewalk, next to a tall and narrow stand full of pamphlets and with their faces covered by woolen hats and scarves. Swallowing hard, I took courage and walked toward them, followed by my little girls. What could those women do to me in a crowded, public place, in broad daylight? I wrapped my arms tightly around my daughters and approached them, making sure to remain in the store security guard’s line of sight.

“You must be the one seeking incubus banishment spells,” one of the ladies greeted me, handing me a brochure.

I took the paper with two fingers, pressing the children against my legs. There was a large, bold title on the first page:

“Unexplained morning weakness? Don’t disregard the benefits of proper vampire slaughtering! We are here to help!”

“What is an incubus?” I asked, eyeing both women with suspicion―for some strange reason, they seemed to be laughing behind their scarves.

“Don’t mind Sarah,” the other woman said. “She has a twisted sense of humor. But we have a message for you.”

“For me?” Even though I had suspected it, I couldn’t help but be astounded.

She lowered her head and talked from behind a pair of greasy, pencil-drawn eyebrows. “It’s from The Witches of the Lake,” she whispered. “They would like to meet you.”

I took a deep breath. It seemed so many witches wanted to meet me lately.

“Who are you? And who are The Witches of the Lake? Are you The Witches of the Lake?” I asked, grabbing Iris’s hood to prevent her from running after a creepy balloon seller.

“We are just honest Salem witches,” she answered. “We want nothing to do with those European prima donnas. They think so highly of themselves.” She sighed. “But, as sisters, we sometimes agree to carry messages for each other. Basic manners, you see.”

“Okay...” I said, shaking my head. “So, what’s the message?”

“They asked us to relay their address to you, so you can get to know each other.” She took a hard binder and retrieved the vampire slaughtering pamphlet from my hand. “There. I’ll write it on this flyer, if you don’t mind. It’s a place in Italy.”

“Italy, Texas?” I raised an eyebrow.

“There’s an Italy in Texas?” The other witch snorted. “No, the real one. A small city called Como.”

That was insane: it was the same city I was supposed to meet Julia in. A coincidence? I didn’t think so.

The woman handed me the paper. “You keep it. And have a good look at our services, we are very affordable.” She winked. “In case you change your mind about the incubus.”

“Change my mind?”

They hadn’t even told me what the word meant yet.

“Well, read it first.” She tapped my forearm, just like my grandma would have done. “Our number is printed on the back, in case you need anything. Silver bullets, graveyard dirt... you know, your basic everyday staples to deal with the bloodsuckers!”

“Hmm, yeah... thanks?” I said, wincing as I stuck the pamphlet in a pocket of my coat.

A raven flew by, and Iris pointed at it.

“Look, mommy, Clarence came!”

The witches frowned and looked up at the black bird, who was hovering right over our heads at low height.

“I think we should go,” I murmured through gritted teeth, suddenly worried about Clarence’s wellbeing near those women. I turned to the kids and pulled them toward me. “Daddy will be angry if we’re late.”

***

SINCE THE DIVORCE, Mark had moved into a luxurious loft apartment in the city center, closer to his attorney’s office than our previous residence. He was now living with a woman called Minnie, who had been his lover for a year or so. I didn’t like the idea of Minnie’s existence, but she was kind to my children, and after all, she was crazy enough to live with Mark willingly: a woman with such nerve definitely deserved my admiration―and perhaps my pity, too. She also made me feel less apprehensive when I had to leave the children at Mark’s place.

My relationship with my ex-husband hadn’t been the best during the past months, but I tried to behave as normally as possible for the sake of my girls. Whenever possible, I messaged Minnie and avoided contact with him. That seemed to keep his yelling and arguing at bay, at least most of the time.

The girls and I crossed the vast lobby, and I nodded at the well-dressed concierge. He greeted us, and we entered the elevator. Katie and Iris trotted cheerfully behind me, obliviously happy to see their dad again.

I always found it fascinating how forgiving little children could be.

I squared my shoulders and tried to look as smooth as possible before meeting the devil. Today I’m going to behave in a civilized way, I vowed.

I am calm, confident and self-assured. I am a well, and I seek for calming, fresh water in the depths of my soul, I repeated, mimicking the soothing voice in my self-help mp3’s.

Minnie opened the door, dressed in an extremely thin and short chemise. Unlike my vampire housemates, who had no trouble with cold spaces, Mark and his girlfriend never bothered to save on heating.

“Hi, Alba, how is work?” she uttered out of thin air.

The woman always had the strangest way of greeting people. I feigned a smile and let her kiss my cheeks, shoving the girls into my ex-husband’s luxurious new quarters.

“Oh, it’s going great, thank you,” I answered, wondering what was wrong with good old-fashioned how are you. “My dream job.”

Okay, maybe I overdid it a little bit.

“I bet she won’t last until the summer,” Mark shouted from the living room.

I rolled my eyes. “Hi, Mark.”

He came out in his briefs and greeted me with a twisted lip. “Haven’t you noticed the pattern yet? Everyone gets rid of you, sooner or later.”

My heart sank at the truth in his words: he had a talent for making me feel terrible in the blink of an eye.

“Isn’t that skirt too short for someone your age?” he commented, as my eyes traveled in confusion toward his new girlfriends’ missing skirt.

She was younger than I, her skin effortlessly rosy, plump, and luscious. I was ancient next to Minnie. Which reminded me that soon I would look truly ancient next to two-hundred-year-old Clarence. In a couple of years, people might start to mistake me for his mother. Perhaps he had already thought about that, which would explain why he had kept himself so busy lately. The thought made my knees falter, and I had to steady myself against the doorframe.

“Come on, Marky,” Minnie said, tousling his hair in a way he would have never allowed me to. “I am aloof as a rock, remember?” She smiled innocently. “We have a new life coach. From London! He’s working wonders on darling Marky and his temper, isn’t he? Can’t you feel the difference already, Alba?”

“Err...” I hesitated. The way Mark was scowling at me, he was going to need many, many sessions for the effects to become noticeable.

I wasn’t happy to leave my children with Mark, but standing at his doorstep for the rest of the month of December wasn’t ideal, either. I hugged the girls as tight and long as I could without looking deranged and then turned to Minnie, ignoring my sullen ex-husband.

“Take good care of them.” My voice trembled. “I bought them lots of underwear, and new ski jackets. Make sure they’re not cold, will you? Iris has a drippy nose. Check her temperature in the evening.” Even though I wasn’t a fan of Minnie, she always did as I said and sent me messages and photos every day, explaining everything they did together. In a way, I was thankful for her. “I’m going abroad for the holidays,” I added, “so I might be hard to reach by phone from time to time. But don’t worry, I’ll read everything eventually.”

“Oh, how cool! Where are you going?” Minnie asked, clapping her hands.

I paused. Could Mark use this information against me? I decided that most probably not.

“I was thinking about Italy,” I said casually, then I got a naughty idea. “They say it’s romantic. I’m hoping to find a decent man and stay there forever.”

Minnie arched her eyebrows and started to giggle. “We’re glad you are overcoming the divorce,” she said, emphasizing the we part, like We, Mark and Minnie, was a consolidated concept already. “It’s good for you.”

I often felt bad for secretly hating Minnie. At the end of the day, not only did she have to sleep in the same bed as Mark, which was horrible enough, but she kept trying to be nice to me. Too nice, almost.

I kissed my girls once more, realizing bitterly that this would be our last kiss until the New Year. That made me feel weepy, so I left the building as quickly as I could.

This was going to be our first Christmas apart. Would I ever get used to sharing them? At least they wouldn’t have to spend the holidays watching me and their father throw glittered ornaments at each other. I told myself that this must be an improvement, even if a small one.

I repeated my mantra, but it became hazy in my mind. Mark might be a rock, but I was supposed to be a well, and wells had a right to weep.

I am a well, and I draw up fresh water from the depths of my soul to keep myself calm and collected.

I am a well, and I draw up fresh buckets of sorrow and envy to keep myself in the worst mood possible...

Wait, what?

No, scratch that. That wasn’t right.

I am a well...

And I’m going to need a larger bucket to survive the holidays.

Chapter 9

Alba

It was dark and wintry when I stepped on the street again. The air smelled of smoke and caramel apples, and the sound of Christmas carols seeped out of the still open stores.

I ambled absentmindedly along a busy promenade flanked by trees, thumbing through my phone and searching for affordable plane tickets. Clarence’s voice came out of nowhere, breaking my concentration.

“Alba, how lovely to see you here.”

I could have sworn he wasn’t there two seconds earlier. He had a talent to materialize out of thin air, and right now he was right beside me, sitting peacefully on a concrete bench under a tree.

“Oh, Clarence, you startled me,” I gasped, pushing my bag against my chest while my breathing went back to normal. “Please don’t do that on the street. Somebody could notice!”

“Sit down, please,” he said with a half-smile, seemingly unconcerned. But I knew him too well by then to be fooled by his soft manners: there was something going on under the surface.

The concrete bench was freezing cold, although he probably hadn’t noticed. I sat on the edge, divided between feeling guilty for sending him away with the wine or angry at his behavior during the oath ceremony. He wrapped a shy arm around my waist and started to flip through a brochure with extreme interest.

“I was reading a very informative document while I waited for you,” he said, pointing at the leaflet he was holding. “If I’m not mistaken, you should fill one of my socks with graveyard dirt or stab me with coffin nails while I sleep.” He winced. “I have been quite sleepless of late, so... which sock would you prefer, the left one or the right one?”

He rested a foot over his knee and started to untie his shoe, staring at me with a daring smirk.

“Clarence!” I blurted, realizing it was my brochure he was holding―the one the witches had given me. “Where did you get that?”

“It was in your pocket,” he said innocently.

I felt the pockets of my coat and, sure enough, they were empty. I had no idea when it had gone missing.

“You really have to stop snitching my stuff!” I said, slapping his arm in admonishment.

He looked amused. “Now you wear no rings anymore, what else was I supposed to steal to draw your attention?” As he spoke, I rubbed my bare hands. Mark had requested I give him back the wedding bands. “When I saw you talking with those witches, I got sticky fingers again... and it ended up being a very edifying opportunity, as well. Did you know you can buy corpse water by the gallon? And it’s cheaper than Port wine!”

“Corpse water?” I grimaced with disgust. “Why would anyone want that?”

“To fend off vampires, of course!”

I looked around cautiously, concerned someone might have heard him. The street was crowded. Most of the passersby were carrying shopping bags and nobody seemed to be paying attention to us.

“Clarence, stop,” I hissed, trying to take the brochure off his hands. “What’s the matter with you?”

We tussled for the piece of paper, but he was too fast for me. In the end, he held my wrist and pulled the leaflet―and me after it―toward his chest until our lips met. In an impulse, I snuggled between his arms and embraced him in surrender. It had been weeks since the last time we had been so close. To be precise, it had been weeks since the last time we had kissed at all. Cold radiated from his body, firm and strong like a marble statue. A very handsome and competent marble statue with a talent for leaving me light-headed.

“I have missed you so much,” he said, breathless, holding me with such strength that I had to gasp for air.

I stared at him, remembering I should be angry at him, not kissing him. “You have missed me? You have been away so often that I don't even know what we are anymore, Clarence. If we were ever anything,” I said in an offended puff. His rusty taste was still on my lips. “Nobody forced you to go all Houdini on me!”

“In all fairness, as much as I vow to, I can’t stay away from you, my Isolde.” He shook his head with dismay.

Then don’t, I wanted to yell. It wasn’t me who had started that odd hide-and-seek game of his.

“Clarence, you have been behaving in such a strange way lately. I don’t understand, and you never give me any explanations. One day, you are all smiles and kisses, and the next, you disappear and leave me to my own devices when I need you the most. It’s becoming really hard for me to live like this, you know? Please don’t get me wrong, but I thought you... I thought we...” I trailed off, hoping he would finish the sentence for me.

Instead, he slouched a little and let his hand fly to a small red stain on his shirt. He was wearing normal, twenty-first century clothes, as he often did when he went out in public. He tried to scratch off the blotch with a brooding expression.

“Do you know what this is?” he asked in a listless tone.

“It’s a stain,” I answered bluntly.

“That’s inaccurate.” He shook his head, took my hand and started to caress it.

“Of course it’s a stain. I’m a mother of two: it’s not the first one I’ve seen, trust me. Not even the most disgusting one.”

“It’s a blood stain, Alba,” he murmured, scanning my face with those maroon eyes of his.

“Then I’d recommend soaking it in hydrogen peroxide. I have a small basin I could lend you, and there’s warm water in my room...” I started to ramble, because I knew where the conversation was leading... and I didn’t want to go there.

“Do you know whose blood it is?” he asked patiently.

I lifted my eyes and observed his cheeks were oddly flushed―he had been so pale lately, but now the pallor was gone.

“No?” I answered with hesitation.

Please. Don’t tell me.

“It’s another... person’s blood.” His voice sounded ragged, infinitely pained. “Could also be another woman’s blood.”

An invisible wrecking ball hit the pit of my stomach, and the floor crumbled beneath my feet.

“Did you...” I ran out of air. “Did you...? With her...? Before you...?”

I couldn’t even bring myself to finish the sentence.

He had been so absent, after all.

I was going to age and die, wasn’t I?

It all made sense now.

“No. No! Of course not!” He raked his fingers through his raven hair. “But still.”

I exhaled. I was aware of his feeding habits, even though we both preferred not to discuss them. The sudden image of his lips on a stranger’s neck made me nauseous, and he noticed my unease.

“Can you see it now?” he rumbled. “I will never be able to offer you a normal life―a happy life. The one you deserve. It would be selfish to keep you for myself in these circumstances.”

I buried my face in my hands. Was this some sort of extremely polite goodbye? The vampire version of ‘it’s not you, it’s me’?

“Clarence, please. I’ve known what you are... and what you do... from the very beginning, and I never blamed you for it. Never said a word.”

“The fact that you don’t say it doesn’t make it disappear,” he pointed out. “As much as it troubles me, I know I will always fail you: I can’t help it. Even if you don’t talk about it, your anger is like a cloud hovering over us.”

“No,” I said. “Well, yes, I’m angry at you. But not for that reason.”

“I know, my dear.” He nudged my cheek with his icy nose. “And you have all the right to be. You don’t have to justify yourself. I understand.”

As if on cue, my wounded wrist started to throb. He watched me, wordless. It was too excruciating to stay like that for so long, so I broke the silence.

“I’m thinking of going to Italy for the holidays,” I said, hesitant.

“Italy?” He scanned the vampire hunters’ brochure with worry. “Is it because of this? Are you...?” He left the sentence unfinished.

“Leaving you? To join those witches?” I laughed bitterly. “Of course not! You know well that my encounters with other witches haven’t been exactly great so far.”

“Why then?”

“It’s Julia. You know, I had a very nice chat with Francesca the other day. Inside Julia’s tomb, to be precise.”

He blinked, his mouth wide open.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Did you know Julia is not resting in her grave?”

“I didn’t know,” he said, “but it makes sense, given everything that happened while she lived in The Cloister.”

“I think Julia is alive.” When I said that, he looked at me like someone calculating a complex mathematical formula. “She has asked me to meet her in a city in Northern Italy. I suspect all of this―her non-death, the secretiveness of it all―has a lot to do with Elizabeth, to whom I just swore lifetime loyalty a couple of days ago.”

Clarence shook his head. “I can’t believe Francesca knew all that and never told me.”

“That last part I heard from Julia herself. I summoned her into my mirror last night.”

“Did you? Well, your magic seems to be improving. Congratulations,” he said ruefully.

“It’s not, really. I think the merit was mostly hers. But she promised to teach me a few things if I visited her. She said she’s not able to come here. She wants to show me something.” I pursed my lips. “You know, the other day in that store, I made a teacup hover in front of at least four strangers. This is getting out of control. I really have to take matters into my own hands before something terrible happens.”

“Does Elizabeth know about your travel plans?”

“She gave me five days. I can go wherever I want.”

“Five days!” He gasped. “That’s barely enough to get there and back!”

“Well... my flight might be delayed,” I shrugged. I had been thinking about possible ways to extend my European vacation. Surely, Elizabeth wouldn’t chastise me if my airline had trouble due to Christmas. “Or even cancelled, who knows.”

“But, Alba...” He tried to grab my hand once again, but I squirmed out of his grasp. As much I craved his touch, it made it hard to think straight. “Now is not a good moment. You don’t have enough time. And lying to Elizabeth... that’s never a good idea. You just swore loyalty to her. You can’t just disobey her the very next day. This won’t end well.”

“I’m not planning to disobey her!” I complained, “I just said I might extend my vacation a little―if necessary.”

“Don’t do it. Please. Stay.”

I shook my head. “No. I need to go. I need to see Julia. This might be a once-in-a-lifetime chance.”

And I’m so confused about us at the moment that I desperately need to get away from this place. And from you.

He pressed his eyelids together. “Then let me go with you.”

“You can’t board a plane.”

“That I cannot. But I could fly. I have done it before. It’s risky, yes, and it would take me a long time, but it’s doable.”

“I’ll be fine,” I said slowly, my eyes fixed on that cursed blood stain on his shirt. “I think I need a couple of days on my own. A change of scenery.”

“I understand.” His shoulders slumped, and he put a hand over his heart. “And I respect your decision. But whatever happens, please remember... you are very dear to me. And will forever be.”

Chapter 10

Clarence

“Merry Christmas, Clarence,” Alba told me before leaving for the airport on that gray, foggy December morning.

Her tone was not particularly merry during our farewell under the mausoleum, and neither were my spirits. I hadn’t celebrated Christmas for two-hundred years, as I saw no merit in commemorating the birth of a god who had given up on me a long time ago.

After she left, I stood on the landing of the stairs which led to the catacombs, sheltering from the bright sunlight reflected on the snowy graveyard. I wished she hadn’t refused my company, for I was worried about her.

Then again, flying over the ocean would have taken me a few days: I would arrive just to watch her leave. Boarding a plane was out of the question, as well: the authorities might notice my forged passport, if I didn’t burst into flames on a shuttle bus first.

And finally, there was Elizabeth.

Hopefully, Alba would be back after the agreed five days. But in case she was late, someone would have to appease our queen, and I had a talent for that.

How much more convenient it would have been if Julia could have remained dead just a little longer.

The Cloister felt empty without Alba. I headed to the library, hoping to find Jean-Pierre. I wasn’t seeking clarity: I rather expected him to numb my mind with one of his lengthy and tiresome monologues about Plato or Aristotle.

When I got there, I found Francesca lighting candles with a fire steel and a tinderbox. Even though we were blessed with the miracle of electricity now, none of us vampires were too fond of the droning buzz it involved. Candles, on the other hand, were much gentler on our sharp eyes and let out blissful crackling sounds.

“She’s gone,” Francesca stated, then added with a loaded meaning, “Without you.”

“We are not Siamese twins,” I informed her. “She preferred to go alone.”

“So, allow me to understand this,” Francesca said, her teal irises following the candle flame. “She’s traveling to the other side of the world, to a place we know is swarming with witches, and you don’t mind?” She shook her head. “I don’t know whether I should be proud of you for becoming such a progressive man after all this time, or deeply concerned about your mental stability. At any rate, I didn’t expect you to watch her go so calmly when I sent her on her way to meet Julia. I am astonished.” She threw me a condemning look as she rearranged the candles. “But I’m sure she will fend for herself quite well, won’t she? What could a whole coven of powerful Old-World witches do to a lonely, clueless stray if they happened to track her down?”

Francesca lifted the chandelier and set it on a coffee table, admiring her work with satisfaction.

“What makes you think I watched her go calmly?” I murmured, swiping a stack of papers from Jean-Pierre’s desk so I could sit on the edge of the table. He frowned at me from his chair and started to put the papers in order again, visibly offended by my carelessness.

“Wait. Is this about that old injury of your wing?” Francesca continued. “When the ex-husband attacked you an eon ago?” She stepped back and stared at me with distaste. “Are you afraid the after-effects of that wound will make you plunge into the ocean if you go after her? Because I doubt you could drown, even if you tried really hard.”

“My arm is fine, thank you. It took a while to recover, but I have no problems at present.”

She grabbed my elbow and studied it nonchalantly, feeling under my shirt all the way up to my shoulder with her tiny, sharp fingertips. Yes, it had taken longer than expected, but the blame was entirely on me. It could have healed in a couple of days, had I fed properly and spent the days slumbering, instead of taking on any single foreign mission Elizabeth had come up with and brooding about Anne Zugrabescu and how horribly similar I had become to her.

“How unusual that it took so long, don’t you agree?” Francesca commented. “I have never seen a vampire heal as slowly as you.” She grimaced with reprobation as she released me. “You must have been doing something wrong, Clarence. Have you fed lately? You look pale.”

“He’s doing everything wrong, ma chérie,” Jean-Pierre said, appearing from behind an enormous pile of Greek books. “He thinks he can save the world by starving himself. How did he put it?” He continued in a mocking tone, “He now believes that behaving like a normal vampire and sinking his fangs into other mortals’ necks is akin to... unfaithfulness toward the little witch.”

Jean-Pierre burst into laughter and Francesca rolled her eyes.

“Ah.” She sighed. “I always knew you were a bit impractical, Clarence, but this... this is quixotic, my dear.”

“Says the vampire who feeds on rabbits and squirrels,” I objected.

“Nobody forbids you to do the same.” Francesca explained, in that slow and patient tone of hers. “Starvation leads to weakness... and loss of control. Is that what you strive for?”

I had tried to emulate Francesca’s feeding habits. But it was unbearable: the stench was horrid, and animal blood never satiated my thirst properly. It was never enough, and certainly not meant to be: just like a human drinking from a foul water fountain when foodstuffs were required instead.

“The bloodlust is too strong: stronger than I am. It’s perplexing that you can walk the streets at night, amidst all those sweet-smelling warmbloods, and not be tempted to pounce on them. If I fast for too long, I can’t help it. Sometimes it gets so bad that I don’t dare roam among humans in the open anymore.”

“You were always weak.” She shrugged. “Anyhow, there’s nothing wrong with being who we are. I don’t mind squirrels: I’m used to them. But if you can’t stand the taste, there’s nothing wrong with that. We are not humans. We needn’t share their moral principles. This is starting to go too far, if you ask me.”

“No, indeed I did not ask you. I just came here to talk about Aristotle, but you two had to give your unsolicited opinion, as usual.”

I was trying not to lose my temper, but it was proving harder and harder.

“Our helpful opinion, Clarence,” Francesca corrected, holding a strand of hair over a candle flame and watching it burn. It smelled of burnt flesh, and I flinched at the memories it recalled.

“Ah. Leave him alone. He will come to his senses eventually,” Jean-Pierre said, taking Francesca’s hand and bowing in a classical minuet opening as he hummed a tune. “Given that you are so committed to this illusion of loyalty to your witch, have you at least... tasted her?” he asked with no little sarcasm. “And, if you haven’t, what are you waiting for?”

I did not bother replying. He knew the answer very well.

“Then what on earth do you do when you are alone? Are you a vampire or a damned forest fairy? What kind of relationship is that, if I may ask?”

“None,” I growled with my eyes closed. “Unlike you, I don’t believe there can be a true relationship where one only gives and the other only takes.”

“You are so confused, my friend,” Jean-Pierre said, and started to twirl Francesca around the bookcases, throwing me amused glances. “Until you bite her, she’s not yours. Which means she’s free for anyone else to take.”

“Even for me?” Francesca giggled and winked at me.

“Oh, ma belle Francesca, did I tell you what an exquisite lady I met yesterday evening?” Jean-Pierre said conversationally, licking his lips and caressing his dancing partner’s back as they twirled around the room. “Two-and-twenty. Such a glowing, succulent bosom; hair like golden waves of silk over a mantle of snow... and what fire! What passion! It’s a pity you weren’t there, she would have enjoyed those sweet lady-tricks of yours.” He moaned exaggeratedly and turned to me. “What about you, Clarence? What did you catch yesterday...? A cold, perhaps?”

They started to cackle, and I pounded on the table.

“Enough!”

They stopped dancing, but the smirk on Jean-Pierre’s face remained.

“Tell me, both of you, who seem to be so knowledgeable,” I asked them, trying to hide the rage in my voice. “Were you ever in love with a vampire?” I paused, and they stared at each other blankly. “Did you ever share your affections with one of our kind when you were still mortal?”

Jean-Pierre waved his hand in dismissal, but Francesca lowered her gaze, her countenance suddenly grave.

“No,” Jean-Pierre answered haughtily, “I didn’t know any vampires back then. But let me tell you: I have been well-liked by many mortals in this life, even though none of them remember me anymore.” He chuckled. “It must be my many innate charms. And, not to boast, but none of them denied me their blood, either; nor did they frown at my feeding habits. Because we are vampires, remember?”

He started to laugh again, but Francesca hushed him, looking moody.

“In that case, my dear friend, I doubt you will ever understand my misery,” I said dryly, and left.

Chapter 11

Alba

I boarded the plane feeling excited and queasy in equal measure.

Possibly more queasy than excited, but I tried not to dwell on the lingering nausea which had plagued me since leaving The Cloister.

I was feeling terribly cranky after parting ways with Clarence with a kiss on the cheek. His eyes had betrayed how wretched he felt letting me go, but he hadn’t repeated his offer to accompany me. Had he done so, I would have said yes. Panic was starting to creep in as I pondered all the possible outcomes of this trip. What would await me after landing in Italy? Had I made a mistake refusing his help? If nothing else, perhaps my absence would make him miss me. Maybe my constant availability had made him take me for granted.

Hence, here I was, sitting in a crowded Airbus and holding a vampire slaughtering brochure and an ugly old book with brownish covers which had come straight from Clarence’s private library. The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood, first 1883 edition; probably worth hundreds of dollars by now.

I sat back in my seat, sipping airplane trolley tea which tasted like old socks brew, and started to read the bizarre leaflet the witches had handed to me on the street.

There was a man sitting next to me, and he kept reading over my shoulder. Feeling uncomfortable, I folded back the brochure and picked up an airline magazine. The first page was a dull-looking article titled The Wonders of Northern Italy.

Nonetheless, the neighboring man kept staring and making me uneasy. Finally, I gave him a discreet, sidelong glance, in the hopes he would get the hint. He must have been around my age, with dark blond hair like Mark’s, although styled in a short, military-looking haircut. The way he clenched his muscular jaw made me suspect this man had spent half of his life being angry at the world. To my relief, he didn’t sound particularly angry when he addressed me.

“First time traveling to Italy?” he asked with a cocky smile.

Oh no. Now Fitness Man wanted to do small talk, and I was trapped with him in a twelve-hour long flight. I was never one to enjoy talking to strangers, and even less so to those who looked like they spent 24/7 sitting in a chest press.

I could pretend to be absorbed in my magazine, couldn’t I? For twelve hours?

“Aha,” I mumbled, hoping that would stop him from asking further questions.

To avoid making the situation more awkward than necessary, I stuck the witches’ leaflet deep into The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood. As I opened it, a black feather with red sprinkles fell out of the book. Hastily, I retrieved the feather from the floor and put it back into place. The page it had fallen from was dog-eared, and Clarence had underlined a passage with charcoal pencil:

“Robin whistled as he trudged along, thinking of Maid Marian and her bright eyes, for at merry times a man’s thoughts are wont to turn pleasantly upon the lass he loves the best...”

Oh, Clarence, nicely played.

My heart skipped a beat at the memory of him. While Fitness Man wasn’t looking, I brought the feather to my nose, gave it a good sniff, and got lost for a second in Clarence’s rust and evergreen smell.

Why did he have to keep confusing me like that? One day he stood me up, and the next, he sent me subliminal love messages. That vampire was about to drive me nuts with his shifting moods.

“Let me guess...” The man next to me hadn’t stopped staring, and I quickly closed the book. I made sure the feather was safely tucked inside: I would need to sniff it again later. “You’re going to Venice, aren’t you?”

“No,” I answered laconically, hoping he would leave me alone to agonize over Clarence for the rest of the flight.

“Smart girl!” he insisted. “The high tide is awful in December. I wouldn’t go there either. It stinks of dead fish, and it’s so overpriced! Did you know I paid five euros for a can of cola last year?”

“Appalling,” I said in a flat voice.

“You have no idea!” He nodded and pointed at my wrist, which was still covered in bandages. “That must have hurt. What happened to you? An animal bit you?”

Quite close. If only he knew.

“I’m not a great cook,” I said. It wasn’t a lie.

“You won’t need to cook while in Italy: the restaurants are awesome. What’s your name, by the way? Have I seen you somewhere before?”

At first, I thought he was trying one of those cliché pickup lines. But, upon closer inspection, I noticed his face was familiar, too. Only I wasn’t sure yet whether it was good-familiar or bad-familiar.

“My name is Carlo Lombardi,” he introduced himself. Carlo Lombardi offered me a firm hand, connected to an arm which looked like the muscle dummy from a high school laboratory. I shook it weakly―it was warm and a bit callused. “And you? What’s your name?”

“Alba,” I muttered. My boarding pass was on the tray, with my name clearly readable on it.

“Beautiful name. Where is it from? Italy?”

No. From Introvertland.

“I don’t think so,” I answered.

“I see you are reading about Lake Como,” he said, pointing at the magazine. He was scanning my face for a reaction, so I displayed my most professional poker face. I also turned on my antennas in case he had something interesting to tell me about the place I was visiting. “A friend of mine owns a small inn near the lake. If you haven’t booked a place to stay, I can give you the address. I go there every year, and it’s really cozy.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I already booked a room, but thanks.”

“Really? Where?”

“Uh, it’s called The Trees or something. How do you say tree in Italian?”

“Albero,” he answered, in a perfect pronunciation.

“Is that what your friend’s place is called?”

Please, say no.

“Nope, my friend’s place doesn’t have the word tree in it. But, if you are staying near Como, I can pick you up some day and show you around. You are on your own, aren’t you?” He looked around, like he expected a husband/boyfriend to pop out of my handbag. “I have lots of free time. I’m alone, too.” He studied me with round, blue eyes framed by thick, light brown eyebrows.

“Oh, I’ve got a really busy schedule already. I doubt I’ll be able to fit any more activities in.”

“But what about Christmas Eve?” He insisted. “There’s a singles’ party in my hotel. Speed dating, drinking games... why don’t you come? It will be fun.”

I wanted to retort that I wasn’t single, but I wasn’t even sure any longer. Also, I had completely forgotten about Christmas and had no interest in joining any celebrations if my kids were not present. My plan was just to meet Julia, see what we could do for each other, then return home as quickly as possible. I should be back in Emberbury before the New Year.

“Uh... I don’t know. I’m meeting some friends. I’m only staying for a couple of days,” I said.

“Oh, Italian friends are the best, don’t you think?”

“Didn’t you just say you were Italian?”

“I am half Italian,” he clarified, his elbow perilously crossing the tacit boundary of our shared armrest.

I rummaged in my bag and found a sleeping mask in an inner pocket. Popping it over my eyes, I yawned with exaggeration and said, “Time to get some beauty sleep, or we’ll be too jet-lagged on arrival to enjoy the views.”

***

AGROTURISMO FORESTA Chiara was a fairytale country house built on one floor against a mountain slope overlooking the lake. Its pointed roofs shone under the bleak winter sun, surrounded by leafless vineyards. It wasn’t far away from the famous Lake Como, but distant enough to avoid the hordes of tourists who stood in line, waiting for the buses which toured around the area all year round.

On my arrival, after a long taxi ride from the airport, I was greeted by the owner, a sprightly thirtysomething called Berenice. She assigned me a cozy Alpine room decorated with honey-colored wooden furniture, a vintage crochet quilt and paintings of women dancing in long, striped skirts while drinking wine off each other’s cups.

“You should join me and the rest of our guests tonight,” Berenice said. She was wearing a rainbow patchwork dress, which must have been sewn by an army of drunk fairies. “Is this your first time in Italy? Are you on your own?”

Was everybody going to ask me that?

“Yes, but I’m visiting some friends,” I answered politely.

She winked. “You may like to hear that lots of single men have checked into our inn this week.” Did I have the words divorced and desperate written all over my forehead? Judging by her mischievous smile, I might have. “Expect a very special Christmas this year. Love is in the air!” She wrinkled her nose mischievously, and I grimaced in horror. What had possessed me to check into this dreadful matchmaker’s inn? “Don’t forget!” she sang. “Dinner is at 8 PM.”

I spent the afternoon channel-hopping in my room, trying to find a program able to capture my volatile attention. Meanwhile, I made up my mind not to attend Berenice’s welcome dinner. An hour or so later, my cell phone started to flash with two incoming messages.

The first one was Minnie’s. Mark and I avoided texting each other, because most of the important information ended up lost in a sea of bickering. Minnie was neutral ground, so we used her as an intermediary.

Iris and Katie wanted to show you their Christmas tree.

The text was followed by several photos of the girls hanging ornaments on a tree taller than Mark, wearing new dresses and beaming wide smiles. My heart constricted just a little, but I ignored the sinking feeling and wrote back a polite thank you message to Minnie.

The next message was Clarence’s, and his deliciously archaic style―better suited for handwritten letters than plain instant messaging―automatically made me smile. He had grasped the use of technology surprisingly fast, but we still needed to polish his texting language skills a little.

I pictured him sitting at his desk, pressing the letter keys one by one with a stylus and with flashing vampire speed. He had to use a typing tool because, otherwise, phone screens didn’t respond to his tomblike, cold touch. The message said:

My dearest, beloved Alba,

I hope this message finds you well. I am writing to inquire about the outcome of your travels. I hope you arrived safely to your accommodations and are enjoying your stay in Continental lands.

Please write back soon and take care.

Missing you already,

Your admirer and friend,

Clarence

I miss you too, I thought, hugging the phone against my chest. Only then I took a closer look.

He had signed himself as my admirer and friend.

And friend?

A wave of heat washed over me as my worst suspicions were confirmed. How could I have thought Clarence’s affections would last forever? How many times did I need to fail to learn my lesson? Mark was probably right: not only was I too old for miniskirts, but I was also a disaster and bound to be rejected over and over until I ended up an ugly old witch with warts on my nose.

Dispirited, I sat on the bed and pondered over Clarence’s words like a broody teenager. After lengthy―and fruitless―deliberations, I gave up trying to decipher the hidden meaning behind his message and decided to do something more useful with my life.

I remembered about the brochure the witches had given me and took it out of my bag. Seemingly, those friendly-looking ladies had a buoyant vampire slaughtering side hustle. The brochure included a test to check whether you had been an unknowing victim of vampirism and how close you were to becoming a bloodsucker yourself. I scored a whopping 95% probability of being a victim and an 87% likelihood of joining The Dark Side eventually. My answers went more or less like this:

Wake up tired? Check.

Uncommonly pale, photophobia? Check―I was living in a catacomb, after all.

Constantly followed by ravens, black cats or bats? Check.

Incoherent talking? Check, check.

Clouded thinking? Triple check.

After that, there were a few do-it-yourself deterrents you could easily prepare with ingredients sold in their store. Just like Clarence, I loved the sock one. The leaflet also stated that throwing a fistful of rice in front of your doorstep would force any passing vampire to count each grain compulsively before entering―which would theoretically take them long past sunrise and therefore cause them to leave you alone. Maybe that was deterring Clarence from visiting my room more often? He could be quite pedantic sometimes, so it wasn’t entirely implausible. I pledged to give a good sweep to the floor on my return, just in case.

According to the leaflet, if the vampire was really persistent and refused to leave you alone, you could also enlist the witches’ services and get 50% off your first buy. Did the discount mean that they expected returning customers, or resurrected vampires? They boasted about owning a large stock of silver stakes and tungsten chains―seemingly, those were the most effective in restraining a bloodsucker, even better than silver, against popular belief.

I was never going to throw away that jewel of a brochure. If nothing else, I would wave it in front of Clarence’s face whenever he got on my nerves.

Because we were still friends, weren’t we?

I took a quick look at the words scribbled on the back:

Ask for Valentina Caruso at the Museum of Witchcraft of Como, or call this telephone number.

Okay, I definitely wasn’t going to call those vampire-loathing witches any time soon. But I would keep the leaflet for future reference.

I threw on a green wool dress―long enough for an Amish wedding reception, because Mark’s words were still echoing in my mind―and headed downstairs, to the common living room where dinner would be served.

Berenice, the quirky inn owner, came by and brought me a plate of toast with olive oil, slices of cheese and tomato, which I accepted with great enthusiasm.

“Thank you, this is delicious,” I said, taking a bite of cheese. I hadn’t eaten anything since the plane.

“Glad you like it!” she answered, taking a seat at my table. “Is your room alright? Do you have enough towels?”

“Everything is great, thank you.”

“If you need any ideas for day trips, I can help!”

“Oh, no, it’s fine, I already have a few things on my to-do list. I found them on the internet. But do you know if there is a passenger terminal for boat trips? I’d like to explore the lake a bit while I’m here.”

“Yes, great idea! I’ll mark the spot on a map for you. Or, even better, I could take you myself. I have a small boat, and I can organize a trip for a couple of guests who were asking this morning. I would just charge you for the snacks. Are you free tomorrow?”

“Hmm, no, I’m going to Como tomorrow. But you don’t have to trouble yourself. I’m fine on my own.”

“No trouble at all! I’ll see if we can change the date to the day after tomorrow. We sisters must help each other!”

I cleared my throat. Sisters?

“Oh, look who is here! My favorite guest!” Berenice turned around to greet a newcomer and the man from the plane walked into the dining room, a smug smirk all over his face. “Carlo!” she squealed and embraced him, hopping slightly to reach his shoulders. “Let me introduce you to Alba. She’s new!”

“We know each other,” he said, putting his hands in his pockets.

“Do you?” Berenice smiled. “Then you should sit together. I’m a bit short on tables tonight. Tell her about the places she should visit. And about Turanna’s mirror. She said she’s visiting the Museum of Witchcraft tomorrow, she shouldn’t miss our finest piece.”

No, I didn’t say that. I just said I was going to visit the city.

Carlo sat in front of me, and I greeted him with an uncomfortable grin.

“Anything you need, just ask!” Berenice said, waving at us with a dishcloth. “Although I think you will be well taken care of,” she added with a twinkle of her eye directed at Carlo. Then, she disappeared into the kitchen and left us alone to eat.

“Mamma mia, what a happy coincidence,” Carlo said, as I choked with a tomato peel. He was wearing tight black jeans and a grey Cashmere wool sweater full of lint and dog hair. He helped himself to my plate of bread without even asking for permission. “I see you looked up the hotel I was telling you about on the plane.”

It was probably useless to explain that I had made the reservation long before meeting him.

“You said your hotel didn’t have the word tree in the name,” I complained.

“And it doesn’t. This place is called Foresta Chiara. Where do you see the word tree?” he sounded truly surprised.

“Foresta means forest! It’s close enough!” I whined, and he laughed, regaling me with a direct view of the half-chewed cheese in his mouth.

I made a mental note to check the cancelation policies for Agroturismo Foresta Chiara right after dinner.

“Do you want me to drive you to the museum tomorrow?” he said, dragging his chair forward. “I have a rental car. I can give you a ride.”

“I don’t have time to visit museums, but thank you. And I like taxis, anyway. They give me a chance to interact with the locals.”

“You can pretend I’m a local. I speak perfect Italian.”

“So do I.” It was only a half-lie. We had moved often during my childhood, which in turn had forced me to learn a few languages to survive. Italian wasn’t one of them, but Portuguese and Spanish were close enough. Shame I could not remember how to say forest and tree in all possible European languages.

“Really?” he was asking in the meanwhile. “Are you a translator?”

Berenice left a wine decanter on the table and invited us to serve it ourselves. Carlo poured himself a glass, full to the rim, and drank it in one gulp. A soft burp escaped his throat, and I averted my eyes so he couldn’t see me wince. He hadn’t bothered to fill my glass, so I did it myself and refilled his.

“No, I’m not a translator,” I answered. “Just a sort of... secretary.” That was the standard, tinned response I gave to all strangers who dared to ask me about my job. “I work for a small company which trades in real estate and art.”

“Sounds cool,” he said, soaking in his second glass like a sponge. “What do you do exactly?”

“Nothing special. Just boring work,” I said, hoping he wouldn’t notice my unsteady tone. “You know, I take my boss’s clothes to the dry cleaner’s, post things, that kind of stuff.” Occasionally they use me as an appetizer, too. “What about you?”

“Me?” he said casually, and stuffed his face with a piece of bread larger than his fist. “I’m in... law enforcement.”

Something in the way he said it made it sound daunting.

“Oh.” My mouth went dry with all the possible ways the evening could go wrong. “Really?”

“Yes,” he extended his hand, like we were meeting for the first time, and gave me a squinting look. “Officer Lombardi, from Emberbury Police Department. At your service, madam.”

Chapter 12

Alba

The next day, I woke up later than expected and with a massive headache, partly due to jet lag and partly as an aftereffect of drowning my sorrows in pinot grigio while listening to Carlo Lombardi go on about sports and fitness for hours on end.

Remembering I was supposed to meet Julia at noon, I dragged my sorry, jetlagged self to the breakfast room of the inn and ordered two cappuccinos at once, which Berenice brought to my table with a disproportionate smile.

“I have good and bad news for you,” she chirped, throwing three brown sugar packets my way. “Which one do you want to hear first?”

“Bad first,” I said, sinking my spoon into the heart-shaped coffee foam and checking the hour―I had enough time to eat breakfast quickly and hop on the shuttle bus which drove to Como every hour o’clock.

“Yeah, I always choose the bad news first, too,” she said with a sympathetic nod. “Thing is, I won’t be able to take you on a boat ride tomorrow. The inn is fully booked for the first time in five years, and I won’t even have time to pee.”

“No problem,” I said. With some luck, I would get Julia to manifest again, and there would be no time left for sightseeing.

“Now the good news!” Berenice clapped her hands with excitement. “There are three other guests interested in going, and one of them has a boat license, too. So, the trip is still on, and you’re sailing off tomorrow morning!”

“Well, awesome!” I said, finishing my two coffees in a hurry. “Talk later, I must catch the bus to the city!”

***

THE BUS RIDE TOOK AROUND half an hour, which was barely enough time to answer Clarence’s message: in the end, I sent less than two lines of text after writing and deleting different versions, some including Carlo, some not.

Why did it feel so awkward mentioning that encounter to Clarence?

Carlo and I had met once before at a police station, when I had been detained for trespassing into a graveyard, and he had been there just by chance.

Fine.

I had been wearing a soaked, transparent, mostly torn and uncomfortably revealing yellow minidress.

So what?

He had taken me for a necromancer.

Misunderstandings do happen, don’t they?

I didn’t see why any of this should be mention-worthy. Therefore, I left it out.

In the end I just wrote:

“Hi, Clarence. The flight was okay, it’s cold here, I’m okay, I hope you are okay, too.”

I finished off my utterly lame message with a lousy “Take care!” in the hopes of upsetting my admirer and friend as much as he had me.

***

THE CITY WAS PICTURESQUE, full of narrow streets and historical buildings, which extended up to the edge of the lake and seemed taken out of the illustrations of a children’s book.

I got off the bus near the train station. It was relatively easy to find Julia’s address from there, with the help of her map and some Italian sign language. Once there, I learned two things:

1. Julia’s house was clearly abandoned, and the doors were boarded up with derelict-looking wooden planks.

2. Julia’s house was right next to the Museum of Witchcraft, the place I had categorically decided not to visit because it might be swarming with vampire-loathing witches.

I sat on a bench in front of the museum and waited until a distant church clock struck noon. There was no sign of Julia anywhere.

I was slightly disappointed that the Museum of Witchcraft was a plain looking concrete construction, shaped like a grey cube with a sterile glass door, and not an eerie medieval prison. They must have demolished one of the older houses to build it.

After forty-five minutes freezing on the street in front of an abandoned town house, I decided to walk around the building and knock on the boarded-up doors and windows.

Nothing.

Desperate, I paced in front of the door, checking the time and cursing myself for traveling across an ocean just to be stood up by a ninety-year old witch.

After three hours I urgently needed a bathroom and didn’t feel my toes due to the cold, so I gave up.

Grudgingly, I took the road back to Foresta Chiara inn, and hoped to be able to contact Julia again with the mirror spell.

***

SOMEONE MUST HAVE PUT a curse on that day.

I entered my room with one single thought in my mind: contacting Julia again, whatever it took. One didn’t travel all the way to Europe just to be stood up like that. I made sure there were no smoke detectors in the room and attempted to repeat my previous success with the mirror spell. My suitcase was full of candles, which I had taken with me just for that purpose, and I lit two of them to perform the summoning.

I read the spell a couple of times, but nobody showed up in the mirror. Wherever Julia was, she had no interest in meeting me that day, or she could not come for some reason.

It was getting dark when I gave up on my attempts to contact my supposed mentor. I went outside and sat at the back of the inn to watch the sun set behind the lake. Leaning on a windowsill, I wrote to Minnie and asked about the girls, then checked for messages from Clarence. There were none, so I tried to call him to tell him about my awful day. By then, I had lost all my pride and was desperate to talk to someone remotely homey and willing to listen. To my disappointment, his phone was off. In the end, I wrote a brief message and asked him to call back when possible.

I felt like crying.

I was alone in an isolated inn away from civilization, with nobody to talk to and no idea how to reach Julia. Had I dreamed the whole mirror scene in The Cloister? Had I imagined everything and come all this way for nothing? Maybe I was going crazy. My actions as of late definitely supported that theory.

The stench of cigarettes preceded the arrival of Carlo and stifled the pleasant scent of greenery which surrounded the secluded mountain inn.

“Look who’s here,” he said, coming out the back door.

I sighed and did my best to wipe the tears off my cheeks. The last thing I wanted was Carlo’s pity.

“Are you okay?” he asked, a flicker of concern in his eyes.

“Never better,” I answered, turning away from him and swiftly changing the subject. “I went to Como. Cute little city.”

He sat at the window next to me and tried to peek into the screen of my phone. Quickly, I locked it so he couldn’t see Clarence’s old messages.

“Did you get to see the museum?”

I rolled my eyes. “I thought I had told you―I was supposed to meet a friend, but something got in the way and she didn’t make it.”

“See? You should have gone to the Museum of Witchcraft. They have really fun torture devices there, and I think you can even buy some as souvenirs.”

“Hm. I could put one or two of those to use if I had them.” Next time I met Mark, for example. “Maybe I’ll go, after all.”

“They also have old spell books and haunted mirrors. I think you would like it.”

I stared at him with suspicion. “Why?”

He snorted and threw the cigarette to the floor, putting it out with his combat boot. “I don’t know. You strike me as the kind of gal who likes weird things. Like snooping into old tombs at night and such.”

“Well, then I’m sorry to disappoint you, but whatever you might have concluded about me after that unfortunate first meeting of ours, I’m the kind of gal who likes normal things. The more normal, the better.”

A small, dark bird crossed the sky above the clouds, and I watched it wistfully, wishing it was Clarence. But I knew it wasn’t him―by then, I would have recognized him anywhere, no matter what shape he took. Carlo’s eyes followed mine and he frowned, then started to tap nervously on his knee.

“What? You don’t like black birds?” I asked, noticing his growing discomfort.

He shook his head and spoke in a somber tone, “No. Especially not crows and ravens. They are well-known thieves. As a policeman, my job is to catch them and lock them up so they stop harming people.”

I forced myself to laugh at his joke. Because it had been a joke, hadn’t it? But only a weak cackle came out.

“I’m tired,” I said, “and I need to take a shower before dinner. See you later in the restaurant.”

When I looked again, the bird had already vanished.

***

I PICKED UP A DAISY on the way to my room and twirled it between my fingers as I walked down the corridor of the inn. My door was unlocked. I didn’t remember leaving it that way, but given my mental state, everything was plausible. I walked in and kicked off my muddy shoes, then threw my coat on the crocheted bedspread and dropped onto the bed, defeated.

Clarence hadn’t answered my message yet. He hadn’t answered any of them at all. I turned off the phone so I wouldn’t check it every five seconds and stared at the daisy, then started to pluck off its petals, ready to wallow in my melancholy now that I was finally alone.

“He loves me, he loves me not...” I murmured absentmindedly, tearing at the flimsy white petals with abandonment.

“I didn’t know you were still in high school.”

The voice startled me, and the mostly bald daisy fell from my hands. The sound was coming out of my closet, soft and musical.

“Good evening.” Francesca appeared in front of me and her chilly, delicate hand brushed my shoulder. I gasped in shock, my heart about to stop. “Calm down. It’s just me,” she whispered.

“For goodness sake, Francesca, aren’t you vampires supposed to be invited in?” I took a deep breath, feeling the blood flow return to my limbs.

“Not really. Unless the windows are bolted shut, and we don’t feel like breaking in.” She sneered.

“What are you doing here?”

“The old English vampire was too proud to beg for your permission to come, but I thought you might be thrilled to enjoy your vacation with a fun girlfriend. Even though I see you were quick to make new acquaintances here.” She raised her eyebrows questioningly.

“Huh?” I glanced at her sideways. “Are you talking about Carlo? He’s no acquaintance of mine. We just met on the plane.”

“Whatever you say; you know I’m not prone to judging others.”

“I thought Clarence had said it took days to fly across the ocean and that the crossing was very risky. How did you get here so fast?”

“I always said Clarence was a wimp, and this just confirms it,” Francesca said, blowing away a few strands of hair which had fallen over her eyes. “You see, men always focus on the obstacles. Women, on the other hand, are built to withstand miserable conditions and deal with them... or die. It’s in our nature.” She shrugged and exhaled with impatience. “As you see, I’m here. Do I look dead to you?”

She did, a bit, but I decided not to provoke her.

“I have traveled this route before, and so has he, by the way. I think your sweetheart is growing old.”

“How is he?” I asked cautiously, as my eyes roamed to the discarded phone.

“I believe he’s going through an existential crisis,” she answered slowly, “although Jean-Pierre doesn’t agree entirely. In his opinion, he just requires proper refreshments and some more―” she studied me critically, “―never mind. You two will figure it out, if that fling of yours is meant to last.”

I gave Francesca a sidelong glance and gaped at her. Some more... what?

“Anyhow, the sulking boy remained in Emberbury. But am I such a bad alternative?” She sat on the bed and spread her bulky skirt around her, making sure not to leave a single crease.

“No, of course not. I’m glad to see you. It’s just... it’s been an awful day. I was meant to meet Julia, but she didn’t show up as agreed. Now I have no way to contact her.”

“I see.” She remained silent for a while, like she was considering several options. “And what is your plan exactly?”

“I’m not sure I have a plan. I was thinking about lying in bed and weeping for the rest of the night.”

“That’s pathetic,” she said. “You should be thankful I’m here. Let me see, do you have Julia’s address?”

“Yes, but the house seems abandoned.”

“Let’s go there,” she said, jumping on the windowsill. “Maybe I’ll smell something you missed.”

Chapter 13

Alba

Francesca refused to change into one of my dresses for the taxi ride to Como. She insisted on keeping her exquisite―but very noticeable―gold-trimmed Renaissance gown instead. Never mind it had short sleeves and a square décolleté which nearly reached her navel. Plus, she was wearing no coat. In December.

“It’s not who I am,” she said, not a bit concerned. “That would be like wearing a costume.”

“Yeah... speaking of costumes...” I whispered, nestling in the back next to her, “could you please tell the cab driver we’re attending a masquerade party, so he stops glaring at us?”

Due to my heavily accented Italian, I had resolved to rely on Francesca to do the talking―she was a native speaker, after all. She gladly engaged in conversation with the driver, and I dozed off for a while. The next thing I heard was the driver’s voice announcing our destination.

“Museo della Stregoneria,” he said, stopping right in front of Julia’s old house. “Do you want me to pick you up after dinner?”

“Yes, please. Could you be back in two hours?”

“Of course, signorina, I’ll drive you ladies back home,” he answered gallantly, and a second later, he was gone.

“So, this is where they lived,” Francesca said wistfully, sniffing the air around the derelict house and caressing the flaky stone walls like she was searching for a secret lever.

“They, who?” I asked, inhaling deeply just like her. The only noticeable smell was a pleasant mixture of roasted meat, lasagna and pastries coming from the houses at the end of the street.

“Julia and my brother, when she first came here.”

“You had a brother?” I asked. She rarely talked about herself, and it was hard to imagine Francesca having once had a proper family.

“I have a brother,” she corrected, throwing me a steely look, “or so I hope.”

“Is he by any chance called Ludovic? The man Julia keeps mentioning in her diary?”

Francesca nodded and a stern expression clouded her face. Then, with an impossibly quick leap, she disappeared into a side alley which led to the back of the museum.

“Hey! Wait! Where are you going?” I said, rushing to follow her.

I found Francesca perched like a gargoyle on the stone wall which surrounded the museum’s backyard. She reminded me of one of those Victorian child ghosts from horror movies, ready to throw herself at someone’s throat. Maybe that was how she stalked her victims, come to think of it.

“I hear you are good at jumping over fences,” she said, with a dazzling―and decidedly wicked―smile.

“Not again,” I sighed with resignation but took the hand she was offering. That vampire girl was always around whenever I ended up trespassing. My late mother would have labeled her a bad influence.

“This must be the museum’s garden,” she said, depositing me softly on the floor. “I think we’ll be able to get into Julia’s house from this side.”

We found ourselves in a small park with nicely groomed trees and bronze sculptures. One of them depicted a typical witch with a pointed hat, riding a black broom. Just like Carlo had mentioned, there were also a few torture devices, including a daunting, life-sized gallows and an iron chair covered in sharp spikes.

“Those are not comfortable, trust me,” Francesca commented, frowning at the torture chair and the wooden scaffold next to it. “I have tried both.”

I shook my head and tried to disregard the visions her words had just conjured up.

The gelid breeze brought the echo of a woman sobbing. Francesca put a finger over her lips and motioned me to stay where I was. I hid behind an enormous iron cauldron―which currently served as a flower planter―and waited.

Francesca crept, silent as a panther, toward the source of sound. I watched her from my hiding place, trying to get a better view among the brittle rose bushes.

A pentacle-shaped pergola stood in the middle of the garden. There was a circular bench inside, and it was occupied by a woman clutching what looked like a cello’s skeleton between her legs. She had short hair, half white and half green, and was wearing a black leather jacket full of cinches and pockets.  When she saw Francesca, she gasped and clutched her cello even harder with both arms, as if scared the vampire would steal it.

***

“GOOD EVENING,” FRANCESCA greeted the girl sweetly. So sweetly that I wondered whether I was about to witness a vampire having dinner.

“Did you come to take my life?” the girl sobbed, but she didn’t recoil: instead, she let her head fall backwards in an offering gesture. There were thick ropes around her chest and legs which kept her tied to the bench. Her hands had been tied around the broken musical instrument in some sort of bizarre punishment. “I don’t mind. Just do it fast, please.”

“Of course not.” Francesca approached her patiently, talking in her governess tone: calming, but commanding. “But I would like to sit next to you, if you’d allow me to.”

The girl shrugged, and Francesca joined her on the bench, moving slowly, like she didn’t want to scare her. Meanwhile, I peeked among the branches, wondering what Francesca was plotting.

“What is that?” Francesca asked, touching the strange, large object the short-haired girl was attached to. “Wait, let me help you.”

With an effortless tug, Francesca got rid of the ropes, setting the girl free. The latter took off a pair of horn-rimmed glasses and wiped her teary eyes on her sleeve, staring at Francesca but never trying to flee.

“It’s a...” she hesitated, watching Francesca warily. “It’s an electric cello. But it’s broken. My girlfriend broke it. On purpose.”

She started to bawl her eyes out again.

“Shh,” Francesca said, rubbing a loving hand against the girl’s upper back. “What kind of person would damage a musical instrument on purpose?” she asked, with a disapproving headshake. Her voice was like a siren’s, so charming and hypnotic that even I couldn’t turn away from her. “That must have been a despicable person, indeed. You should find yourself someone better. Someone able to appreciate music and musicians.”

She inched slowly toward the girl, gradually closing the gap between them.

“Stop trying to enthrall me,” the girl growled, still sniffling, but sounding somehow braver. “I know what you are.”

“I know you do,” Francesca purred. “I can smell you, too, so I reckon we are even. And so that you know, vampire enthrallment is a myth. It’s not my fault if I am so... charismatic.”

“Why are you here?” the girl asked. Francesca offered her a frilly handkerchief, and she took it cautiously, like she expected it to be soaked in poison. “You are the third creature who appears here in less than a month. Which is weird, because we never had any before... like ever. You know what is also weird? None so far tried to bite me. But what about you? Are you going to bite me?”

“Bite you?” Francesca repeated, as if talking to herself. She licked her lips, and her eyelids fluttered sensually for a split second. She quickly regained her self-control and added, “I don’t usually bite witches.” She put her arms around the girl’s strong body and kissed the top of her head. Her helpless target remained completely still, opposing no resistance. “But I’d so love to hear everything about those creatures you met.”

***

“YOU CAN COME OUT NOW, Alba,” Francesca called, keeping one hand around the green-haired girl’s waist. She kept talking to her like she was a small child, or a scared horse. “This is Alba, she’s our friend. And I am Francesca. We are here to help you. Tell me, my dear, what’s your name?”

I tiptoed out of my hiding place behind the cauldron planter and grinned at the bizarre couple. I chose a spot to sit on the furthest end of the bench, still unsure of Francesca’s intentions.

The girl introduced herself as Alice, the museum receptionist, and informed us that she had just been dumped by her girlfriend of two years and had no particular interest in staying alive after such a distressing event.

“I was supposed to fly to Rome with our band, but she wanted me to stay and meet her parents for Christmas,” she explained between loud sobs. “When I explained I wasn’t ready, she tied me to this bench and trampled my cello. She said I loved symphonic metal more than her.”

“And you should.” Francesca nodded. I strongly doubted she knew what symphonic metal was, but she sounded convincing enough. “As Plato said: music gives a soul to the universe, wings to the mind and life to everything.”

“Never heard that before, but it’s quite cool,” Alice said, in complete awe.

“We have more in common than you think,” Francesca murmured, sniffing the girl’s white and green hair.

“Do we?” Alice asked with a sigh, echoing my thoughts as Francesca rubbed the red marks the rope had left on her wrists. The girl leaned against the vampire’s side, apparently enjoying the closeness to a fellow musician.

“Now tell me about those vampires you met,” Francesca said softly. “Can you describe them to me?”

“Well, I think only one was a vampire. Not sure what the second creature was. Our high priestess saw a vampire roaming the forests near the lake a couple of weeks ago. They managed to―” she hesitated and eyed Francesca warily before continuing, “―they managed to capture him.”

Francesca nodded, unfazed. “Do you know his name?”

The girl shook her head. She had stopped crying and was now fumbling nervously with the pegs of her cello. “No, he didn’t tell.”

“Any remarkable features you remember?”

“Tight black curls, blue eyes. That’s all I know.”

“What happened to him?” Francesca asked. Her voice was soft and friendly.

“I don’t know. Valentina, our high priestess...” she paused to assess whether Francesca knew what she was talking about. She did. “She said they would take care of him. I don’t know anything else.”

Francesca frowned for a second, but quickly recovered her loving expression.

“What about the other one?”

“The other one was... strange,” Alice said cautiously. “I’m not even sure of what she was.”

Francesca’s eyes glimmered with interest, shining with a bright blue light in the winter night. “How is that?”

“She manifested herself today, around noon,” Alice explained. All my attention turned to her. “The ground floor of the museum is undergoing renovations, and I was there, cleaning, when a woman appeared inside a mirror.”

All my muscles tensed.

That had to be her.

“She called me sister, and for a moment I believed she was one of us. I thought, if she was able to do mirror projection, she must be a witch. But then... there was something off about her. We can sense other witches.” She threw me a meaningful glance but said nothing. “I couldn’t detect her scent through the mirror, but her face... her eyes... she looked odd. Ageless. I couldn’t tell whether she was thirty, or fifty. Her eyes were much older than the features she was allowing me to see. So, I don’t know. As far as I know, vampires can’t astral travel, but she reminded me of one. She asked me to go outside and fetch a friend of hers who was supposed to be waiting on the street.”

“And did you go?” I asked, knowing the answer in advance.

Alice laughed. “Of course not. It was probably a trap. Some powerful witches can even step out of mirrors and use them as portals. I wasn’t going to hang around just to find out what she could do. I just covered the mirror with a sheet and banished her.”

“Did she tell you anything else?” I asked, moving closer to Alice.

“As I was reciting the banishing spell, she tried to tell me something. A message for her friend.” Alice squinted at me, connecting the dots. “It was you, wasn’t it?”

“How do you know?” I asked with surprise.

“I’m good at reading people. Anyways, I remember her mentioning the name Carlo, if it rings a bell for you.”

“Carlo?” I gasped. “Yes, it does. What about Carlo?”

“No idea. I sent her off too fast for her to finish the sentence.”

“Shit,” I muttered, balling my fists. I wondered what Julia had wanted to tell me about Carlo. Was he friend or foe?

“So, who and what was that woman?” Alice asked me, raising an eyebrow, which caused her oversize glasses to slide down her nose.

Francesca threw me a cautioning look.

“I’m not sure,” I said, quickly reading Francesca’s warning. “But I do think she was asking for me.”

“Perhaps, if you showed us that mirror, things would become clearer,” Francesca suggested, and Alice nodded obligingly.

***

“SHE’S A STRAY, ISN’T she?” Alice asked Francesca as we marched toward the entrance. The vampire nodded. “I knew it as soon as I saw her. The energy around her is so scattered and irregular, it makes me queasy. I don’t know how you can stand it.”

I remained behind them, paying close attention to Francesca’s antics. They walked holding each other, their familiarity too deep and sudden to be genuine. Francesca had somehow seduced the museum receptionist to extract information out of her; but I still wasn’t sure whether there was something preternatural involved or just her natural charms, as she had stated earlier. Clarence had told me such a thing as vampire compulsion didn’t exist. After what I had just witnessed, I was starting to doubt his words.

“Can you do mirror projection too, Alice?” Francesca asked, as the girl entered a code into the keyboard at the door. A loud beep greeted us and the glass door unlocked.

“Oh, no. That’s really hard to do, unless you get hold of a haunted one. I can banish evil spirits and read cards, but moving things around, especially your own body... that’s reserved for very gifted witches. Most of us can’t even move a breadcrumb.”

“Oh, that’s a shame. But tell me about you, Alice. You mentioned a high priestess. Do you belong to a coven, perhaps?”

“Well, it’s more like a book club. Mostly we check the phase of the moon, bake stuff and knit scarves. Nothing spectacular, really.”

“So, no dancing naked under the moon? No talking to the dead?” I asked with disbelief.

“Not much,” Alice said with a shrug.

I sighed, disenchanted. “But you can sense other witches,” I said, remembering how she had known I was a stray right away.

“Oh yes, that’s such a basic ability I can’t even believe you aren’t able to do it!” Alice giggled.

As we walked, she turned on the lights and briefly showed us each of the museum halls. There were many interesting artifacts and paintings in each exhibition. According to the wall panels, most of those so-called witches had been just poor, ordinary women, forced to plead guilty for crimes they never committed.

“These two are my favorites,” Alice said, pointing at an ink drawing depicting two screaming, long-haired girls in torn gowns. “Their names were Celeste and Maria. They were born in the late 16th century. Celeste’s father arranged for her to marry an old, wealthy man. On the eve of her wedding, she ran away with Maria, her maid. But the villagers found them asleep in the forest, and they were accused of witchcraft. Burned together at the stake.” She chuckled bitterly. “For loving each other. For being the Devil’s mistresses.”

Francesca cringed and stared at the drawings in a grim silence.

“I know, right?” Alice continued and, to my shock, she squeezed Francesca’s hand sympathetically. “My thoughts exactly. I’m glad I wasn’t born back then.”

We entered a dusty room full of moving boxes and unidentifiable items covered in white sheets.

“This is the main exhibit, where we display Turanna’s Mirror,” Alice said. “We just hung it back yesterday after the workers left, although it’s still a bit dusty in here. It’s our most valuable piece, dating back to Etruscan times.”

“This?” I asked, a bit disappointed.

Their so-called most valuable piece was an archaic hand mirror with engraved scenes of doves and dancing women in the nude. At first glance, it wasn’t more than an old piece of junk. Had I found it in a dumpster, I would have walked past it, no regrets.

“It’s not very reflective,” I pointed out. It didn’t even have any glass on it: just a roughly polished metal surface which might have been buried in a mudhole for centuries.

“Not anymore,” Alice conceded, “but it turns reflective again when you wake it up. It’s a powerful magic tool, if you know how to use it.”

“Really? What can it do?”

“According to the myth, you can summon the goddess Turanna when holding it. If she hears your plea, you will see yourself clearly on the surface of the mirror. It can answer any queries your heart longs for, or take you any places you wish to be.” She smirked. “Some say it can even trap your lover’s soul for you, or show you the man you’ll marry.”

I stared into the greenish-brown piece of art, hoping it would give me some valuable―and needed―relationship advice. But the mirror ignored me, just like everyone else so far.

“I wish I could exchange a few words with this mirror,” I said with a dreamy sigh. “Or ask it to take me somewhere far, far away...”

“It’s enchanted, so anyone could use it,” Alice continued. “Even a dud like you could pull it off, with the right spell.”

“Well, thanks for the compliment.”

“Just being realistic here.” She picked up a rag and started to dust off the Etruscan piece, right after cleaning her glasses. “You would only need someone to teach you the incantation. Sadly, I’m not that person. But if you knew it, you could go just about anywhere, and take whomever you wanted with you, just by holding their hand.”

“Wow,” I said, glancing at the old exhibit with new eyes. “Sounds like those shoes in The Wizard of Oz, minus the sizing trouble.”

“If you intend to stay there for much longer, I’d rather wait for you at the reception desk.” Francesca said from the door. “You know I loathe mirrors. They trigger my anxiety.”

“No, I think we should leave,” I said, following Francesca to the exit. “I’ve seen everything there is to see. At least for tonight.”

Alice locked all the halls, and we went outside, back to the wide strip of sidewalk in front of the main entrance.

“Your taxi will be here soon,” Francesca said, wrapping a spidery arm around Alice’s stout figure.

“What? Aren’t you coming with me?” I asked with surprise.

“I’ll join you later. I’m sure you will find a great way to enjoy this lovely, festive evening on your own.”

Was she kicking me out in order to make out with the receptionist, or was it just my imagination?

“Leave the window ajar, but don’t wait up for me.” Francesca kissed Alice’s ear, and the latter let out a troubling moan I wished I hadn’t heard.

After I jumped into the taxi, I watched them disappear in the distance. I crossed my fingers for receptionist Alice and hoped she would survive the night.

I arrived at the inn and fell asleep holding my phone, waiting for a message from Clarence which never arrived. I wished I had asked him to come. I wished it was him, and not Francesca, who had appeared, unannounced, in my room. But why would he travel half the world to meet me if I had made it clear that I didn’t want him to? I, the clueless witch, the mortal woman who would soon be too old and decrepit for him, had sent him away. What did I expect now? He might be a vampire, but he could not read my mind.

And of one thing I was sure: he was better off without me.

Chapter 14

Clarence

She was better off without me: at least of that I was certain.

The night after Alba left, I allowed myself to go on a proper hunt. Giving in to the bloodlust, to the darkness inside, turned into a desperately needed and exhilarating release. Her absence made it easier. I had been on the brink of insanity after starving myself in the hopes of finding a better way.

There was no such thing as a better way.

As I returned to The Cloister, sheltered by the moonlight, I strove to keep the human fragments of my conscience at bay. Apart from the obvious pleasure of stalking and feeding off prey―because calling them prey made it easier to detach from the grim reality of our nature―recovering the ability to think rationally had been a very welcome outcome of the night’s events.

So, here I was, wandering around Saint Anne’s cemetery on my own, as I had done for decades.

Alone, but surrounded by ghosts.

Anne’s was particularly buoyant tonight.

She kept whispering into my ear; teasing me with her bubbly laughter, simmering with obscure undertones.

“We are so much alike. More than you care to admit,” she teased me.

We shared the same blood, hence it would be absurd to expect anything else.

Perhaps Jean-Pierre and Francesca had been right all this time.

I staggered into my room, relishing the pleasant drowsiness of a good night’s hunt, then sat at my desk to write Alba a message inquiring about her journey.

How long did it take to travel half the world on a plane nowadays? Probably less than I imagined.

Would she run the risk of seeking those Italian witches on her arrival? Or worse: would they sense her presence and try to find her? She had claimed not to be interested in them: only in Julia. But what did I know about Julia’s alliances? She was a sorceress, after all. And one who should have been dead, as far as I knew.

I dismissed a sudden vision of Alba returning to The Cloister armed with a plentiful shipment of coffin nails and silver stakes. The thought of that slight, sprightly human trying to stake me in my slumber was as entertaining as it was disturbing, and it made me simper... although just briefly.

Coffin nails or not, I hoped she did return.

I would have no right to blame her if she didn’t, given my erratic behavior as of late.

Anne’s finished painting mocked me from the wall, her perfect eyebrows raising with derision. I must be blood-drunk. Francesca was right about the harmful effects of long fasting. There was only so much a vampire could tolerate before strange phenomena started to become a troubling issue.

Francesca had spent the whole day attempting to convince me to fly all the way to Italy. She believed Alba needed me; no, she had declared she wanted me there. But did she? How could Francesca be so certain?

Furthermore, there was the daunting issue of visiting the Old World again, after all this time. Once upon a time, I had promised myself―and in an indirect way, my father, too―never to set foot on the Old Continent again.

The canvas on the wall turned blurry, a thin mist arising from behind it. Astonished, I stood up from my desk and took it off the hook. After checking the back of the portrait, I concluded there was nothing amiss. The mist lifted, but left a lingering scent of smoke in the air. I set the canvas against the wall and took a couple of steps backwards.

What was wrong with this painting? Had I imagined the smoky fog, or had Anne made a pact with the devil, in the manner of Dorian Gray? Did she leave a final present for me, buried under the crumbling paint strokes? And, if she did, why had she chosen this, of all days, to set it free?

Perhaps she, as my sire, was still able to sense my unease from wherever she was. Unlikely, but with someone as singular as Anne, not impossible. I could imagine her scoffing at my chagrin concerning Alba: surely, she would have found it preposterous. Vampires and humans were never meant to associate. Not to mention vampires and witches. That was why I had hauled that painting back from the gallery and into my room: to remind myself of the proper world order.

Anne would have gladly stood up from her tomb―had she had one―just to ridicule my corroding guilt at touching other humans while thinking of the only one I couldn’t―shouldn’t―have.

I knew it; I understood it; and nevertheless, I could not prevent that feeling from consuming me like a house fire out of control. A fire just like the one which had devoured Anne... so many years ago.

***

LONDON, OCTOBER 1834

Even the consuming bloodlust intrinsic to new vampires wasn’t powerful enough to fade my growing obsession with Anne.

She never asked me for permission before leading me to my undoing.

But I forgave her.

I always did, no matter what.

She remained my gas lamp, and I her ludicrous moth, up to the very last of her days on this earth.

It was demeaning, but I deserved every single torture she inflicted on me.

One of my last mortal days, as I was putting the finishing touches to my best portrait thus far, she bat her lashes at me and smirked as she said, “I can’t wait for you to finish the painting, for we shall both become immortal once it is done.”

Little did I know what kind of immortality she bore in mind for me.

However, in my naiveté, once she had achieved what she wanted, I still excused her. I believed that now we were equal, she would finally become mine.

I changed for her; left everything behind. Surely, that should be enough for her to love me, shouldn’t it?

Young and foolish, as they say.

I couldn’t have been more mistaken.

Even after she summoned me into the ranks of the undead, I never had her just for myself: not for one single night.

Anne was like fire: luscious. Relentless. Irrepressible. Wild.

I was a thoughtless romantic.

She was bored of returning from her adventures to an empty house.

We were a match made in Hell.

On the evening of October 16th, 1834, I saw Anne Zugrabescu for the last time.

Her last kiss was passionate, as was everything she did.

Those days she had taken a liking to a member of the House of Lords, whose name was unbeknownst to me. She left the house right before nightfall, ready to fly into his arms just like every other night. I never minded her feeding on them―I was no better in that area. It was what happened before and after that haunted me. She stood by the parliament every night at sunset o’clock, and came back invariably sated, knowing I would be waiting for her, ready to be her pillow, her substitute lover, her patient ear and her reluctant friend.

But I had had enough of that.

That night I followed her, soaring along the Thames all the way to Westminster. Darkness had barely shrouded the city, and she shifted back into human form right behind the arcades surrounding the old palace yard.

She sauntered across the dusty square, brushing her shoulder against the stone walls; attempting to become invisible. The stench of smoke filled the air, but apart from that, nothing seemed out of place. I tracked her to the east side of the building. She knew I was there and, after a while, she finally deigned to turn around and look at me.

“I didn’t expect you to follow me here, my dear,” she said, stopping to grab my chin with both her hands as she often did. “You know I have an appointment tonight. I had better not be late, or I might miss the... entrées. But you are welcome to join us, if you wish.” She smiled mischievously.

I considered her offer. I had joined before in her little ventures: they were inevitably sumptuous, almost always pleasurable; occasionally gory and deliciously depraved. Once her current infatuation faded and was replaced by a new one, her praying-mantis-self flared off and led her poor victim of choice to a dreadful end in a final―and gruesome―burst of fireworks. She found my remaining human scruples laughable, sneering at my ability to shed them for good. Oh, the irony of a physician's son squirming at her blood-spattered games.

“I was hoping for a change of heart on your behalf,” I whispered, my hands shaking.

“A change of heart?” She giggled. “On what basis?”

I took a deep breath, a lingering human habit. A sense of dread filled me, an inner voice whispering into my ear, It’s now or never. I needed to tell her, and it had to be tonight: I knew that for certain.

“On the basis that I love you, Anne, and I cannot stand here while you lay with him―with them―every single night; or else I will soon be out of my mind with jealousy. You made me yours, but you did not want me for yourself. Why, Anne? Why else would you do this to me? Why, if you never meant to have me?”

Anne laughed, a seductive laugh like a forest waterfall that made the birthmark by her lip tremble sensually.

“Oh, my darling, innocent Clarence. Always the artist, ever the dreamer.”

She shook her head and patted my shoulder, like one would a dog’s head, then turned around to leave.

“Stay, Anne.” I grabbed her arm, but she shook my hand off. She was stronger than I; much older than I. “Please. Stay one minute longer and tell me the truth. Tell me you don’t love me; release me from this servitude, and I shall never inconvenience you again.”

She studied me with a condescending smile, which slowly turned into a sneer as she placed both hands over her chest. “My dear child, this heart of mine has not beaten for hundreds of years. Love is as foreign a concept for me―for us―as a sunrise. We are vampires, Clarence: the spawn of the Devil. We were not made for love, but pleasure is our prerogative. Our place is in Hell, not Heaven. The sooner you internalize these truths, the easier your transition to your new life will become.”

Anne kissed me once more and took off, abandoning me to my grieving thoughts.

She almost certainly forgot our conversation long before she ran into the arms of her last nameless lover and straight into the flames that consumed her.

But I will never forget the ensuing inferno, nor the woman who cursed me with an eternity of darkness just to vanish forever shortly thereafter.

Not a moment had passed since Anne’s departure, when a giant flashover engulfed the parliament, and London’s indigo skyline turned a sanguine shade of cerise, becoming an earthly replica of Hell: the place we should live in; the place we belonged to. An earthly Hell where Anne met her ultimate death, right before plummeting forever into Hades’ embrace.

That evening, the House of the Lords burned to ashes: and with it, my first love.

The one who never quite faded.

The one who never loved me back.

Chapter 15

Alba

An hour or two before sunrise, the screeching of an old windowpane woke me. Francesca tiptoed into my bedroom with the guise of a drunk teenager sneaking back into her parent’s home after an illicit after-hours party. She rummaged in my closet and got hold of a thick duvet and a couple of pillows. Then, she wrapped herself in a spring-roll manner and jumped feet first right into the closet, shutting the doors behind her.

“Pay me no mind,” came her voice, muffled from the inside. “I’m exhausted after crossing an ocean, so I’ll just stay here for the rest of the day, if it doesn’t bother you. I’ll try not to breathe, and you can pretend I don’t exist.”

“Oh, okay,” I said, covering my face with the blanket. The room was chilly, and even chillier now she was there.

“One more thing―” Francesca added, peeking out of the closet and wrapped tighter than Ramesses II. “―don’t go back to the museum on your own. It’s crawling with witches, and too dangerous for you. Wait for me, will you? Find that man named Carlo. Get as much information from him as you can.”

She disappeared back into her nook, and I attempted to fall asleep again. It wasn’t an easy task―what with the vampiress using my closet as a coffin and my mind drifting back to receptionist Alice: had she ended up as Francesca’s midnight snack? Had she really met Julia? What did Julia want me to know about Carlo?

Around eight in the morning, I was fed up with the endless tossing and turning, so I stood up, got dressed and left the room, taking good care not to allow sunlight in. Instead of leaving the key at the reception, I stuck it into my pocket: the last thing I wanted was a chambermaid finding “my” vampire while browsing for linens. It might not end well for either of them.

The inn restaurant was empty, and I sat in what I had come to lovingly call The Leave Me Alone Chair―a single armchair facing a wall, located in the darkest corner of the dining space.

Berenice came out of the kitchen, whistling and boasting a fantastic mood.

“Good morning, Alba. Did your mommy put you in timeout or do you enjoy the simple pleasure of staring at empty walls?”

I wanted to roll my eyes at her joke, but she was carrying a cup of coffee for me, so I smiled vapidly instead.

“Bad news first, is that right?” she sang, placing the steaming cup in front of me. It was a cappuccino, and today she had even drawn a five-pointed star on the foam with cocoa powder.

“I guess...?”

“So, bad news―all the guests but one cancelled the boat trip. They are too hungover after yesterday’s singles’ party.”

Oh, yes. Christmas Eve and that awful party. After Francesca’s arrival, I had forgotten about it. Nevertheless, it seemed a pity to leave Como without visiting the lake. It could be nice to explore the surroundings on my own while waiting for Francesca to wake up. I would just take a taxi and go on my own.

“Yeah, okay,” I said, somehow relieved I wouldn’t have to spend the day in a boat full of strangers. “Never mind, I’ll find something else to do. And the good news?”

“The good news: the only guest who didn’t cancel holds a boating license, and you get a free private tour of the lake!”

“Really?”

I tried to sound excited, but my voice shook too much. Perhaps I could fake a sudden bout of diarrhea right after breakfast? I really didn’t want to be stuck on a boat with Mysterious Sailor Man.

“That’s not all!” She handed me a tray with bread, jam and butter, and my stomach clenched a bit.

“Isn’t it?” I asked in fear, poking the butter block with my blunt knife to release some of my growing nervousness.

“You get to go sailing with Carlo!”

I exhaled, counting slowly up to ten.

Okay.

I had meant to talk to Carlo anyway. Not exactly while trapped with him in the middle of a large mass of water, but it couldn’t be so bad, could it?

No, actually, it could.

He was pushy and a bit slimy.

“You know what, Berenice...” How could I put it nicely? She seemed to like the guy. “I’m not sure I want to go on a day trip with Carlo. I was thinking of...” I made up a quick alternative, “...going to Como and visiting a couple of churches.”

Berenice’s expression hardened.

“Why? What’s wrong with Carlo?” She put her hands on her hips, waving a musty dishcloth like a whip ready to flog ungrateful clients.

“There’s nothing wrong with Carlo; I simply don’t want to be alone with him on a boat. I barely know him.”

“What is there to know?” Now she was visibly affronted. “Why wouldn’t you want to? I wish I could go instead of you, but the inn won’t run itself. You get to spend the day with a good-looking, hard-working man, and you are complaining? If only you knew what he has gone through...” Berenice paused, her arms crossed over her patchwork dress.

I gave her a slight nod, inviting her to keep talking. She was daring me to ask, as it was obvious from her stance.

“Did you know his wife was murdered?” she uttered defiantly, then scanned my face with squinting eyes.

The last gulp of cappuccino got stuck halfway down my throat.

“Murdered?”

“Yes,” she spat, “murdered.”

“I’m... so sorry. What happened?”

“Ask him yourself.”

All of a sudden, I wasn’t hungry anymore.

“Did you know his wife?” I asked tentatively.

“Yes. They met in this inn, and he still comes back every year to mourn her.”

“Oh. That’s really sad,” I said, suddenly seeing Carlo in a completely different light. “I’m so sorry for him.”

“Well, seemingly you are not, if you are too busy to join him on a pleasant boating trip!”

I massaged my temples. Poor Carlo. I had been so mean to him during the past days. Why was I so reluctant to accept Berenice’s offer? I was supposed to be talking to Carlo anyway: I needed to find out whatever Julia wanted to tell me about him. But, for some bizarre reason, something inside me was rebelling against it.

Berenice disappeared into the kitchen, and a vision of Carlo alone in his room, staring at a photo of his late wife, filled me with sympathy for him.

“Hey, Berenice,” I said to the inn owner as she passed by my table, barely five minutes later. “You know what... I think I’ve changed my mind.”

***

WHEN CARLO MADE HIS appearance at the parking lot, I was checking my phone for the nth time and wondering what the heck had become of Clarence. There was still no news from him, and whenever I’d tried to call him, his phone had been off. He was never very tech-savvy, but such behavior was a bit extreme, even for him. His radio silence could only mean one thing: Mark had been right all along about my age and my universal ineptitude.

Here I was, a divorced mother of two, and the only potential partner without relationship baggage I had found so far was a two-hundred-year-old vampire. Who, technically, was neither my age nor exactly without baggage. Nor was he interested in me anymore, judging by his erratic behavior.

But then, why did my thoughts keep drifting back to him like a barge washed away by the tide?

Speaking of barges, Carlo was staring at me and, judging by his expectant expression, he must have asked me something about the impending trip while I was mulling about Clarence. Again.

“Hey... hi, Carlo!” I grinned, putting the phone back into my purse―not before checking the notifications one final time.

“Buon giorno, bellissima!” Carlo greeted me with a pat on the back. I flinched at the familiarity. For a grieving widower, he hid his sorrow very well. “Ready for the coolest journey ever?”

“Yay,” I cheered without much excitement.

Carlo had rented a shiny red Alfa Romeo convertible. It was slightly larger than a matchbox, with enough space for two average-sized humans, a wallet and maybe two sandwiches. He spent the whole ride talking about himself and how they always tried to cheat him in restaurants. Unsurprisingly, all the anecdotes ended with him outsmarting all sorts of malevolent waiters and storekeepers. He didn’t seem to expect any particular feedback from me, apart from regular nodding, so my mind started to wander yet again to Julia and a certain maroon-eyed vampire as I silently watched the rustic landscape reeling outside the window.

We found a place to park the convertible and strolled languidly to Berenice’s boat. It was one of the smallest ones around, a simple sailing vessel with wide, white and blue stripes. It had a small cabin and enough space for six people to sit comfortably on the deck. Or for two, if one of them wished to sit very far apart from the other.

“So, you know how to steer this thing?” I asked warily, watching the boat rock perilously in the dark, cold waters.

“I’ve been on a boat since the age of three. I could sail this beauty with my eyes closed.” He cast off the dock lines with his eyelids tightly shut, proving he was serious. “Just don’t flash me your undies if a storm comes, and I swear by my nonna’s pizza that I won’t let you drown.”

I grinned uncomfortably at the mention of my undies and his nonna in the same sentence and headed to the furthest end of the vessel, pretending I hadn’t heard anything.

“There’s no rain in the forecast, by the way,” he added. “So... you have free rein.”

The lake was enchanting, and moderately crowded. The surrounding mountains started out black at the base and gradually turned pearly white towards the top, where they meshed at an invisible point with the overcast sky. Not far from the shore, the sun sparkled against the windows of the houses of Como, all white and red like drops of blood on the snow.

“Nice view,” I commented, trying to dispel the uncomfortable atmosphere left by his uncalled-for mention of my unmentionables.

Carlo steered the boat towards the center of the lake. Once we were far enough from the shoreline, he disappeared into the cabin and brought Berenice’s picnic basket to the deck.

“I love Berenice,” he said, taking out two sandwiches and a bottle of rose wine.

“I think the interest is mutual,” I said, remembering her heated reaction in the morning.

Carlo laughed. “I know! But no, she’s not my type. Too garish.”

I had no intention whatsoever to ask what his type was, for fear things got too personal too fast. But seemingly, his plans were different from mine, because he said, “I prefer shy, more discreet girls.”

I grinned with awkwardness and handed him my sandwich. “I think I’m not hungry. Do you want it?”

He took it and ate half of it in one single bite, so large that a few breadcrumbs remained stuck to his lower cheek. I served myself a large glass of wine. I didn’t feel like drinking, but I needed something inconspicuous to fidget with.

“It must be hard, being alone with two little children, working long hours every day,” he said pensively, wiping the crumbs off his face in a very unstylish way. “Don’t you crave a normal life sometimes? Just coming home to an honest man, going to the supermarket together, doing the things everybody else does?”

I choked on the wine, terrified of the feelings his words were evoking. “I’m perfectly fine. I like the way things are,” I answered with false optimism. “And I’m not alone. I have a...” I hesitated, “a boyfriend.”

“Do you?” He raised an eyebrow. “And where is he now? Why do you keep staring at your phone and crying in corners?”

I looked around, desperate to find a way out. But I was trapped in a boat with Carlo, and the only possible escape would have been to plunge into the ice-cold waters of Lake Como.

“This wine is making me sleepy,” I said. It wasn’t true, as I had barely drunk a couple of sips. “Would you mind if I go into the cabin to have a nap?”

“No problem.” He rolled his eyes but showed me the way without saying anything else.

I lay inside for an hour or so, while Carlo watched sports on his tablet on the deck. Once I deemed it safe to step outside again, the personal tone of our conversation safely forgotten, I started a new, more neutral discussion by asking him about the New England Patriots. That was enough to entertain him for the following half an hour.

After that, I tried to slip a few questions about his job and interests, in the hopes of discovering the link between him and Julia. But nothing he told me seemed to be remotely related to the supernatural. Judging by his answers, he was just an ordinary man, perhaps not the brightest nor the most elegant one: just a relatively nice guy with an anodyne life who didn’t seem to be related to any witches.

As it started to get darker, we sailed back. By the time we were nearing Como, all the lights of the city were twinkling, with added red and green garlands for the festive season. I was less than satisfied with my inquiries and decided Julia must have been talking about someone else. Carlo wasn’t such a rare name in that region, after all.

Carlo docked the boat and approached me, an unreadable expression on his face.

“Thank you for this Christmas day,” he said, settling himself between me and the access to dry land.

I looked towards shore and considered jumping over him to reach terra firma. I wasn’t the worst swimmer, but getting wet in that weather didn’t sound like a very enticing option, either.

“Yes, Berenice’s picnic basket was awesome, wasn’t it?” I said nervously.

When I tried to stand up, Carlo opened his arms and hugged me.

“Merry Christmas, Alba.”

“Um, yeah, to you too,” I said, wriggling subtly to escape his overly friendly bear hug.

Before I could stop him, he was kissing me.

A heavy-duty, stubbly and exceedingly drooly kiss which tasted of ham and cheese sandwiches. For the first five seconds I stood in shock, processing the situation. For the next three, I debated between biting his tongue or punching him. Finally, I shoved him away from me with both hands and wiped my mouth on my sleeve, which left a disgusting, foamy wet stain on my coat.

“Carlo, stop!” I shouted, cringing at the smell of his cologne on me.

Carlo’s affable expression was quickly replaced by an offended scowl.

“What the hell?” he spat, still holding me with one hand. “You’ve been trying to seduce me since we met. What’s wrong now?”

“Excuse me, what?” I blinked with incredulity. Me, seducing him?

I skipped over a coil of rope and tried to remind myself that Carlo was a rueful, lonely widower, and that Berenice had enlisted me to cheer him up, not to sink him into utter misery for the rest of eternity. I should be striving to be nice; however, cheering him up was one thing, and going along with slobbery, unwanted kisses out of sheer pity was something else entirely.

“You are an awesome guy, Carlo, but...” I placed a hand on his forearm and racked my brains for the least painful way to reject his advances. “You know...”

Before I could finish the sentence, the unmistakable silhouette of a cloaked, dark man became visible in the distance. He was standing by the water, on a roof not far from the docks, staring directly at Carlo and me as his long cape billowed around him.

I opened and closed my mouth, unable to believe what my eyes were seeing.

That couldn’t be.

My throat shrank as I imagined what he might have witnessed―and what he might be thinking at that very moment. I wanted to wave at him, but that would have alerted Carlo of his presence.

“We need to get back,” I pleaded, my excuse unfinished. Carlo nodded grumpily; he crouched and tied up the boat in complete silence.

It took him a while to steady the vessel so we could disembark. When I finally stepped on the pier, I looked up to the roofs of the city.

By then, Clarence was gone; and with him, half of my heart.

Chapter 16

Alba

The car ride back to the inn took place in a maddening silence. Carlo’s endless chit-chat had been replaced by a sequence of frustrating grunts and shrugs, which made the road seem much longer than the first time around. Meanwhile, my mind kept churning, desperate to discern whether I had imagined Clarence’s figure looming over the lake in the half-darkness. His face hadn’t been visible in the distance, but how many dark-haired, cloak-wearing men would climb on a roof after nightfall and stare at me being kissed by a stranger?

When Carlo and I finally parted ways in the hallway of the inn, I let out a thankful breath and sneaked into my room, desperate to talk to Francesca.

My sigh of relief was abruptly replaced by a choked gasp.

Francesca was lying barefoot on my bed, and next to her was Clarence, sitting against the headboard with his arms behind his neck and those maroon eyes of his glaring at me with a myriad of unspoken questions.

The two vampires fell silent, their conversation interrupted by my sudden appearance.

“There, speak of the devil...” Francesca said, springing to her feet noiselessly and tipping her head toward me as she stretched her back in an impossible back arch.

Clarence’s face was an expressionless mask, but his eyes kept turning brighter―and redder―by the minute.

“Clarence...?” I ventured, hoping he would give me a hint about his unexpected presence in my room.

He stood up right after Francesca and greeted me with the most proper and impersonal bow, all while smoothing down his black cloak.

“Good evening, Alba,” he said with calm poise, “glad to find you so well.” A tired, dazzling smile flashed in his face for a millisecond.

“Yes, me too... what a surprise...” I answered sheepishly. His tone and posture―keeping his distance, like two strangers―were making me terribly uncomfortable.

“This room is getting crowded,” Francesca complained, putting on her black, pointed booties. “Forgive me for depriving you of my delightful company so soon, but I have an unmissable appointment with a lovely cellist.” She pointed at my open suitcase and the bundle of white candles inside of it. “If I spend a little more time with her, I might be able to find out what happened to Julia. I suggest you take the night off, Alba. You and Clarence can play spiritism with your candles and mirrors until my return. Or whatever it is you usually do when left alone. Anyhow... see you two at sunrise.”

She jumped on the windowsill with effortless elegance and waved goodbye, just to change her mind and peek in once again. This time she looked just at me, pretending Clarence wasn’t there.

“Oh, and please don’t allow the Englishman to distract you with weather talk for the whole evening,” she said, grinning. “You two lovebirds have some imperative matters to discuss, and hopefully without much blood shedding.” She licked her lips meaningfully. “Because shedding blood is always a waste, when you could do better things with it.”

She winked and disappeared with a soft sweep of her skirts, leaving behind her characteristic sweet scent of roses and carnations.

***

“HOW ARE YOUR VAMPIRE slaughtering lessons going?” Clarence asked me in a hoarse, and distractingly deep voice, as he watched me with a tilted head from the heights of his tall frame. His tailored white shirt was slightly wrinkled, a mute testimony of the long journey he must have endured. “Judging by the scene I just witnessed by the lake, I reckon you reached the chapter where you practice staking my heart?”

I bit my lip and turned off the ceiling lamp. The small one on the nightstand, dimmer and less intrusive, was better suited for the delicate conversation ahead. I sat down on the edge of the bed, nervously tapping on my knees. His eyes followed each of my moves in a troubling, vampire-stalking-his-prey manner.

“St... staking your heart?” I stuttered, too wary to get any closer. I had cornered myself by the bedside table while he stood on the opposite side of the room. His eyes were now flaming rubies, giving away the turmoil boiling inside him despite his calm stance.

Was he angry at me?

Clarence had never been angry at me before.

This was entirely new.

Did he even have a right to be angry?

I was about to start explaining about the whole misunderstanding with Carlo’s stolen kiss when Clarence materialized beside me with a sly, noiseless leap. Then, with a hand-flourish, he pulled a shiny, long object out of his sleeve.

A dagger?

“Clarence? What’s that for? You are starting to scare me.” His eyes flared in the dim lit room, casting bloodlike sparkles. I had forgotten how daunting he could appear if he wanted to. “Stop staring at me like that. It’s like your eyes are about to burst into flames. Turn them off, please.”

He half-smiled and bowed mockingly, handing me the knife by the handle. I took it with shaking hands: it was at least one foot long, with an ornate carved hilt and an extremely sharp blade. I gaped alternately at him and the dagger, holding the weapon without much conviction.

“So, what am I supposed to do with this?”

“I realized I had never gifted you anything,” he said huskily.

“And then you went and bought me a knife?” I blinked and stepped backwards. “Maybe times have changed, but the custom nowadays leans more toward chocolate and roses.”

“It does have a rose, if you look at it close enough.” He slid his icy fingers over the handle of the knife, casually brushing them against mine as he went along. My stomach clenched under his touch. The mixture of emotions emanating from him was overwhelming; the electric current radiating off his skin excruciating. “And I did not buy it. It was given to me a long time ago, and now I would like you to have it.”

I tried hard to gather my wits and focused on the dagger. It had the initials C. A. engraved on the hilt, which was shaped like two wings wrapped over each other. The pommel was a half-open, silver rose. It was Clarence’s emblem: I had seen it in his visit card a while ago. His gift, though odd, was a perfect work of art and clearly a deadly one, too. Particularly in the hands of someone as clumsy as I was.

“This is going to be a great tool to make peanut butter sandwiches,” I noted in a jittery voice.

“Mm-hmm,” he hummed, then sat on the bed and wrapped his arms around me, covering my hands with his as he guided me to put the dagger back into its sheath over my lap: the last step was deliberate, daring and flirtatious all at once.

I felt suddenly limp.

“Are you cross with me for coming here against your wishes?” he asked in a taunting tone.

I grunted weakly. “No. But, in all honesty, I didn’t expect to see you here tonight.”

“I noticed that,” he drawled, tracing with his fingertips the petals of the silver rose, which now rested on my calves.

“Clarence...” I let out a ragged breath. His ongoing teasing was making it hard for me to think with clarity, let alone explain to him the misunderstanding with Carlo. Who was Carlo, anyway?

“I was concerned about you,” he whispered into my ear. “And I missed you so much.”

A soft knock on the window startled me, making me spring on the spot. He held me tighter, his scent swaddling me like a delicious cocoon. Francesca’s blonde locks stormed into the room, framing a smirking face.

“Oh, I see there’s some improvement already! Nice, nice.” She nodded with satisfaction. “Sorry to disturb you again. Just pretend I’m invisible. Keep―” she studied us through half-closed eyes, her eyebrows raising as she spotted the half-sheathed dagger on my lap, “―doing whatever you were doing.”

She whooshed by, her dress sweeping the floor behind her, and opened the closet. I remained completely still, trying to guess Clarence’s thoughts. Francesca rummaged through my clothes carelessly, throwing most of my stuff to the floor.

“Did you lose something?” I asked impatiently, lifting the knife like a dangerous viper in order to admire the delicate craftsmanship. I couldn’t wait for her to leave, so we could continue our thorny conversation.

Meanwhile, Francesca kept tossing my best dresses in the air like dirty rags. Once the closet was almost empty, she plunged so deep inside it that only her perfectly round, silk-cladded buttocks remained visible from where I was.

Clarence let out a low, frustrated growl, which rumbled all over my back like a miniature earthquake.

Someone knocked again, this time on the door.

“Who is it now?” I barked, rolling my eyes and setting the knife on the bedspread.

“It’s me, Carlo!” His voice came from the corridor. “Open the door, carina. I know you’re there.”

For goodness’ sake. What was this, the Marx Brothers’ crowded cabin? I disentangled myself from Clarence, who apparently knew just enough Italian to understand the word carina; he wasn’t too keen to let me go. I stood halfway between the bed and the door, brainstorming for a way to send Carlo away as fast as possible, without arousing his suspicions.

“Can you come back later?” I shouted. “It’s not a good moment.”

“No, this can’t wait,” he answered, banging on the door.

“Okay, give me a second!” I yelled back, then turned to the vampires. “You two, into the closet!” I commanded in a hiss.

Francesca obliged tamely, squeezing her slight body into the wardrobe like an obedient bunny; but Clarence stood by the wooden piece of furniture with a deep, angered frown. I mouthed the word “Now!” holding his shimmering gaze.

“It will take me just one minute,” Carlo said from the corridor.

“Yeah, coming!” I answered, slipping the dagger under the bedspread to hide it from Carlo’s view.

I grabbed the doorknob and threw Clarence a fierce glance. Or, at least, what I hoped was a fierce glance. Reluctantly, he obeyed and folded his limbs tight enough to fit into the closet. He didn’t close the door completely: instead, he left a narrow slit so he could peep into the room. As a result, his ferocious, glowing eyes were still clearly visible from the outside.

I really needed to get rid of all those unwanted visitors as soon as possible, so we could discuss in peace not only the incident with Carlo, but also everything else which was amiss in our relationship. If there was any time left, we might also address other subjects, such as stakes, vintage daggers, and their uses.

Impatiently, I leaped back to the closet, kicked the door into place and locked it. There, perfect. Now those smoldering eyes were impeccably concealed and taken care of.

I jumped over the heap of clothes and blankets Francesca had kindly left on the floor and opened the door of the room.

Carlo was waiting in the narrow hotel corridor, holding a sad-looking bunch of weeds and wildflowers in one hand. I offered him a tense grin, which was supposed to be an innocent smile.

“Hi, Carlo, I was about to―” I hesitated. “―take a shower,” I said, mainly because get the hell out of here didn’t sound like the kind of thing you would say to a grieving widower.

“I just came to apologize for... before,” he told me, handing me the bouquet. “I picked these for you in the meadow. Take them as a peace offering.”

“Yes, yes, Namaste,” I said, snatching the flowers off his hands with little care. Half of them fell to the floor due to my sloppy handling, and the rest scattered all over the desk.

“What’s this weird smell?” Carlo asked, sniffing around.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I answered. Francesca’s carnation perfume was clearly perceptible. If I paid attention, I could also discern Clarence’s rusty, forest-like scent. And, for someone who knew what to look for, the very slight but lingering scent of blood was also noticeable―a telltale sign of vampire presence.

“Did you hurt yourself?” Carlo asked, wiggling his nose, “It smells like a... field hospital in here, kind of like... blood and flowers?” he peeked under the bed and made his way through the tossed clothes to the bathroom.

“Whoa, whoa, wait, what are you doing?” I stepped in front of him with my arms open. “This is my room. And no, I haven’t hurt myself. I think it’s your flowers. They are a bit rotten.”

Carlo ignored my complaints and kept patrolling the place, checking the window handles and kicking aside the pile of clothes by the bed in order to open the drawers one by one. By then I’d had enough, so I grabbed the knob of the highest one to deter him.

“Will you stop already? What do you think you are going to find here?” I asked with exasperation.

He lifted an eyebrow. “You tell me. Given the gory smell I was thinking... a hiding burglar? Illegal drugs? Stolen weapons?”

I stopped him one second before he tried to sit on the bed, right on top of Clarence’s dagger.

“You are joking, aren’t you? I haven’t killed anyone, if that’s what you’re thinking. Now please stop searching my room and leave.” In order to make a stronger case, I added the best excuse which came to mind in a rush, “As you see, my clothes are all over the floor. It would be embarrassing if you happened to stumble upon, um, my dirty laundry.”

The trick worked, just not the way I had expected it to. He did stop searching the room, but his face started to glare with mischief.

“Are you challenging me?” he asked, in a lustful tone which didn’t bode well for me. “I love dirty laundry.”

No. Just no.

A strong thump resounded from inside the closet, and I threw myself against it just in time to pretend I had tripped and fallen.

Carlo tilted his head and approached the wardrobe with crinkled eyes, ready to open it.

“Seems I’m all thumbs today!” I said with feigned cheerfulness.

Another thump interrupted me, this one impossible to conceal. Clarence was trying to get out. And he would in no time unless I did something to prevent it.

Meanwhile, Carlo was fiddling with the lock.

My heart started to race.

“Carlo, don’t you dare touch my closet!” I shrieked, stepping between him and the wardrobe. “It’s private!”

The wooden doors trembled, and the closet threatened to tilt and topple over us. Carlo stared at it with growing wariness.

“What the hell are you keeping in here? A wild boar?”

“Yes, sure!” I yelled, “I keep two alpine boars in there, happy now?” I glued myself to the wooden doors, my arms extended from one end to the other. “And now, if you excuse me, I need to go to the bathroom. Bye, Carlo.”

I pushed him towards the exit with all my might and someway managed to kick him out of the room before he could ask any more questions.

After slamming the door shut, I inhaled deeply a couple of times and waited for Carlo’s steps to vanish down the hall.

It took me a good deal of courage to fish the key out of my pocket and let the vampires out once again.

“That was exceptionally entertaining,” Francesca commented, fixing her hairstyle as she slipped out. “I am so glad I came back and didn’t miss the show. But Clarence,” she added, hopping gracefully toward the window and turning toward him, “don’t you even dream about sharing a sleeping nook with me. You are too rowdy.”

Clarence sat at the bottom of the wardrobe, silent but displaying an outraged expression.

“Find yourself someone else to share a closet with,” Francesca said to him. “Or hopefully, a bed. That shall do you some good.”

My cheeks started to burn at her comment, but Clarence didn’t even notice, sulking as he was inside the wardrobe and glancing at the place where Carlo had been standing a couple of minutes ago.

“I feel gracious tonight.” Francesca sighed. “So, I might ask Alice whether she has a spare, windowless room for me to stay and rest tomorrow. I’m still tired after the long flight. And now I shall take my leave, while the moon is on my side. I have investigations to conduct on my brother and his wife. If I find something useful, I will let you know at once.”

Francesca left again, leaving me and Clarence alone. Finally.

I glanced at him, twisting my hands. He was still scowling at the air in front of him. Or possibly at Carlo’s scent, which even my human nose could detect.

“I barely know that man―” I started to say.

“Fine. I believe you,” he answered tensely, interrupting me in a way which made it clear that no more explanations were needed. Or wanted.

I blinked. That was too easy. I decided to elaborate, just in case.

“I didn’t expect him to kiss me on the boat,” I continued, defensively. Clarence reclined his wide back against the empty wardrobe, watching me with intense interest and a slightly prowling stance. “He took me by surprise. I didn’t ask him to. It was awful. Slushy.”

“I told you,” he said very slowly, his eyes on mine. “You needn’t explain anything to me. You are a free, grown up woman.”

The twitching vein on his forehead didn’t seem to agree with his words.

“What?”

Free, like in I don’t want you anymore?

Or free like in, I totally understand and everything is truly fine.

I brought my hands to my head in desperation. I didn’t know what to think of his attitude. Was it indifference? Anger? A mixture of both?

“Clarence, please. Can you... I don’t know. Can you bring back the old Clarence? The warm, funny one? The one I fell in love with?”

He was about to stand up but froze midway as he heard my last sentence.

“There was a time you loved me?” he said in a choked voice.

He stumbled back into a sitting position and gaped at me. I realized we had never discussed a proper name for whatever existed between us. Perhaps because he had been too busy playing escapism tricks since the day my divorce had become official. But now he was using the past tense and I didn’t know whether to laugh at his shocked expression or retreat into a corner and cry.

I wrung my hands and let out a loud, sailor-like curse. For the first time in the whole evening his features softened, and he smiled tenderly in his accustomed way.

“We should be searching for Julia, not arguing like an old married couple,” I said, closing my eyes to block the tidal wave of feelings.

“We are not arguing,” he pointed out, standing up and finally getting out of the closet. “I’m just agreeing on everything you say.”

I growled, because it was true, and that was even more frustrating.

“I’m so confused,” I whined. “To be honest, I really wanted you to come. But I didn’t expect you to. You said the crossing would be hard, and it would take you a long time,” I sat on the bed with my arms around my knees and started to rock back and forth. “Francesca said you weren’t coming. And yet, lo and behold, here you are, sitting in my room, four thousand miles away from home.”

Clarence pushed my knee lightly to stop my anxious rocking.

“It’s all true,” he whispered. “But some people are worth crossing a whole ocean for. Once, twice or a hundred times.” He sighed. “I just hope I didn’t make up my mind a moment too late.”

Chapter 17

Clarence

As I sat in that asphyxiating guesthouse chamber, there were two things I could not shake off my mind.

To begin with, my whole body ached with the primal need to kill a certain human. I could still smell him on her, and that was beyond maddening. My mind kept presenting me with a variety of efficient approaches to follow the man’s trail and drain every single drop of blood in his arteries, until he collapsed at my feet and was safely wiped off the globe for good. Whether I liked it or not, it was in my nature, and it was proving exceptionally hard to fight the instinct.

One simply did not touch a vampire’s love interest and walk away unscathed.

Which led me to the second topic, which was about to cause me to lose my senses. I might have been granted a long life, but that did not include the ability to turn back time. Herewith, past mistakes granted me the sheer agony of eternal revisiting and regret. One of those countless mistakes had been leaving Alba’s side when she still trusted me. When she still loved me, as she had put it. Now I wished I could stop time and kiss her; not just kiss her, but also convince myself―or at least, pretend to―that she was completely mine. Still mine. If she ever was. For one night, if nothing else. Or one week. Or, ideally, for the entirety of her mortal life.

Regardless, there were a few issues preventing any of that from coming to fruition.

First, that slimeball from the boat. She must find him interesting; at least to an extent―why else would she agree to spend the day with him, alone, and on Christmas day no less?

It wasn’t hard to guess she would not be delighted when they found him exsanguinated in the middle of a forest. By yours truly. This complicated things greatly and restricted my freedom of movement... and my ability to solve the matter in a vampire-appropriate manner.

My mind was a bloody mess and had been so for the last few months. The memories of Anne still haunted me, together with the awareness that I was doing to Alba the same Anne had done to me―the same I had loathed her for: first as a mortal, later as an immortal. Even if Alba insisted on keeping her head nicely buried in the sand, I was cursed to lure others into my arms and feed off them for the rest of my tormented existence.

The way things were, I just knew I wanted her.

But I wasn’t good for her.

I craved her blood.

But I wasn’t supposed to.

I wished to keep her forever.

But she was mortal and would remain so.

The Rules were clear on that last issue. And, even if I were to risk everything and break them, her opinion on the matter was clear: I had asked her on the night of the oath, and she had nearly fled The Cloister as a response. There would be no forever for us: I was bound to lose her.

Just like I lost Anne.

Just like I was doomed to lose all the lovely, charming, living creatures around me.

Unaware of my musings, Alba stood up and retrieved a few candles from her suitcase, which she lit all over the room right before turning off the other lights.

The electric buzzing stopped, and only then I realized how tense my back had been up to that moment.

She knew me so well.

Alba sat back on the mattress and stared at me: a small, startled bird. Her hair was up in a loose bun, and she radiated such warmth that I could have found her anywhere with my eyes closed, her presence like a blazing, glowing star in a barren desert of empty space.

She reached under the bedspread and picked up the dagger once again.

“Are you telling me why you gave me this?” she asked, dragging her delicate fingers over the decorated sheath.

“So you can defend yourself, what else?” I answered. I stood up and paced around the room, crossing my arms as I thought about the best way to turn the conversation toward the issues which were torturing me.

“Defend myself... from what?” She batted her eyelashes with innocence, making me smile.

“From other witches. Assaulters. Ex-husbands. Select the most suitable option for each occasion.”

“Because stabbing people is a really smart way to resolve disputes, and I’d probably excel at it anyway.” This time it was she who laughed.

I lifted a finger to catch her attention. “Also, vampires. I hear there’s at least one stalking you.” I nodded intently, observing her reaction.

“Stalking me?” She snorted. “I wish he was!” She shook her head sadly. “That one vampire seems to be always too busy to go to dinner with me, let alone stalk me. As for the rest of them, I’m not afraid; why should I be?”

“You must be the only person on earth capable of asking such a question. Why, Alba? Why should you?”

“Because...” She watched me, open-mouthed, looking truly clueless as she waited for me to finish the sentence for her.

“You are about to fail your Supernatural Creatures 101 class.” I huffed.

“I have no idea what you expect me to say. Vampires don’t like my blood.” She threw her hands in the air.

“Well, I do.”

She was as surprised by my confession as I was myself. I had not planned to declare my little secret out loud. At least not yet.

“You do?” She blinked and pressed the dagger against her chest. “Since when?” She squinted at me with suspicion. “And how do you know?”

“That’s a lot of questions at once.” I had never found the scent of witches offensive. More an enticing oddity; an interesting disparity worth further... research. “But you should know by now that I have been under your spell for a long time.”

“My spell!” She laughed. “There is no spell from my part. But, on the other hand, yesterday I saw Francesca hypnotize a girl. Okay, I’m not sure what exactly she did to her, but her voice was very... persuasive. I couldn’t stop staring at her while she was speaking. How would you explain that?”

“Hmm.” I knew what she was talking about. I had seen Francesca do that before. “I don’t know how she does it. It might be a peculiarity of female vampires. Or just one of Francesca’s intrinsic talents.”

“Are you completely sure?” She pulled at the tie holding her hair, releasing dark waves of lightly tangled hair and allowing them to fall over her shoulders with a soft swishing sound. I fantasized about running my fingers through those locks and working my way through the defying tangles, just to progress down her back and unbutton those dreadful Wild West trousers of hers...

I forced myself back into the present just to find her staring at me with a puzzled expression, unaware of the direction my musings had taken. What was the question, anyway?

“Absolutely,” I muttered, hoping the answer made sense. I had lost track of the conversation by then.

“So, are female vampires more dangerous than their male counterparts?” She spoke with that characteristic, charming curiosity of hers, as her invisible defensive walls started to descend once again.

“Just think about praying mantises and lionesses, and you might uncover a pattern,” I told her. The thought of her as a vampire flashed in my mind, but I shook it off as quickly as it had presented itself. That was a dreadful idea. One I should not even contemplate.

“Oh. So that’s why Francesca keeps calling you a wimp.” She nodded, and her eyes opened wide and round in sudden understanding.

“Pardon me? She calls me a what?”

I stopped pacing around the room and stood, affronted, in front of Alba. She started to laugh, holding on to her stomach. I wanted to be angry at Francesca’s demeaning remarks, but the only thing I could feel was an excruciating pain in the middle of my chest, which I did my best to ignore.

Alba composed herself and her face became suddenly somber.

“Truth is,” she said, as though stricken by a sudden, illuminating thought, “Francesca might be right. You didn’t step in to defend me when Elizabeth came up with her ridiculous blood oath. I was so disappointed, Clarence.” She threw me a sad glance, and I looked away. She was right. “You were supposed to be my guardian in The Cloister, and I took to considering you my guardian angel, cheesy as it may sound. But I think the days I thought of you in such terms are over. Which is sad, after all we’ve gone through.”

The pressure in my chest became so intense that it left no space whatsoever for any air in my lungs. Fortunately, I didn’t need to breathe in order to survive. Otherwise, I might have died―again―on the spot.

“It pains me to hear that,” I said, slowly. “But I am too indebted to Elizabeth to counter her in public. Also, I’m far from being an angel. You should have known that from the start.”

Why was her revelation so distressing? Wasn’t that what I had wanted all along, the reason I had tried so hard to stay away from her? I had striven to release her from my influence, to disclose to her the bleak reality: to free both of us. I needed to be absolved from the pain and guilt which loving a mortal entailed. This would also free her from the sorrow I was bound to bring into her life.

“But you were. At least to me.” She sighed, swinging her feet back and forth over the edge of the tall bed, like a little girl.

I knelt in front of her and wrapped my arms around her waist, resting my head on her lap. I took a deep breath of her scent as she threaded her fingers through my hair and started to stroke it gently. Her touch was balmy and left faint spurs of chaotic magic all over my neck, making my hairs stand on end.

“Alba.” I swallowed before continuing. “You know I’m cursed. You know it’s other people’s lifeforce that keeps me alive and sane. If you saw that side of me; if you knew where my lips have been after a night outside, would you still want me? Would you still trust me?” She stared at me with dismay, just like I had expected.

“You kiss them, too?” she asked weakly.

“I don’t, but does it matter? I lure them, hold them, feed off them. Their blood runs through my veins. Try to fathom the intimacy of it all, just for a second.”

“Trust me, I have,” she answered. She was on the verge of tears. But I needed to tell her. I could not stand the farce any longer.

I raised my head from her lap so I could look into her eyes. They were dewy but alert. She leaned toward me, expectant.

“I have been trying to set you free, but when I saw you kiss that man by the lake―” I started, but my voice broke. I steadied myself before continuing, “―it was like a stab through the heart. If you were to thrust that silver dagger into my chest, it would not hurt any worse. But, tell me, my Isolde, how would you feel if you saw me holding someone else? How can you live with the facts, with what I do, when even I cannot live with it myself?”

“How?” She pulled at my hair distractedly, seemingly searching for an answer. “Because that’s how things are. It’s not always easy. It’s not ideal, either. But it’s not your fault, Clarence. I realized very soon this was going to be a take it or leave it situation. So, I opted for... taking you as you were.” She shrugged. “I thought you knew.”

***

ALBA’S HANDS SLID DOWN my nape and whirled past my hunched shoulders. She pulled me upwards, away from the refuge of her warm embrace until our eyes met.

“It should be my choice to fly away or stay,” she whispered, swaying forward to reach my ear. Her living breath, overflowing with the intensity of mortal life, caressed my gelid skin, thawing a small part of my qualms. “Avoiding me won’t change the way things are.”

I drew her eyebrows with my fingertips, playing her soft cheekbones like piano keys, and rested them on her lips, so plump and rosy and naked of any disguises and artifices. She shivered under my touch.

“Alba...” My voice came out as a yearning growl, giving away my inner turmoil.

In a quick move, she cast away her rough woolen sweater. Only a sheer, tight camisole covered her upper body, and she lowered the thin straps of the garment slowly, with clear intent; placing emphasis in each of her actions, watching me. My eyes followed her fingers, enthralled by her movements as she exposed her neck.

I knew what she was trying to do and―to my consternation―the anticipation was killing me. Just the thought was enough to daze me. My fangs tingled, her rushed heartbeat deafening me into near unconsciousness.

“You don’t have to―” I tried to tell her.

She brushed her dark hair away from her shoulders and tilted her head seductively.

“Yours,” she whispered, offering her silken neck.

By then I had already forgotten my name, my origins and my date of birth. Both of them.

Our lips clashed.

Cold against hot.

Hard against soft.

“You don’t need to...” I repeated without conviction, mumbling against her smooth cheeks.

She nodded, gasping for air, and the rest happened in a blur.

My fangs descended and brushed her skin, and her body squirmed under mine. I paused and she whined softly, pressing me against her in a mute offering. I kept caressing her. Soothing her. Tasting her. I drank, relishing the ecstasy of our union, and she moaned quietly, her eyes and mine rolling back with pleasure. Her blood was surprisingly sweet, brimming with magic sparkles. If this lasted one minute, or one thousand, that I will never know, because time came to a halt while she was in my arms.

I had to gather all my strength to let her go.

That night we loved each other by candlelight, oblivious to the constrictions of time and space, and I held her until there was nothing but silence and quenched thirst.

***

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” Alba asked, a few hours later. The moon was high, and her voice sounded sleepy, lazy. She dragged the syllables adorably.

“Shh, you can fall back asleep. I’m just healing these bite marks,” I whispered into her ear.

“No.” She placed her hand over the two twin dots on her skin, pushing me away from her. “Leave them.”

“Someone could see them, my dear.”

She shook her head. “Just for tonight.”

I nodded and huddled against her like the warmth-seeking parasite I was. The exhaustion of the ocean crossing started to flood me, making my eyes droop. I fell into a deep slumber, and for the first time in years, they were not haunted by memories of devastating fires and gone lovers, but brightened by the company of a lovely, breathing witch instead.

Chapter 18

Alba

I kicked off the covers in my sleep, covered in sweat.

It was scorching hot in the room, which was unusual for this time of year. Particularly, while sharing the bed with a large, cold-blooded creature.

My fingers explored the mattress idly, my eyes still closed: Clarence should have been by my side, but unease started to creep over me as I felt over the sheets, stretching my arm as far as I could and finding nothing.

He wasn’t there.

In my lethargic state, I struggled to recall the mystifying events of the previous evening. Had I imagined everything? His arrival? Our conversation? Everything that happened afterwards?

Clarence’s absence weighed down the air like an object in the room: I could almost touch it. Placing both hands over my heart, I evoked Alice’s words when she had told us about Julia, “we can sense other witches,” she had said. Only witches? I pondered mindlessly. I had never been able to sense any creatures at all, but suddenly, an unusual, new glow was radiating from my core: it was pleasant, but foreign. I stretched in the bed, letting my skin brush voluptuously against the coarse linen of the sheets.

As I gradually stirred awake, a harsh whiff of smoke invaded my airways. Was it barbecue night in Foresta Chiara Inn? I couldn’t remember. I was still too dozy after... after everything that ensued when I took off that old woolen sweater.

The acrid-smelling air made me cough and an auburn radiance blinded my half-open eyes. I didn’t remember lighting so many candles. Come to think of it, I didn’t recall blowing any of them out, either.

My brain finally powered up, and a bout of panic struck me when the situation around me sunk in.

The room was in flames.

I needed to get out, and fast.

Coughing, I yanked the top sheet and draped it around my bare chest, grabbing my purse from the nightstand in a sweeping move.

I jumped over the burning heap of clothes by the closet and tore the door open. The metal of the door handle scalded the palm of my hand, making me scream.

I ran down the corridor, wheezing and yelling, “Fire! Fire! Wake up! Get out!”

Room doors started to open, drowsy guests in pajamas rubbing their eyes in confusion as they stumbled out of them.

“Fire! Fuoco!” I shouted in all languages I knew, and people started to follow me to the exit, running around like confused sheep as I barked at them like a herding dog. They pushed each other to get out first, the crackling sounds becoming a loud roar. I grabbed an elderly lady’s hand and ushered her out first, struggling to put order in the chaos. I knocked on each door as I passed, desperate to wake everyone up. Whenever I tried to breathe, my lungs filled with dark, bitter smoke, leaving me breathless.

When I finally reached the emergency exit at the end of the corridor, I instructed the rest of guests to run toward the parking lot. As soon as I stepped outside, my legs became wobbly. I was drowning in the smoke I had inhaled, like a wasted pearl diver who had overdone his underwater time. When I tried to breathe in again, my airways let out hissing sounds and I feared I would faint.

People were screaming, children wailing.

Berenice emerged out of a shed behind the house and acknowledged me with a curt nod. She was still in her nightwear, just like everyone else.

“I’ll take over from here!” she shouted at me, then turned to the flustered guests. “Follow me!”

She pointed at a clear spot by the road, far enough from the fire and large enough for all the guests to wait in safety. She was oddly calm and steady: a military commander in a rainbow nightgown. People followed her blindly, soothed by her self-assurance.

I stood between the building and the forest behind it, an invisible cord pulling me toward the woods and preventing me from following the others. The blaze soared over the inn, followed by a huge cloud of black smoke which ascended into the night sky like an ominous ghost.

Panic strangled my insides.

Where was Clarence?

And where was Carlo?

Neither of them was visible amongst the small crowd congregated by the other side of the road.

Dragged by an invisible force, I headed to the forest, leaving Berenice and the rest behind.

The night was chilly, and as I delved deeper into the woods, the stench of burnt plastic and smoke was slowly substituted by the fresh scent of pine, fir, and spruce. The brittle grass let out soft crunches under my foot soles, just like treading over tiny shards of glass. I walked in a straight line, allowing my newly found instinct to guide me.

In the distance I spotted a clearing, the space around it draped in Clarence’s unmistakable scent. I was still wearing nothing more than a thin linen sheet, my clothes left behind during the escape, and my teeth started to chatter in the cold night. I held the sheet tight, trying not to get tangled in the thorny vegetation.

The screeching of sirens in the distance announced the arrival of firemen to the inn. Their sound came from afar; I must have wandered for longer than I thought through the frosty bushes.

I heard shouts and grunts coming from ahead, and I tiptoed to the last row of trees by the edge of the clearing, leaning against a wide trunk to scan the scene.

Clarence and Carlo were in the middle of a circle of trees, entangled in a fight to death.

Carlo lay on the ground, and even under the shy moonlight I could see the thick, brownish stains covering his closely shaven blond hair. Clarence was over him, pinning him against the ground. His eyes were gleaming red, not unlike the blazing building behind me, and had a demented expression which knocked out the little air I still had in my lungs. I stared in shock as he growled and violently reached for Carlo’s neck with a hand which didn’t seem to have fingers anymore, but sharp, deadly claws instead.

“No!” I screamed, rushing out of the shrubbery to stop him. “Let him go!”

Clarence swiveled, a dazed expression in his face. There were no signs of recognition in his fiery eyes.

A flame of fury grew inside me.

What was he doing? Just because Carlo had tried to kiss me? How could he be so possessive, so spiteful?

Our eyes met, and then he finally saw me. Stunned, he stood hesitant for a couple of seconds.

This brief falter was enough for Carlo to skip out of his grip and grab a small metallic object which lay beside him on the grass: Clarence’s silver dagger.

Carlo lifted the weapon, and Clarence turned around to stop him, only a second too late.

I screamed, or rather I tried to, because breathing suddenly became impossible. I tried to run toward both men, desperate to prevent them from killing each other.

A heavy object hit my head, and I never reached them. I fell half-unconscious onto the frosty mulch and the arms of a stranger dragged me back toward the burning inn and away from the fight.

Chapter 19

Alba

“My little child,” a shrill voice said, “how could you be so naïve?”

An old lady was holding my hand and wiping the two tiny wounds on my neck with a damp gauze. I had no idea where I was, but the place reeked of sanitizers and herbs, and whatever she was putting on my skin stung like hell.

Green-haired Alice was kneeling beside me, in the middle of a circle of several women, young and old. Their faces hovered over mine as they sat cross-legged on the floor. I lay naked on a hard mat in the middle of an ample room, surrounded by candles and covered by a lavender-perfumed comforter.

A wrinkled, saintly-looking lady propped me up and forced me to drink a bitter concoction. It was disgusting, and I tried to spit it out, but she pulled my hair and tilted my head backwards. Ignoring my protests, she poured the liquid straight into my throat. I coughed so hard that I thought I was about to spit out my lungs in the next fit.

One of the women started to chant, or possibly pray, and her voice lulled me back to sleep, exhausted and breathless.

When I came to again, I didn’t know how long I had slept: it could have been five minutes or five days.

“Where am I?” I mumbled, stirring on the floor. Sunrays leaked through basement windows on the upper half of the walls. My lungs felt shallow, and I struggled to breathe deep enough.

Berenice, the inn owner, was stretching on all fours beside me, and stared at me with her face upside down, her hair resembling an old broom.

“Sleeping Beauty woke up,” she sang.

“Hi,” Alice greeted me, wiggling her fingers shyly.

“Alice?” I asked, searching for Francesca. Weren’t they supposed to be together? “Where’s Francesca?” A strange whistle escaped my lips against my will. “Where is...?” Clarence, I wanted to say, but I couldn’t decide whether it was wise to ask.

“Don’t you worry about the bloodsuckers,” Berenice said, stretching her arms and moaning. “We sent them somewhere secure enough. They won’t touch you again.”

I tried to utter a curse, but the air just wheezed out and tickled my throat, making me cough.

“You can consider yourself lucky that you didn’t take one more breath of that nasty smoke, little child.” That was the grey-haired lady speaking, the one whose face I had seen first. “You know what they say: three breaths will maim you; but four breaths will kill you. Luckily, you must have stopped somewhere around two-and-half.”

I propped up on my elbows. The room resembled a yoga studio, with mats on the floor and decorations on the walls featuring goddesses and Catholic saints. Currently the air smelled clean and well ventilated, with a tinge of incense and candles; the stench of sanitizer was gone.

“How did I end up here?” I asked, unable to recognize anyone but Alice and Berenice.

“My name is Valentina Caruso,” the elderly woman said, “and we call ourselves The Witches of the Lake. We are the longest-serving coven in Lombardy-Venetia, and we are glad to welcome you to our humble home. We have been trying to contact you for a few months, but you never seemed inclined to talk to us.”

I frowned, remembering the times I had been approached by other witches in the past. None of those experiences had been too pleasant.

“So, it was you, all this time?” I asked cautiously. “When I was attacked in the street this summer? Stalked by all sorts of strangers?”

Valentina winced. “Of course not. We would never harm you. We just sent some friends to talk sense into you, because it’s imprudent to allow young, capable witches to walk around wielding magic in public places. We were worried people would start asking questions. We also heard you had fallen captive, and I doubt you would have survived much longer in such bad company.”

Her eyes fixed meaningfully on the bite marks on my neck.

“This is not what it looks like,” I said, covering the marks with one hand. The words didn’t come out very convincing, and the women―the witches―watched me silently, ostensibly assessing my sanity. Memories of the previous night started to weave once again in my mind, in a complex, confusing tapestry of feelings and images. First the excitement, the fear of the unknown. Then the exhilarating, almost unexpected pleasure. The fire and horror which ensued. The recollections were so bewildering that my head literally started to spin.

“I think it’s never too early to learn the basics,” Valentina said sternly. “Lesson one: a witch never trusts a vampire.” Her tone was harsh, but erudite. “They will fool you. They will trick you. They will make you believe they are capable of love, that they will never harm you, because you are sooo special.” She dragged the syllables mockingly. “Wrong!” She slapped the floor abruptly, making me jolt. “They are murderous, ruthless creatures. They covet our blood. They have no soul. Why do you think they never stand in front of mirrors? Because they fear us! Because they know witches can see their true nature in the glass. And do you know what we see?”

I frowned my lips and waited for the impending expletive.

“Bloodthirsty beasts,” Berenice finished the sentence for her, like the nerdy girl in a high school class. She was doing a headstand and shook her legs in the air for emphasis.

I wanted to contradict her; defend Elizabeth and the rest of inhabitants of The Cloister. But the image of Clarence trying to kill Carlo flickered in my mind like a lethal flash of lightning.

So, I did the next best thing.

I started to weep inconsolably.

Valentina started to chant again, with her eyes closed. Meanwhile, Alice helped me to another revolting drink from a brown clay mug.

“There, there, sister. You drink this. You are safe now. Say thanks to Berenice, she found you and brought you here. Otherwise, you would have died in that forest. The fire spread to the woods. Even if you had managed to escape the fire, the area was infested with vampires yesternight.”

I lay back down on the mat and closed my eyes, concentrating in maintaining my lungs as full of air as possible while keeping the rumbling and coughing at bay. It wasn’t as easy as it sounded, and the lack of oxygen made me awfully light-headed.

The witches turned their attention away from me. They must have thought I had fallen asleep once again, because they started to talk among themselves.

“So the other one ran away... but did you see what he did to that man?” Alice said to Berenice. It sounded like they were resuming a previous conversation.

“His name is Carlo, I know him,” Berenice whispered, just loud enough for me to hear her. “He’s my old friend, and he’s so brave, and... oh, Alice! I hope he’ll survive!” Berenice’s voice trembled, and I heard her legs flop on the floor with a low thump.

“He will,” Valentina said, ending her chant with the strike of a tuning fork. “We’ll cast a healing spell for him tonight. He deserves our blessings: his findings will make us look good in Natasha’s eyes, and get us some most needed funding to keep the coven afloat for a while longer.”

“Who is Natasha?” I asked weakly, opening an eye.

The women gasped, and I thought for a second Valentina was going to stab me with her tuning fork.

“Didn’t you put her to sleep?” Berenice asked dryly.

“Oh, well. I should have sung a little longer. Give her some more tea. That should knock her out.”

***

I DRIFTED IN AND OUT of consciousness for one night, maybe two, until Valentina kicked me softly with the tip of her bare foot and fully woke me up.

“Do you intend to lie on that mat forever?” she asked in a stern voice.

The gray-haired witch stared at me with her arms crossed. She hunched over me, her twisted, arthritic toes on the jute mat, just an inch from my nose.

“Time to start with your education.” She licked her finger and rubbed it over the marks on my neck. “These marks won’t go away; seems you will have them forever. The scoundrel didn’t even bother to erase them.” Valentina shook her head. “Ah! They just get more wicked with the centuries. To mark a witch like a head of cattle! What will be next?”

I might be insane, but the idea of keeping Clarence’s marks for the rest of my life lifted my spirits. At least, in this crazy rollercoaster of a life I had been cursed with, something would remain a constant. Something of his.

The memory of Carlo holding a knife over Clarence’s head hit me like a tsunami, and I felt sick. Sick because of what Clarence had done, but also sick with worry for what might have happened to him afterwards. Everything felt so wrong, so surreal. Valentina recognized my unease and handed me a small bowl. I threw up, and once I was done, she took the basin away in silence.

I considered once again asking about Clarence but decided against it. I vaguely remembered hearing the witches say that the other one had run away after attacking Carlo. I prayed both of them had survived: I needed them to. I might not like Carlo but didn’t wish him to die, especially at Clarence’s hands. The very thought was unbearable.

Valentina combed her white mane with her fingers, making the golden chain of her glasses tinkle.

“Okay, okay, stand up. Breathe a little. Let’s see how you are doing today.”

The air rattled in my lungs, but there was some improvement.

“Do you think you could eat?” she asked me.

“Maybe.”

“That’s a good sign.” She nodded with satisfaction. “Follow me upstairs. The coven is assembled, and there’s food. Lots of it.”

We climbed the stairs which, in my state, was analogous to hiking on Mount Everest under a blizzard. I had to stop to pant at least five times, because the frogs in my throat were seemingly having a house party.

A group of ten witches or so greeted us as we reached the living room. They were a wildly kaleidoscopic collective of women of assorted ages and backgrounds. The space itself perfectly matched Valentina’s granny look: lacy curtains, doilies and dozens of houseplants in diverse stages of decay.

Valentina made me sit on the couch: a patterned velour monstrosity covered by a crochet throw. Berenice meditated nearby, crossed-legged in the middle of the musty carpet.

“Look who’s here!” Alice said, standing up to greet me with a delighted expression in her dark eyes. “Valentina’s teas are short of miraculous. No wonder she’s the best herbalist in the whole of Lombardy!”

I eyed her with mistrust. They had mentioned sending Francesca to a secure place, and I doubted by that they meant The Cloister. Alice must have been involved which, in my eyes, made her very suspicious.

“Did you sleep well?” Berenice opened her eyes and studied me from head to toe. I was wearing a white linen sleeping gown down to my ankles, which I didn’t remember putting on myself. “Not to be mean, but you snore really loud for someone so small.”

I grunted instead of answering, because I had just stuffed my face with a piece of sponge cake and some grapes from a platter.

“So, we finally caught the elusive stray!” a woman said, standing up to shake my hand. “This calls for a celebration! I’m Gianna. We’ve met already. Do you remember me?”

She looked familiar. Not in a good way.

“Home improvement store? Emberbury? Last summer?” I ventured.

“Aha.” She pursed her lips. “You were in the company of those enslavers of yours, if I recall correctly. It’s a good thing you’ve escaped their thrall once and for all.”

I slumped on the couch and closed my eyes. “I was with them voluntarily.”

“Voluntarily!” Gianna gasped. “Look at what they did to you!” She pointed at the bite marks with disgust. I tried to hide them, but the borrowed nightgown was too big for me and kept sliding down my shoulders. “Do you know what would have become of you a couple of centuries ago?”

I shook my head, and all the witches stopped eating in order to gasp collectively.

Gianna continued, “You would have got yourself lynched for carrying the Devil’s mark. And in such a visible spot! You are lucky today’s doctors are stupid enough to believe this could have been a snake... or a really large mosquito.”

A really large mosquito, indeed. Six feet three or so. Dark hair, glimmering maroon eyes. Fairly handsome; oversized fangs.

“But you left, didn’t you?” Berenice offered. “That wasn’t the right place for you. We witches don’t bow to anyone. We may assist others, but we don’t prostrate ourselves. I’m glad you realized before it was too late.”

“Uh...” I raised a hand, willing to correct her, but Gianna interrupted me.

“Yes, you should stay with us,” she said. “We are the second most powerful coven in Europe. You won’t regret it.”

“The second?” I asked, but their belligerent looks told me they weren’t happy with that second place they were holding, so I steered the conversation to other, more pressing matters. “Ladies,” I said cautiously, “I’m thankful for your hospitality, but what do you mean when you say I should stay here? Stay, like, forever? Because that’s impossible. I have kids at home, a job, a life.” Valentina watched me with disdain, like one would a little child who refuses to go to bed. “I just came on vacation to meet a friend. What day is it, by the way? I have a plane to catch...”

A monstrous coughing fit prevented me from finishing the sentence, and Valentina snorted.

“You’re not going anywhere without our prior blessing. You are too troublesome. And currently, you can’t even walk up the stairs on your own anyway.”

“But my daughters...” I said. I needed to call Minnie and check on them. “Wait, have you seen my phone?”

“Yes,” Valentina answered haughtily. “I think it was in that bag you were carrying. Alice, can you go to the foyer and bring it?”

Alice disappeared through a narrow gray door. When she came back, she was holding my phone, which she handed to Valentina.

“Is this yours?” The elderly lady asked me, wiping the screen with a handkerchief. I nodded and tried to seize it, but she hid it behind her back. The notification lights were flashing. They must have charged it: such a nice gesture. “Good to know,” she said, “now earn it back.”

“Excuse me?” I nearly choked on my words. “Do you think I am twelve years old?”

“Judging by your witch milestones, you’re closer to a three-year-old.” She smirked. “And not a very clever one.”

***

THE WITCHES FED ME cookies and panettone and kept fluttering around me for the rest of the afternoon, checking my pulse and the whites of my eyes to make sure I wasn’t going to faint on them yet again. After a while, the older ladies left the living room to make dinner, appointing Alice to watch over me. She sat down next to me silently and munched on a fistful of crunchy grissini, displaying a preoccupied expression.

“Tell me what happened to Francesca,” I demanded in a low voice, hoping to take advantage of her visible unease.

She stared silently at the snacks in her hand, a shadow of doubt in her face.

“Alice?” I repeated. “You must know, she was with you, wasn’t she? Would you please tell me? Is she alright? Were there others, too?”

Before she could answer, Valentina burst into the room.

“What’s going on here?” she asked, hands on hips.

“She’s asking about the pretty vampiress,” Alice mumbled, averting her eyes.

Valentina huffed. “She’s well-guarded now. Our friend will take care of her and make sure she doesn’t bite anyone ever again.”

“What friend?” I asked nervously.

“You ask too many questions.”

Another elderly lady appeared and shoved a bowl of soup in my direction. She sank into a couch and started to play loud video games on a tablet. “Alice, bring a gag from the basement, will you, dear? I can’t hear the music properly,” she said without lifting her eyes from the screen.

“It’s fine, Agnes,” Valentina answered, to my relief. “How is she going to eat if we gag her?”

“We have straws somewhere. The eco-friendly ones?”

I grabbed the bowl and quickly slurped the bland soup they had brought me, just in case. Hopefully they were just teasing me, but their impassive expressions were hard to read.

The door opened and the rest of witches joined us, scattering all over the room with rounded bowls of steamy brew on their laps.

“Why do you care so much about those creatures?” Asked the video game lady. “They are a plague, and prone to overpopulation. What’s wrong with pest control?”

A couple of witches snorted in the background.

“I’d just like to know my friend is okay,” I said, hoping they would not consider my words offensive enough to gag me. “She came here to help me.”

Snide glances ensued.

“To help you!” Berenice sneered. She was hanging upside down from the back of the couch, her soup forgotten somewhere on the carpet. “How could you believe such a blundering lie?”

“I think someone should explain the ABCs to her once and for all,” another woman said, standing up and walking towards the bookcase in search of something. “Seems she’s still very green.”

“Would you like some bread?” Alice offered, hovering around me with a wicker basket covered with a napkin.

I took a piece. The bread was white and spongy, still warm from the oven.

“We are the daughters of the Witches of Old,” Valentina’s voice raised, deep and majestic, surprising me with her authoritarian tone. I set the bread aside to pay attention to her sudden, dignified speech. “We keep the secrets of our tradition, protect those of our kind and the ones weaker than us, and defend commoners from supernatural threats.”

As Valentina hunched in her armchair right next to me, wilted and frail, her words started to resemble the opening lines of an old fairytale, more than a description of her role in the real world. How could that tiny, grey grandma―or any of her friends―protect anyone from a supernatural threat? She seemed like the kind of person who wouldn’t even be able to protect herself from a mugger, let alone an ancient vampire. Still, she was looking at me in a way which reminded me of Elizabeth when she issued commands in The Cloister.

“We have carried out this philanthropic, tough work for generations,” she finished.

“What supernatural threats are we talking about here?” I asked timidly.

“Your friend Francesca, for example,” Valentina said, crossing her arms and lifting her chin defiantly.

“It’s interesting that you say that,” I said, unable to help myself, “because the first time I met Alice,” I pointed at the green-haired girl with contained anger, “she seemed to enjoy Francesca’s attentions very much.”

“Alice was brave enough to risk her own life and help us catch that dangerous creature. We all know they are full of empty promises, and we’ll never be safe from their bites, despite our scent. Do you know, by any chance, why they find it so repulsive?”

I shook my head, and she continued.

“Because, in the old times, some vampires believed that drinking witch’s blood would reverse their curse. They slaughtered many of our kind in their quest to walk under the sun once again. Out of desperation, one of our ancestors devised a spell which made our scent repulsive to their senses. But beware of a vampire who has tried a sample of your blood... that one will always come back for more. Our blood allows the magic to run through their pestilent veins for a while. For many days, they will be able to sense your presence, no matter where you hide... and once they have tasted you, they won’t stop until they drain you.”

I must be really desperate, because her explanation sounded almost like good news to me.

“Is that true?” I asked with growing interest. “Does our blood reverse their curse?”

Valentina puffed. “Of course not. And even if it did, would you sacrifice yourself just to save one of them? What good would that do?”

A crazy thought crossed my mind for a second, but I quickly shook it off. “No, of course not,” I answered, setting the empty bowl on a side table. “I was just curious.”

“You are still in his thrall.” Valentina sighed and caressed the back of my head, carefully avoiding the spot where Clarence’s bite marks were, like they were contagious. “Poor thing.”

“There’s no thrall,” I protested. “Vampires can’t bewitch humans. They told me themselves.”

A couple of witches snickered in the background. “Do thieves tell you they are about to rob you?”

“I don’t believe you.” I crossed my arms. “They wouldn’t lie to me.”

“Some of our kind were like you in the past,” Valentina said. “They all died gruesome deaths. Succumbed to their charms. Some were fooled into joining the ranks of the cursed, but witches are not meant to be immortal. We witches are servants of The Great Mother and as such, we are meant to go back to Her after our service is over.” She raised her hands and lowered her head in prayer. “I hope you aren’t considering anything as foolish as that, because you would meet a horrid end.”

I tilted my head, hoping she would elaborate. I had secretly contemplated that option, since the day Clarence had teased me about turning me into a vampire right before the oath ceremony.

“Do you know how they do it?” she asked coldly.

“No?”

Clarence never told me anything. He was a master at evading uncomfortable questions.

“Of course.” Valentina waved a hand in the air contemptuously. “They never tell you the nasty details, do they? Only the glitzy, resplendent side of their world is to be shown: that’s how they draw you in. But Nonna Valentina will tell you, don’t you worry, my child.” She sank a sharp nail into the crook of my neck and lowered her voice. “They drain your veins until your heart stops. Then, you die a horrible, slow, painful death.” Valentina pinched my skin, making me flinch. “But that’s nothing, trust me! Only the beginning of the agony. Right before you are gone, they force you to drink their blood. That works fine for ordinary humans, but not so much for us witches.”

I swallowed and squirmed back and away from her sharp nails. “What happens to witches?”

“In the best of scenarios, they go back to The Mother. That’s what happens most of the times, as far as I know. But sometimes things go awry and they turn into hideous monsters, unable to control their powers until their magic consumes them and everyone around them.”

She paused and stared at me.

“I see,” I mumbled quietly.

“Anyways, you stubborn little stray,” she said, shaking her arm as if to dispel the heavy atmosphere created by her revelation. “You are here now, and they won’t catch you again. Tell me, daughter. Do you want to learn magic?”

I took a deep breath and nodded.

“There are many things we can teach you, but first of all, we’ll need to ascertain your level of ability.” Valentina took my hand and inspected it from several angles. “Most stray witches are very weak, but that’s okay. That still doesn’t mean you won’t be able to get better with practice. Even we, who kept our roots, have had to hide for generations, and many of our powers have been lost or forgotten. The books were burned; the secret keepers massacred. We are barely regaining our power. But I trust we will get it back one day. Soon. And you could be here with us to witness it.”

Berenice stood up and took a book from a shelf, then laid it carefully on Valentina’s lap.

“Magic,” said the older woman mysteriously, locking her eyes with mine. Her gaze was intense, but I made an effort to hold it, because it looked like a test. She seemed satisfied with my resilience and, after a pause, she continued, “Magic is probably not what you think.”

Chapter 20

Alba

The witches seemed terrified to leave my powers unattended for one second longer and concluded we should start with my lessons right away.

“Let’s play ball,” Valentina said, kneading an invisible mass between the palms of her hands. “That should be easy enough for her.”

After that, they started to throw a ball at each other.

Or, at least, so they said.

In all honesty, I couldn’t see any balls, let alone any spheres made of light and energy. To me, they were just a bunch of elderly ladies hopping around a dusty living room. They pretended to catch or miss their imaginary bundle, and the only thing I knew for sure was that they were having loads of fun with their absurd match.

“You said you were an engineer?” Valentina asked, kicking the invisible orb with her elbow and―I deduced―redirecting it toward Berenice.

“Uh-huh,” I answered. Soon I would get used to strangers knowing more about my own life than myself.

“Then you must be familiar with Lavoisier’s Law, am I right?” Valentina pretended to throw the ball over her shoulder, and Alice skipped like a goat to grab it with both hands before it―allegedly―touched the ground.

“I am.” I nodded. At last, something I excelled at: trusty, real-world Physics. “Energy can’t be created nor destroyed; only transformed,” I recited proudly.

“Watch out!” Gianna said, swatting at my head as if to help me dodge the ball. She slapped me hard and left me feeling sore and giddy. I eyed her angrily. “Ouch! Was that necessary?” I shouted.

“Sorry, it was about to fly straight into your eye!” She apologized with a shrug and pretended to lift an imaginary object from the floor.

“That’s right, energy can only be transformed.” Valentina seemed pleased with my knowledge of Physics. “You can’t create it out of nothingness. Which means you only have two options when working with magic: you either use your own life force or source it from somewhere else. The first option is easier, but it can drain you... or even kill you. The second is much harder, but if you learn to do it well, it could make you virtually indestructible.”

“Sounds good,” I admitted.

“You could blow up a whole city all by yourself!” Berenice clapped excitedly, like blowing up whole cities was something everyone should aspire to.

“Catch!” Alice squealed and gestured toward me.

I stood on the carpet and scowled at her. “There’s no ball to catch,” I grunted.

“Of course there is,” Valentina reprimanded me, squatting to pick up the ball which wasn’t there. “It’s an energy ball. That’s what I’m trying to teach you, but you are stubborn. And cork-brained.”

I puffed at the insult and the air whistled as it came out of my lungs. “Whatever. I’m sorry. I can’t see anything.”

“Can’t you at least feel it?” Valentina pretended to rub something against my chest, and I stared at her blankly.

“No. Nothing at all.”

I stepped away from her, increasingly frustrated by the witches’ stupid game.

“Valentina, she’s a stray, what did you expect?” That was yet another elderly lady. Was it Agnes? Or Elda? They all looked so similar. “The hardest spells will never be at her reach. Why don’t we let her try one of the easiest ones, so we see what she can do?”

Valentina nodded pensively and walked over to a bookcase. She picked up a leather-bound book and thumbed through it for a while. In the end, she flapped it closed, making it clear that there was nothing in there easy enough for me.

“The easiest spells are the ones which include divination and scrying,” she stated, setting the book aside. “Searching and finding. You could start with that. Alice is good at divination. She can teach you.” Then she turned toward a teenage girl I hadn’t seen before. “Lana,” she commanded her, “bring us a scrying bowl, please.”

The girl left and came back shortly thereafter, carrying a big silver platter with a matching antique bowl. It contained a black, shiny liquid: ink, I guessed. She placed it carefully onto a coffee table and made a curtsy before retiring to the background.

Valentina gestured towards Alice, who threw the inexistent energy ball into a knitting basket and joined us without much enthusiasm.

“We were having so much fun,” she complained, kicking the basket surreptitiously.

“Incense?” Berenice asked, picking a few wooden sticks from a box and lighting them with a match. “To get into the right mood.” She winked.

Valentina took my hand and made me kneel between her and Alice over the bowl, facing the coffee table. She raised her arms and sang one powerful, low note which seemed to originate at the very bottom of her gut. The other women started to chant on cue. Together they offered a phantasmagorical chorus, a mixture of low and high-pitched voices intoning a wordless hymn.

“What is...?” I wanted to ask what the chanting was for, but Berenice silenced me with an intimidating warning look.

I squirmed uncomfortably on the floor as the smell of frankincense started to fill the room. My mistreated lungs weren’t enjoying the smoke. And my brain wasn’t keen on the chanting, either. A coughing fit shook me like an internal earthquake, and a downpour of memories of the fire sent me straight into panic mode, sweaty hands and trembling limbs included.

“Yes, this is good,” Valentina said, misinterpreting my discomfort for some sort of esoteric trance.

“No... I’m...” I tried to explain the problem, but I drowned in yet another wave of coughs and the only thing I managed to utter was a gurgle. She nodded with satisfaction, maybe thinking I was trying to join them in their chanting.

Alice, on the other hand, tapped on my back with a preoccupied glance and offered me a sip of her own tea. I drank it and inhaled deeply, letting out a deep gasp. Grabbing the edge of the table with both hands, I tried to concentrate on the warm, smooth wooden surface in order to escape the haunting memories of my last night at the inn.

“Tell me, Alba,” Valentina whispered, pointing at the silver bowl, “what can you see in the water?”

I bent over the liquid but only saw my own face in it, horribly pale and hollow-eyed. “Nothing. Just my own reflection.”

“No. Look inside.” Valentina pressed her index finger between my shoulder blades and started to draw spirals on my back.

I scrutinized the bowl once again.

Nothing.

My reflection informed me that I desperately needed a haircut. And possibly some makeup.

“Shall I add some candles?” Berenice suggested, setting candlesticks around us. Someone turned off the lights, and Berenice lit the candles ceremoniously, speaking in a foreign tongue as she went along. Once she was done, she blew lightly over the flames, making them shake and dance. The shifting flames drew abstract images on the surface of the water, and Valentina drew number-eight shapes with her hand over the bowl, glancing sideways at me.

“See. See inside,” she commanded in a deep, almost hypnotic voice which reminded me of a dragon. Not that I had ever seen one. The thought was so ridiculous that it nearly made me laugh, but I restrained myself.

“Still nothing,” I groaned, dropping my arms along my body like two saggy wings.

“Look closer,” Valentina forced me to place my hands around the bowl once again. She was growing impatient, and I was increasingly exhausted. A headache was looming, and it was clear that this bowl had no intention of talking to me in the near future.

I decided to make up a story and get rid of those unrelenting witches. I really needed a break. And soon.

“Oh, yes, I see something.” I squinted, pretending to focus a vision at the bottom of the bowl. They all held their breath, making me feel like the Oracle of Delphi.

“Way to go, sister!” Alice encouraged me. “Tell me, what do you see?”

“Something... rectangular,” I ventured.

“Rectangular?” Valentina sprung back. She didn’t seem too pleased. Maybe I should have said it was round. She clearly liked spheres better. “Okay,” she said with mistrust, “big or small?”

“Hmm...” I gave it some thought. “I’d say it’s about... sixty inches long?” She stared at me, unconvinced. “Sixty-three?”

“Well, that’s unusually accurate.” Valentina cocked an eyebrow. “But do tell us more about that rectangle. What is it doing?”

In my imagination, the bowl turned into a cup of ice-cream. A silver cup full of blood-red, slowly melting Italian gelato. “It’s a chest freezer!” I shouted triumphantly. “The rectangle is a rusty freezer full of ice-cream!”

None of them seemed too impressed.

“Raspberry ice-cream,” I added triumphantly.

Valentina sighed and stood up, clapping her hands to end my misery.

“Okay, okay, I think it’s enough for the first time. This might be the worst scrying session I have witnessed in my life.”

The witches turned on the lights, and soft snickers came from the sitting area.

“You know, Alba,” Valentina said, “divination is not about making up stories, but about allowing them to flow through you.”

I would have sworn I caught the word dumbhead coming from the other side of the room, but it was quickly drowned by the clinking sounds of teaspoons and teapots.

“Take her to her room,” Valentina said to Alice. “And don’t forget to lock the door.” The last sentence sounded gloomy, and her eyes were disturbingly dark when she turned to me and said, “Little child... I think you should have remained an engineer, instead of trying to become a witch. It would have made things so much easier for everyone involved.”

Chapter 21

Alba

“You must be tired,” Alice motioned toward the jute mat on the floor, fluffing the pillows for me. “Energy work is exhausting, isn’t it?”

I yawned and glanced lazily towards the small lavatory located in a corner of the basement room. I couldn’t tell whether she meant that seriously or she was making fun of my poor scrying performance.

“So, you don’t think I’m a fake, like Valentina? You believed what I saw?”

“Hmm.” She poured some more tea from a thermos and forced the cup against my lips, making me drink that foul beverage yet again. At this rate, I’d be soon growing tadpoles in my stomach. “It’s hard to say. I have never heard of witches giving such accurate measurements in their visions, but... who knows? Maybe it’s normal for you, given your professional background. Anyhow, what you did was energy work, and the first times it leaves you depleted, no matter the outcome. You need to rest.”

“Thank you.” I closed my eyes. I didn’t care what she called it: I was certainly drained. “Tell me, Alice, am I a prisoner here?”

“I think Valentina called you an intern during our last meeting.”

“So, can I leave whenever I want?”

“I don’t think so.”

“That sounds like a prisoner to me.”

Alice shrugged. “Sorry. You are a little bit dangerous. To yourself, too.”

She headed to the door and started to fiddle with a bunch of keys, trying them one by one in the lock.

“If I was so dangerous, do you think I would lie here in a half-coma and watch while you jail me in a basement?”

She lowered her eyes, her cheeks becoming a deep shade of crimson.

“I wish you would tell me what really happened to Francesca. She never meant you any harm. I’m worried about her.”

“I should go,” she muttered nervously. “I’m not allowed to talk to you about certain topics.”

“Sure,” I said, holding my head in the hopes it would stop pounding. It didn’t, so I lay down and waited for Alice to leave.

Five minutes later, she was still there, biting her lips and staring at me like a featherless owl.

“Still here?” I snapped. The migraine was in full blow now. It was so bad that I caved in and drank a few sips of the witches’ beverage.

“I know you are upset about the pretty vampiress,” she whispered.

How perceptive of you, Miss Spinach Hair.

“First of all, I want to say I’m sorry.” Alice closed the door, checking there was nobody outside, and came to squat next to my mat, a contrite look on her face. “I didn’t know Valentina was going to do what she did. And I didn’t know about Natasha.”

“What did she do? And who is Natasha?”

Alice stood up once again and started to pace nervously around the room, checking behind the tapestries and altar decorations. She locked the door and came back to my side, still avoiding my gaze.

“What? Is the house bugged?” I laughed at the improbability of a bunch of grandmas hiding microphones behind their spell books and crystals, but stopped abruptly when Alice frowned and brought a finger to her lips.

“You never know.” She served some tea for herself and sat cross-legged on the mat. “Was she really your friend?”

Was?

That was a tricky question. I wouldn’t have considered Francesca a friend. She never really engaged too deeply with anyone at The Cloister, let alone me.

“I trust her, if that counts.” I sat up and extended my arms over my knees. “I don’t know what she did to you, and sure she can be eccentric at times. Reserved... constantly; and yes, plain weird, too, depending on her moods. But even a lousy witch like me can see there’s no evil in her. Sadness—maybe; indifference, sure... but she’s far from a monster, whatever Valentina thinks.”

“I know what you mean. She’s quite okay compared to the vampires we were warned about. Like that bloodthirsty monster who attacked Lombardi, did you see him? Those are the real enemy.”

I rather omitted how that same bloodthirsty monster had shared my bed short before the fire. He had seemed more human than monster to me that night. Thinking about Clarence was as painful as holding a rose by the thorniest part of the stem: a beautiful torture; a highly masochistic one.

“When I first saw you and Francesca in the museum garden,” Alice said, “I knew what she was right away, even though I had never seen a vampire before. It wasn’t hard to guess that you were a stray, either. I thought she was there to kill me, but I didn’t care: I was too depressed and... I sort of wanted her to.”

“She did look at you in a strange way,” I admitted, remembering the hungry glances Francesca had shot at Alice while sitting next to her at the gazebo.

When Alice spoke again, her eyes were surprisingly glassy. “But she was so... gentle. Patient. It might have been an illusion but, for a while, she made me believe that she truly cared for me.”

It was dark, and the sound of steps outside the basement windows startled both of us: there must be someone strolling down the sidewalk, at street level. It was drafty and my nightgown was thin, so I stood up and closed the window. Alice waited for me to return to the mat, her silence punctuated by soft, veiled sobs.

“So, why are you crying, if you hate vampires? Didn’t you say her sympathy was fake?” I asked her, trying not to sound too snarky. Surprisingly, my head felt slightly better after drinking the witches’ brew.

“Because I’m not sure anymore what to think, and I suspect something terrible has happened to her because of me. When I told Valentina I had found a vampire, she was ecstatic. She devised a plan to capture her, using me as bait. I didn’t want to collaborate, but what was I supposed to do?” I raised an eyebrow at her, ready to give her at least three better alternatives; but she shook her head and continued, “You don’t understand. We are real witches, unlike you. I could tell you enough vampire horror stories to give you nightmares for the rest of your life.”

“So, where is she now?” I interrupted her, although I was intrigued by those horror stories and hoped I would get to ask about them some other day.

Alice twisted her fingers. “Francesca wanted to know about that witch I had seen in Turanna’s mirror, so I invited her to my house. It was a trap, of course. I don’t know anything apart from what I already told you. The coven cast a joint spell on her so we could restrain her.”

“What kind of spell?”

“A paralyzing spell. You need to be able to move things with your mind in order to cast it. If you can move them, you can hold them in place, too. It’s not easy, but Valentina is strong. And together with the rest of the coven, she can do pretty amazing things.”

“I can’t believe that a grandma defeated a centuries-old vampire.”

“Not just a grandma: she’s the most powerful witch in Lombardy.”

“She definitely doesn’t look it.”

“Beware of saintly-looking creatures. Those are usually the most wicked ones.”

In that, we agreed. And similarly, the opposite was often true.

“What happened next?” I asked.

“They chained her. We have special chains vampires can’t break. Then they took her away, to this woman called Natasha. I don’t know where she lives, but I heard she’s our best donator. Berenice told me this house was about to get foreclosed on when she appeared out of thin air and offered to fund our coven in exchange for bringing her any supernatural creatures we found. I have no idea what she needs them for, nor where she keeps them.”

Ah, so that was it: all those stories about goodhearted witches devoting their lives to helping others... in the end, it all added up to the same old adage: witches, just like everyone else, needed money to subsist, and their actions were conditioned by that need. Nothing new here.

The following question was hard to formulate, but I needed to ask it. “Do you think Francesca...” I swallowed for courage. “Do you think she’s still alive?”

“I’m not sure.” Alice let out a soft whimper. “I hope she is. I feel terrible about everything that happened.”

“You should. I’m sure she never meant you any harm.”

“I know.” She was bawling now. “She chose to spare my life at the expense of her own. She was right next to me and could have killed me when the other witches arrived. Valentina, on the other hand, didn’t bother to protect me from Francesca: she used me to lure her, and was willing to sacrifice me as long as she got her prize.” Alice smashed her porcelain cup against the floor and only the handle remained, dangling from her fingers like a broken ring.

I helped her pick up the shards and carry them to a nearby trash can.

“Ok, Alice,” I said firmly, “you need to find out where they took her, do you hear me? You owe it to Francesca. She’s a good person... vampire... whatever, you know what I mean. I need you to help me. We must find her.”

“But... that’s crazy. The coven would expel me if they found out I’m helping you,” she complained. “She’s not even human. I can’t do that.”

I puffed. “Why not? You just admitted she spared your life. Human or not, that makes her worthy of your mercy, doesn’t it? Or is your compassion reserved only for those who are just like you?”

Alice narrowed her eyes. “You’re telling me that because you have been brainwashed by vampires.”

I gaped at her, offended. “Excuse me?”

“Everyone here knows you sleep with them, so your opinions are biased. I heard the others talk about it over breakfast.”

Wasn’t it awesome, having a dozen grandmas discuss my sex life over freshly-baked panettone?

“So what if I do? That’s nobody’s business.”

“You’re not going to deny it?” She seemed shocked.

Alice peeked at me from above the thick frame of her black glasses, a sudden gleam of interest illuminating her gaze.

“What is it like?” She asked with curiosity.

“What is what like?” I crossed my arms.

“You know...” She let out a girly laugh.

I rolled my eyes. “Why do you want to know?”

“Er... well... I’m intrigued, that’s it. In case I ever come across the chance, so I know what to expect... or how to defend myself... is it as bad as they say?”

“I have no idea of what they say but no, in my experience, it’s not that bad,” I said, squinting at her.

Nope. Not at all, I added in my mind.

“Yes, but they must be so... cold? Isn’t that a bit uncomfortable?”

She giggled. How old was this girl anyway?

“No...” I half-smiled at her sudden coyness. “Have you ever hugged someone when they come home after being outside in the cold?”

Alice nodded eagerly.

“Well, that’s exactly how it feels.” A dreamy sigh left my lips against my will, and a wave of nostalgia stirred inside me. “Imagine kissing someone’s nose after they were outside in the snow. It warms up after a while, doesn’t it? They don’t generate cold, they just have no warmth of their own. But they can share yours.”

“Cute,” she said, seemingly satisfied with my description.

“Yeah.”

Alice stared at the ceiling with a dreamy expression, and I wondered whether she could be thinking about Francesca.

“I should be going.” She shook her head and checked her watch. “I need to get something from the store before it closes, but I’ll be back again tomorrow after work to teach you divination. Be good until then.”

She unlocked the door and slipped out silently. Once she left, I tried the door handle, but it was locked. I let out a stifled curse and went back to my mat to nurse the leftovers of my headache as I thought about Clarence, Francesca and my daughters, and all the possible ways to stop being a glorified prisoner of the Witches of the Lake and start helping the friends who needed me... and myself.

***

WHEN ALICE CAME BACK the next evening, she found me drowning in self-pity while fiddling with the locks and trying to escape my makeshift prison. She was carrying a wooden box and sat down on the floor, waving for me to join her.

“Do you know what this is?” she asked me, handing me a deck of cards with gilded edges.

“Yes!” I exclaimed proudly, remembering a long day spent with Jean-Pierre back in The Cloister. “That’s the Tarot of Marseilles!”

She frowned. “No. This is the Visconti-Sforza deck. But you were close enough. You get two points.”

“Oh,” I whimpered. “Only two? Out of how many?”

“Out of ten,” she said sternly. “You are a Queen of Cups, aren’t you?” She shuffled the cards and I watched her, mesmerized, as they flew back and forth like fluttering hummingbirds between her fingers. “It shows.”

“No, I’m the Queen of Water, as far as I know.” At least, that was what Julia had told me.

“Yeah, that’s the same,” Alice explained. “It means you are weepy, disorganized... have a victim mentality... cheesy tendencies... isn’t that you?”

I cleared my throat, appalled at her awfully accurate report.

“No!” I shouted. “I’m not weepy! Where did you get that from?” I hid behind my back the handkerchief I had been wiping off my tears with right before she had made her appearance.

Alice shrugged and set the cards on the mat, in three ordered piles. “Years of practice reading people, I suppose.”

“Why do I have to be the worst of all queens?” I complained, violently crumpling the tissue into a tight ball.

“Who said she’s the worst? There are no better or worse archetypes. They all serve a purpose. A balanced Queen of Cups can be great. But that’s not your case.”

“Huh,” I grunted. “But I read it in that spell... Fulminatio... that I was the least talented of all queens.”

“Fulminatio?” Alice lifted an eyebrow. “How did you get your hands on it? That’s sensitive material which shouldn’t be handled by young witches, let alone strays like you. Even I don’t have permission to access such manuscripts. I thought they were kept in a secret vault in France.”

I remained silent, unwilling to expose Jean-Pierre. “I don’t know. I just... found it.”

“Anyways,” she continued, “that’s probably a fire spell. As a Queen of Water you are not well-suited to cast it, unless surrounded by your element. You know... water extinguishes fire and all that jazz. That doesn’t mean you are worse. It’s just not the best match for you.”

“And what is the best match for me?”

“I can’t tell you that. Something more... watery, I suppose. But I don’t have access to the Great Spells. I’m just a reader.”

“Oh. And what do readers do?”

“We see things. Do you want me to tell you your fortunes?”

I considered her offer for a second. Did I? Not really, but maybe she would tell me something useful about Clarence or Francesca.

“Okay. But if I’m going to die soon, just lie to me, will you?”

“Deal,” she said, and started to shuffle the deck once again.

Alice asked me to pick a few cards and spread them on my bedsheet in an orderly cross pattern.

“What are you doing now?” I asked.

“There’s one for your past, one for your present, and one for what shall come to pass,” she chanted, pointing at each card separately. “These are the people who’ll help you, and these are the obstacles you’ll encounter.”

“And that one?”

“That one is the most likely end for your story.”

“And how does it end?” I asked nervously.

“That depends on you. But I see a couple of meaningful men in your life...” she said pensively, readjusting her glasses.

“I don’t need a witch to tell me that. That’s one of those vague statements which would work for anyone. Except for a hermit, maybe.”

Alice scowled and continued. “Shut up. This is serious. I see three men. Men you will love or be loved by.”

“What? Three?” I rubbed my temples. “I hope you’re joking. I wouldn’t want to become the new Catherine the Great.”

“Catherine who?”

“Never mind.”

“Anyways. That’s not the point.” She twirled a card in her fingers, doubtful. “Thing is, the three of them are going to try to kill you at some point.”

“Awesome.”

“But there’s one good thing...”

“Yees?”

“Only one will succeed.”

***

I STOOD UP IN A RAGE and turned my back to Alice.

“No shit,” I growled. “Because you can kill someone more than once, right? Of course only one will succeed, if I’m supposed to be murdered. What kind of psychic are you?”

I was pissed at Alice because she had promised not to predict my death and still, there she was, doing exactly―and only―that.

“Don’t be so finicky,” she persisted, unfazed, “I see three stories here, all interwoven... it’s all very exciting, in my opinion. I rarely see a narrative like this. The problem is, you will have to make the right choice, and there’s only one. And it’s not the easiest one, I’m afraid.”

“And which is that, if I may ask?”

“Let me see...” She picked another card and studied it carefully. “Trust,” she rolled the middle r the way most Italians did and nodded with satisfaction. “You have to choose trust over fear if you want to succeed.”

“That doesn’t answer my question,” I roared. “I want to know who these people are and how to pick the right one, so I don’t end up murdered in the process.”

“Don’t we all?” She laughed. “But I never said making the right choice would save you from your destiny. I can’t give you such detailed information; the only thing I can do is lend you my deck so you can slip it under your pillow tonight. Sometimes a clearer message comes through, or you get to dream of a person who might be able to help you.”

“I could try that,” I said, as an idea started to form in my mind.

“Okay, because it’s getting late, and I still have to drive back home. I hate driving through the forest in the dark. Is there anything else you need before I leave? Water? Food? More tissues?”

I ignored her last snide comment and took the cards from her hands.

“Actually, I’d love to have Valentina’s divination bowl and some candles,” I said slowly. “I’d love to practice some more after you go. If you don’t mind.”

Chapter 22

Clarence

The rusty box reeked of burned flesh and singed hair.

My hair, to be accurate.

A thin but deadly slither of sunlight seeped through a crack at the top of the metal chest, leaving scarlet marks wherever it stroked my skin. I cowered in a corner, trying in vain to escape the deadly rays. But the box was small, and daylight relentless.

It was a thrilling way to pass the time.

I had spent two days hiding in a crumbling chest freezer salvaged from the kitchen of the inn; waiting for nightfall as I fought the deadly slivers of light and waited for my injuries to heal. The burns didn’t bother me; but the silver dagger wounds had impaired my ability to move and shift properly, leaving me at the mercy of sunshine. That dagger, a present from Anne, had been forged to keep both vampires and hunters at bay: both a much more troubling nuisance in 1834 than nowadays. A stab through the heart with such a weapon would have sealed my fate; but the scoundrel had missed his target by a couple of inches.

At sunset, I dragged my wretched self through the surrounding woods and valleys, trying to find wild beasts to feed from. I would have preferred a human, whose blood would have sped up the healing process; but I was too weak to stalk humans properly, and there were not many treading the surroundings. As I crawled over the frosty mulch, I strove to detect Alba’s scent, but the cloud of smoke had blurred any leftover traces of her.

The sound of paws in the treetops alerted me of the presence of a small, warm-blooded creature nearby. I stood still, sniffing the air, and detected a rodent. It stank, and the very thought of drinking animal blood nauseated me; but it would have to do.

I crouched down, very slowly, careful not to crack a single twig. The animal was chewing its food, unaware of my presence at the foot of the tree. It would take just one leap to catch it, but it would have to be quick and clean. A disgusting morsel, but I needed blood to heal: otherwise it would take too long, and I needed to take flight as soon as possible if I wanted to find Alba.

The beast went silent and jerked its head: first left, then right. It stared at me without seeing me: it had smelled me. I wasn’t the only one in the forest able to sense other creatures’ scent. Stalking humans was so much easier from that point of view: they were so deliciously oblivious, always so trusting and overconfident. A kind word and a smile away from becoming easy prey. Beasts, on the other hand, were much more astute.

I tilted back for a running start, and then I jumped. I tripped clumsily over a broken branch, doubled over by the pain of my wounds.

The squirrel squeaked and scurried away.

I lay on the ground for a long while, scoffing at myself: a couple hundred years ago I had nearly razed a whole city, and the only person able to stop me had been the mighty Elizabeth. Alas, today, what had I become? A weakling unable to catch a hideous, pathetic rodent. Too weak to take flight and find the woman I had come to assist in the first place.

I found nothing to eat that night. Not that I tried again. Ultimately, the looming sunrise forced me to creep back into my hiding place, and I cringed at the prospect of spending yet another day locked in a box.

Caskets always conjured my most miserable memories. Memories of Anne’s death, and my mother’s shortly thereafter; and how my father, consumed by panic and rage, had locked me in a leaden coffin. He had hoped that would keep me―and the dirty secret of my turning―hidden away from the world for the rest of eternity; or at least, for the remainder of his own life. When Elizabeth had found me, starved and crazed, I had already lost any semblance of humanity I might have ever had. Everyone I held dear was dead. I had exerted my revenge on my father before Elizabeth had succeeded to restrain me. And, in hindsight, now I fervently wished I had not.

All these recollections made coffins―and somehow, chest freezers, too―a daunting resting place. But this time, at least, I had a reason to endure this claustrophobic torment.

A reason whose blood rushed through my veins like a meteor shower, her magic sparkling and fizzling inside me with a silent melody I had never listened to before.

I had never drunk from a witch before: ordinary humans were easier to catch and much more plentiful. Yet now I couldn’t but wonder whether the bitter scent of witches was a cunningly devised self-defense mechanism, meant to conceal the magic their blood carried. A magic strong enough to convey that she was alive and well; albeit out of reach. Even though its effects were becoming gradually feebler, I could sense her heartbeat, fierce and gushing, almost as if she were right next to me.

I curled up at the bottom of the box, sticky with syrup and rotten berries. It was the safest hideout I could find after waking up with my feet peeping out of a foxhole ten minutes before sunrise, with burns all over my body and a few kisses of my own dagger, inflicted by Alba’s new Romeo.

That night I had aroused in her warm arms, drunk with her essence. Slumbering in her embrace, I had not only slept, but also dreamt. Of her. Of us. Elated under the rising sun. In my dream, I was the man I never became in my mortal life. The man my mother would have been proud of.

I fell asleep so rarely that I had forgotten to blow out the candles. It was the scent of another human in the room that had stolen my fantasy and put me on guard. Romeo had a key, and he had tiptoed into the room. He knew I was there.

I had jumped out of bed and pounced on him, but he was fast, and surprisingly well prepared to fight a vampire. He had stolen my dagger and fled into the forest.

I had followed him, blinded by my fury.

Fool.

That was exactly what he had wanted me to do.

In my recklessness, I hadn’t paid attention to the overturned candles, nor the first flames rising from the sleeping inn. It wasn’t until we were entangled in a fight to the death in the middle of the forest that I had seen the fire engulfing the inn and everything inside it.

Everyone inside it.

Just like another fire, a long time ago, had devoured Anne.

Panic had seized me at the sight. I had tried to rush back to Alba, but my attacker had turned out to be relentless, and extremely hard to kill.

After extricating myself from him, badly wounded and weakened, I had sieved the smoking embers of the building for hours. By then, everybody was gone and the building ruined. Eventually, I had gathered just enough strength to crawl into a fox’s burrow and wait for nightfall.

And here I was as yet, bleeding over raspberry ice-cream leftovers; locked in a rusty, half-burnt freezer chest, at the darkest end of a crumbling mountain inn in Northern Italy.

Mulling over a witch.

My witch.

A witch who was still alive; that much I knew.

A witch whose life force coursed through my arteries, creating a bond stronger than any other tie, human or supernatural.

I would find her.

Chapter 23

Alba

I was still wearing a decades-old nightgown reminiscent of a shroud when, after at least ten days of miserable captivity, punctuated only by Alice’s brief visits and the young witchling who brought me food, the witches let me out of the basement once again for a morning meditation.

Seemingly, most witches led boring, ordinary lives. They had families, jobs, and mortgages, just like everyone else, which didn’t allow them to spend their whole days reading spell books or holding coven gatherings as I had first imagined. The only permanent residents of the house were three retired, widowed ladies: High Priestess Valentina and two other elderly women by the names Agnes and Elda. Berenice was also living with them at the moment, even though she was under seventy; but only temporarily, since her home at the inn had burned down to the ground. When I asked Alice about Berenice’s oddly cheerful behavior despite her bad luck, she just brushed it off and said that it was her particular way of coping with difficult stuff.

The night before, after Alice had left, I had tried to contact Julia, using the scrying bowl as a mirror and the words I could remember from Julia’s summoning spell.

It didn’t come as much of a surprise when the spell didn’t work out. I had tried to wield magic a couple of times after my first success and most of them had been a failure: my sorcery seemed to have a mind of its own and do whatever it wanted, only whenever it decided. At any rate, now I was faced with the dreadful thought of never reaching Julia again. In my current situation, with Clarence missing and Francesca held captive, she might have been the only person able to help me.

The only bright side of my forced captivity was that my health had improved very quickly under the care of the witches. My lungs were starting to cooperate, slowly forgiving me for inhaling too much smoke during the fire. Those witches were good healers: at least I’d give them that.

Now, with my own survival cleared up, there were a few pressing matters haunting my thoughts that morning, in no particular order of importance:

I needed to find out where Francesca was and get her out of there.

I missed my daughters, and I needed to call them and confirm they were well.

And I missed Clarence.

I was worried about him, and I missed him so much. I missed that vengeful, truant vampire who had assaulted a man just for kissing me. That vampire who had ghosted me more times than I could count with the fingers of one hand. I should be furious at him. Actually, I was. But still, his memory had populated my thoughts for the best part of my waking—and even more so, non-waking—hours.

And then there was this baffling issue with the bite. Sure, I had never been bitten by a vampire, at least to my knowledge; but something told me that whatever was going on with me was not entirely normal.

The tiny wounds had already healed, but the scar was pulsating... radiating. Not a warm radiance, but ice-cold sparkles instead: unlike the fiery itch of a bee sting, these scars were like carrying a kiss from his lips permanently attached to the side of my neck. They had grown invisible roots and even a life of their own. Now they took pleasure in stealthily liquefying my legs and distracting me from anything else around me with thoughts of the culprit, as my fingers kept seeking them out of their own accord and pursuing him through them. It was confusing and frustrating and oddly sensual all at once.

When Valentina woke me that morning, the tiny scars were already buzzing.

“Still breathing?” she asked me, yanking my lacy sleeve and dragging me up the narrow stairs to the attic. She scrutinized my face, spat on her fingertips and rubbed the dark circles under my eyes, as if trying to erase them. “You look dreadful. And those marks on your neck give off strange vibrations.” She turned to Berenice, who was standing on one leg like a flamingo, wearing a t-shirt with the slogan ‘Go witch yourself,’ and asked, “Ever read anything about venomous vampires, Berenice? Do you think they might exist?”

“Never heard such a thing,” she answered, carefully lifting her leg in an inverted L shape. “But she does look terrible. We could try bone broth; it might help. Did Agnes kill anything last weekend?”

“I doubt it, in this cold, but I’ll ask her after the ritual,” Valentina said. “Otherwise, I think we still have a couple of Leonardo’s bones somewhere in the basement.”

I stared at them alternately.

“Ah... I’m okay already,” I mumbled, reluctant to have anything brewed out of someone... something... named Leonardo. “Just wheezy. But I’d really like to have my phone back. I need to check on my daughters.”

Valentina raised an eyebrow. “Pay attention to what we are about to do, and we’ll see about that. Don’t you want to learn witchcraft? Well, sorry to tell you, but that’s not the way it works. You don’t just read a spell, spew out a few sparks and magically become a witch. This is about practice, and hard work, and sacrifices.”

“What kind of sacrifices?” My voice trembled a little as I speculated about Leonardo and how his bones had ended up in a witches’ basement.

They plainly ignored my question.

We reached the third floor and entered an attic room with a sloping ceiling.

“We call this the mirror room,” Berenice said, leaping through the door like a wild goat.

I didn’t need to ask why the name, because all vertical surfaces were covered in mirrors, like in a dance studio or a huge elevator. There was even a long ballet barre bolted to the widest wall, and Berenice perched on it upside down just like a bat would have, letting her t-shirt slide down to her chin and show the best part of her bra and her extensively tattooed belly area.

“Berenice, will you please stop monkeying around and bring us old women some pillows?”

The feeble early morning sun shone over us through the dusty window panes, bouncing off the silver surfaces and giving the whole space a pinkish tint. Our reflections multiplied to infinity, creating the illusion of thousands of Albas and Valentinas taking turns to scowl at each other.

Berenice dropped half-heartedly to the floor and grabbed a few cushions from a small pile in the corner. She set them in a flower shape and sat down in the middle, silent and cross-legged. Agnes and Elda created a circle of—surprise—candles and one of them started to bang a brass bowl with a tiny wooden mallet.

“Sunrise meditation,” Valentina announced, elbowing my ribs. “Close your eyes and let the energy gather inside your core.”

“Do you meditate just for fun, or does this serve any magical purposes?” I asked, sitting down and squinting into the increasing morning light.

“Mainly demon summoning,” Berenice answered with a smirk.

“Or message channeling,” Elda clarified, clasping a crystal pendant around her neck.

“Shh,” Agnes admonished them, and a few droplets of spit landed on my cheek.

We remained in that posture for an eternity, until my legs were overcome by pins and needles which fought to overpower the icy roots growing out of Clarence’s bites.

After an hour of failed meditation, the only things filling my core were unease due to my current situation and a growing sense of hunger. My stomach let out a roaring howl, which in turn forced the witches to open their eyes, my empty guts prematurely rousing them from their trance.

Berenice hit the singing bowl three times, signaling the end of the ritual.

So far, I had summoned exactly zero demons and channeled as many messages. But I had plotted a few nifty ways to get my phone back, most of them including some sort of pleading or guilt-shaming directed to Alice. A phone would allow me to call Minnie and contact someone in The Cloister willing to send help. Elizabeth was mostly illiterate as far as technology concerned, but who knew? There was a possibility she had learned to check her email while she was alone and bored in her chambers.

“I had such an inspiring vision,” Agnes said in her shaky, elderly lady voice. “There was a bat trying to get into the house, and we caught it just before it nested on the roof.”

“This attic is full of bats. Doesn’t sound very prophetic to me,” Elda commented.

“Yes, but that one was huge. And rabid.”

“Maybe it’s a sign that you should add a bat to your Minecraft cross-stitch tapestry,” Elda said to Agnes, “it has too much green. A bit of black would add variety.”

“Oh, yes! Green smoothie, anyone?” Berenice clapped her hands and started to hop down the stairs, followed by the others.

“Did you hear anything during your meditation?” Valentina asked me as we snailed our way down toward the kitchen on the ground floor.

Did hearing two motorbikes and the garbage truck count?

“Um... no, not really,” I answered, holding onto the handrail. My legs were still a bit wobbly, and I was glad to reach the last step.

The witches’ kitchen was, at first sight, a vast Mason jar warehouse. Pickled things swamped the place, and most of them were not cucumbers―I recognized a couple of lizards and two white, soft balls floating in a clear liquid. They were alarmingly similar to animal eyes. Or even human ones.

A vintage pasta maker reigned in the middle of the counter, surrounded by blenders, threatening knife blocks and rusty tins with hand-written labels. Fruits and vegetables, most of them still covered in dirt, filled a fraying basket to the rim. Valentina took a couple of apples and wiped them on her cardigan before sinking her dentures in one of them. She offered me one, and I accepted it meekly: I had expected a stronger breakfast.

“So, you got no visions?” Berenice said pensively. “Ah, never mind. It can be normal for a first-timer.” She threw a bunch of green leaves into the blender and started to squeeze a lemon over them. “The only message I channeled today was that I must call my insurance agent about the fire coverage. But I saw my light. Did you at least manage to see yours?”

“What light?” I asked wearily, chewing the apple, which had an unusually thick peel.

“You know, your glow, your power, your witch aura...” She said dreamily.

“No, I don’t think so. Maybe I just suck as a witch.”

“Hmm,” Berenice hovered her finger over the power button of the blender, but didn’t deny my statement. “Have you ever done anything special? Anything... witchy?”

“She cast the Fulminatio in a public restroom once,” Valentina said through gritted teeth.

“You did what?” Agnes shrieked, letting her apple roll onto the floor.

“How do you know that?” I asked Valentina, stiffening.

“Two of our sisters were there, have you forgotten, Alba? And, anyways, it’s not like news doesn’t spread fast from coven to coven. They even wrote about it in the Warty Toad Newsletter. It was a true scandal.”

“They cornered me in a bathroom stall,” I protested. “I was scared.”

“Wow, that’s incredible!” Berenice said in awe. “So, do you remember the color of your light when you cast it?” She leaned against the kitchen table, her eyes scanning me like she saw me for the first time.

“I think it was white?” I tried to remember. “No, wait. It started off as a white glow, but it turned purple in the end.” I recalled the exhilarating sensation of magic fire coursing through my fingers, and a soft tingling extended down my forearms.

Valentina nodded knowingly and left her half-eaten apple on the counter. She took one of my hands and started to study each finger separately, seemingly searching for tiny flamethrowers under my nails.

“Interesting,” she said. “But you must be mistaken. I doubt your light was purple. That’s the highest energy one can invoke. Nobody has reached above green in the last five hundred years.”

“That’s what happens when you spend years singing Colors of the Rainbow with toddlers,” I said, in a vain attempt to sound funny.

Nobody laughed.

They just looked at me blankly, their eyes stating silently that they now found me even more stupid than the first day.

“What color is yours?” I asked, directing my question to all of them in general.

“Golden,” Berenice sang whimsically, munching on a celery stalk.

“Berenice, stop fantasizing. Yours is just plain yellow, like a ripe lemon.” Elda laughed. “But Valentina’s is the most beautiful emerald green you’ll ever witness.”

“Oh, I wish you could show me. I’d love to see that.” I turned to the high priestess, but she just frowned.

“Come on, Valentina, show the stray a glimpse of your power. Otherwise she’ll think all we can do is chant and blend smoothies.” Berenice brandished the celery stalk like a racing flag.

“I don’t care what the stray thinks of me.” Valentina put her hands on her hips, stubbornly.

“Come on. She needs someone to look up to,” Berenice teased her.

Stealthily, Berenice grabbed an apple from the bowl and threw it straight at Valentina’s face.

Valentina blocked the flying object with both hands: her reflexes were striking for a lady her age. A greenish glow held the apple in the air for a second, where it hovered, frozen, until she snatched it and put it back on the counter.

I gaped at the scene in awe. It reminded me of my little adventure with the teacup at the dressmaker’s, back in Emberbury.

“You always have to get your way, don’t you, Berenice?” Valentina said, smashing the apple back into the bowl.

The younger witch flung her a devilish smirk. “And that’s how you catch a flying apple,” the innkeeper declared smugly, handing me a glass full to the rim of a disgusting grog, then she added naughtily, “Or a bloodthirsty vampire.”

***

WE SPENT THE REST OF the day baking sweet bread loaves with hidden trinkets inside and singing creepy songs about people with horns. For a while, I forgot about the existence of vampires and about the fact that I was a captive in a witches’ home. I fantasized about big families with dozens of loving aunts and grannies; the kind of family I never got to know during my childhood, as we traveled from country to country following my father’s nomadic career.

But in the evening, the witches’ camaraderie ended abruptly as they locked me back into the basement room.

“Sorry, stray,” Berenice said, peeking through the crack of the door before retiring upstairs, “Alice is coming to continue your divination lessons after the museum closes. Try to do something useful in the meanwhile.” She ran her eyes over my neglected self and wiggled her nose. “Like washing your hair. You still reek of smoke.”

I took a shower, but nobody had bothered to supply me with any fresh clothes. I had no other choice but to put on the same shabby nightgown again, which was starting to get filthy. Half the decorative lace, now yellowed and holey, was torn around the hem, and I observed with apathy how it followed me around me like a quiet snake.

Once showered and relatively refreshed, I searched the room for usable magical items and possible ways to escape the building. Sadly, I found no secret spell books, no incriminating documents, and no unlocked doors. The basement windows were too high for me to jump through, and they were barred anyway.

I grunted, and the exhalation sent me into such a bad coughing fit that I had to lean against the wall until it passed. Just when I thought I was about to die of suffocation, alone in that run-down basement, the door opened and Alice made her appearance. The eyeliner was smeared around her eyes, and she held her glasses in one hand. She patted my back patiently, until the coughing fit stopped.

“Do you have a cold?” I asked, referring to her exaggerated sniffling.

Alice shook her head and handed me a little black, shiny object.

“My cell phone!” I squealed, and hugged her out of impulse.

“I thought you might want to have a look. But do it fast, because if―when Valentina finds out, she’s going to skin me alive.” She snuffled loudly.

I plucked the phone off her hands and unlocked it. To be accurate, I didn’t even have to, because someone had removed the password prompt.

“What the hell?” I mumbled, clearing a few breadcrumbs off the screen.

“Yeah, Agnes is our best hacker. She did that.”

“Are we talking about flower-aproned, doily crocheting Agnes?” I blinked.

“Yup.”

“Why would she do that?”

“So we could read aloud all your messages every night at dinnertime.”

I stared at her with horror, but she nudged me impatiently.

“Hurry up. They will notice soon and come for me. Valentina keeps your phone in the cookie tin, and trust me: that tin gets more visitors per day than the Sistine Chapel in August.”

I reclined against the small altar in a corner of my room and started to browse heftily through hundreds of unread emails.

There were a few messages from Minnie. The girls were fine, and she had sent me a few photos of them eating lunch and unwrapping Christmas presents together with Minnie’s parents in their lavish Boston mansion.

They looked like a freaking happy family without me. My girls even had the same hair color as Minnie, thanks to Mark’s blond genes.

I felt sick to my stomach.

“Pretty girls. Your nieces?” Alice commented, pointing at a portrait of Iris and Katie wearing Santa hats and kissing Minnie, one from each side.

“My daughters,” I growled.

“Ah.” She shrugged. “And who’s the boyfriend?”

“What boyfriend?” I pressed the phone against my chest so she couldn’t read over my shoulder. There were no pictures of Mark, let alone Clarence―whose image couldn’t be captured on camera―so I had no idea where she had got the idea of a boyfriend.

“The one who writes SMS’s like he’s Lord Byron’s long-lost brother,” she said. “You know, ‘My dearest beloved blah, blah.’”

“They read those, too?” I gasped. A wave of heat rushed to my cheeks. Not that Clarence’s messages were exactly X-rated, florid and old-fashioned as they were, but still: they were personal. And mine. For my eyes only.

“Okay, give it back.” Alice took the phone from my hands.

I tried to keep it a little longer, reluctant to obey. “But I need to write a couple of messages first.”

“No way. I can’t allow you to call anyone or write anything: Agnes would notice. Sorry. I already risked a lot bringing this here. If they found out what I’ve done they might kick me out of the coven, or worse.”

I sighed, contemplating the possibility of punching Alice and reducing her to the floor for the time necessary to type an email to Elizabeth. The plan was a bit far-fetched, as Alice was larger than I. Also, I didn’t think she deserved such rough treatment. She was the only person around trying to be of assistance, after all.

“Okay,” I said, handing her my phone with an eye-roll. “Thank you. How come you decided to help me?”

She slipped it in her pocket and collapsed on the mat, sprawling her arms and legs like a black, leather-clad spider.

“They cut off her fingers,” she whined.

“What? Whose fingers?”

“Francesca’s.” Alice started to wail and I couldn’t make out her words properly. “They found out she’s a musician, and they cut off her fingers to make her talk.”

I collapsed on the mat right next to her, covering my mouth in horror.

“Why? Who?” I stammered.

“Valentina was joking about it in the kitchen. The torturers even took a fast-forward video showing how the fingers grew back. They have special infrared cameras just for that purpose. It was hideous. But Valentina found it funny.”

“That’s sick,” I said, bile rising up my throat. “Why would anyone do that?”

“To pry information out of someone, of course.”

“What information?”

“I don’t know. What secrets could a wandering vampire keep?”

Too many.

I rubbed my temples. “That’s why you brought me my phone?”

Alice frowned. “You were right. We must find her. I’m sorry I gave her away to Valentina. I made a mistake, but I’m going to fix it. Once I find out where they took her, we’ll think of something, okay?”

I nodded, my mouth too dry to speak. “Yes. Yes. Okay.”

“Good. I’m leaving you now. I have no energy for Tarot readings tonight.”

“Neither do I,” I agreed grimly.

She stood up and lugged herself to the exit.

“Alice,” I called her. “If I had a mirror, I might be able to summon a friend. A powerful one. But there are none in this basement, and the water bowl doesn’t work.”

Alice bit her lips, pensive; then put her glasses back on.

“Yeah, Valentina removed all mirrors from the basement because she doesn’t want to risk you making astral calls. Weird, as she considers you a total incompetent. She’s been making fun of you since you came up with the freezer story. I think that was when she lost all hope to make a witch out of you.” She scanned me with sudden interest. “Don’t tell me you can actually use mirrors as portals, like they used to do in the Middle Ages.”

“Um... I’m not sure I can do it at will, but once I summoned a witch. Although I think it was her doing most of the work from the other side.”

“Well, you are a box of surprises, Mrs. 63-Inch-Chest-Freezer. I have no mirrors to give you, but there are lots of them in the attic. And, lucky you, Valentina and her cronies are terribly hard of hearing. Once they take off their hearing aids for the day, there’s no way in hell they’ll notice your comings and goings around the house,” she said, pointing toward the upper floor. “As long as you tiptoe past Berenice’s room, that is. She’s sleeping in the lab.”

“Oh, that’s awesome. The only problem is, I’m trapped here...”

Alice winked.

“Are you?” She cooed with impish carelessness. “What if I forgot to lock the door? Just for tonight...”

“Oh,” I said, watching the keys dangle from her fingers.

Once she was gone, I stood up and tried the doorknob.

The door was unlocked.

I smiled.

Perhaps Alice wasn’t so bad after all.

Chapter 24

Alba

I waited anxiously for everyone to fall asleep. Once the house became absolutely silent, I stuck a few white candles and matches into the pocket of my nightgown and left the basement. I tiptoed past the witches’ bedrooms on the first floor, furtive as a thief, making my way straight to the attic.

Upstairs, the moon was shining through the skylights, dyeing everything in shades of azure and silver, with gold and orange specks here and there.

I sat on a cushion in front of the largest mirror and lit three candles. I didn’t remember the whole text of Julia’s spell, but I would put all my heart into this summoning. I needed it to work because, otherwise, many people would suffer, and I couldn’t allow that to happen.

“Here I am,” I whispered.

My voice dissolved into the air, thin and quiet as a morning mist. Then the sound reappeared and reverberated in the enclosed space. It came back to me, shaped into delicate drops of light. I cupped my hands and gathered them, then started to braid the drops into beads of energy, just like the witches had done while playing ball in the living room, the day I had silently made fun of them.

Was this a fantasy? The skeptic inside me wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the situation, but I silenced her and kept braiding.

“I am listening,” I murmured into the empty room, opening my arms in a welcoming gesture.

A weak rumble shook the air, and a voice emerged from the center of the mirror.

“It’s good to see you again,” she said.

Julia’s voice didn’t startle me; but her image did. For the first time, she didn’t manifest as a black cat: on the other side of the looking glass there was a beautiful, ageless woman in a polka dot swing dress, sitting gracefully on a tree stump. She had dark blond, wavy hair with elegant pin curls, and the revealing pallor of the dead. Or the undead.

“You look so young... this can’t be.” I gasped and touched the mirror between us. The tip of my finger created concentric waves on the surface, just like a drop falling into a pool of water. “What are you, Julia? A witch, a vampire... a ghost?”

“Yes,” Julia answered beatifically, with an absentminded, muddled expression which oddly reminded me of my own grandma.

“Yes... what?” I encouraged her, mesmerized by the circles undulating on the glass.

“Yes, I’m... the three of them, somehow.” She sounded confused, but strangely cheerful. “Depends on how you look at it.”

I tapped on the mirror with my bare toes, and, to my surprise, I stumbled inside it. I fell face-first on the palms of my hands, directly on a damp, grassy surface at Julia’s feet.

Julia smiled and tried to help me stand up. Her hand was cold, much colder than Clarence’s ever was. It went through my fingers like a specter, unable to attach to anything material.

“Oh, I always forget,” she said, knocking on her forehead. “Can’t touch you, because you’re not really here, and neither am I.”

I wiped my hand discreetly on the long linen nightgown. It was gooey where her ghostly skin had brushed against mine. I examined the space around us but saw only fog. We were sitting in the middle of a shadowy forest clearing, surrounded by darkness and thick, grey clouds.

“Julia, do you have an idea what’s going on?” I said, my head starting to spin. “I came to Italy because of you, because of that message in your diary. But since I landed in this country everything has been a mess. Also, according to what the witches told me, you should be dead. Possibly twice or thrice.”

“Hmm.” Julia smiled softly. “Oh, where to start.” She stood up, and I tried to ascertain how old she was. To my knowledge, she had died in her fifties of a heart failure. How could she possibly be standing here, looking barely my age?

“First of all,” she continued, “I’m so sorry I missed our appointment, but I was faced with a case of force majeure. I wanted to show you the Museum of Witchcraft, especially Turanna’s Mirror... but then my plans were thwarted. I also tried to warn you not to tell Carlo who you really are, because I saw him talking to the head of the witches... I hope you got my message?”

“More or less,” I said, nodding. “But what happened? Why weren’t you there on Christmas Eve?”

“My husband, Ludovic, is dying, and all my energy is going toward keeping him alive from a distance. That made it hard to answer your previous calls. He was having a better day today, so I managed to come. But this truce won’t last long, especially now I also have Francesca to take care of.”

“Francesca! So, you know where she is? Who is behind all this?” A twin, vacant log materialized right next to her, and I took a seat. The wood felt gooey and icy through my clothes, just like Julia.

“Vampire hunters is my guess, although these ones are peculiar. I don’t know who is sending them. They’ve been after us since the dawn of mankind, but these ones... they are different.”

Vampire hunters. I remembered the leaflet those Salem witches had given me on the street. Back then, I had laughed it off and made fun of Clarence for taking their anti-vampire propaganda so personally.

In retrospect, I had been an absolute idiot.

“Hunters, you say...” Still, something didn’t add up. “But why would hunters keep vampires alive? Why not kill them immediately? Isn’t that the point of hunting them down? Combating the plague?” She frowned at me, shooting me an eerie, fanged grin. So, she was a vampire, too. Interesting. “Sorry, I didn’t mean...”

“That’s what I don’t understand, either.” Julia coiled a lock of hair around her finger. “Anyways, this plays in our favor right now: each day they survive is a day we can get them out of there alive. But I can’t do all of this on my own: I’m going to need help. Just keeping them afloat despite the torture is using up most of my magic. I’m nearly drained, and I need you. Can I count on you?”

“Of course,” I said, without thinking. “But how could I be of any use? I’m completely inept. Ask High Priestess Valentina if you don’t believe me.”

Julia dismissed my words with a wave of her hand. “Ah, Valentina. I know her better than you think. I lived right next door to her for a while, and she thinks so highly of herself. But what does she know? In her whole life, she has barely mastered telekinesis. A bit sad for the self-proclaimed most powerful high priestess in Italy, don’t you think? And according to her, I should be dead now, didn’t you just say that? I’ve heard their old wives’ tales, too. Well, look at me.” She stood up and curtsied, showing off her flared vintage dress. According to my calculations she must have been about a hundred years old, but her stance was more than spectacular, with her abundant curves filling the dress so nicely that I felt a pang of envy.

“You look amazing,” I admitted. “But how did you become... whatever you are now?”

“Mostly, I have to thank Francesca for everything,” she said. “She helped me escape Elizabeth’s rule. She would have never approved of me becoming... this.” She pointed at her stylish dress. “That’s the reason I wrote that message, for you to find it one day. I wanted to warn you against following my path, and back then I thought Elizabeth’s rules were my worst problem. I can’t believe how wrong I was! We planned for me to reunite with Ludovic in secret, but the hunters kept following him, and he never managed to come for me when promised. When it was finally safe for me to join him, I was almost too old to travel. Francesca helped me feign my death: she took care of everything, even arranged for a proper funeral. She fooled everyone, even those of her own kind. Nobody in The Cloister knows―nobody but you. And neither should they, for Francesca’s sake.”

“But you must have been older than now back then?” I blinked in confusion. The math didn’t add up.

“Ludovic turned me into a vampire, but it’s tricky with us, witches... I retained my magic, although I nearly destroyed both of us in the process. Then I learned shapeshifting spells and settled for my forties. I think this age suits me well, don’t you agree? Old enough to be taken seriously, but not too decrepit to be shunned due to superficial beauty standards.” She rearranged her hairpins, which flashed in the moonlight. “One has to keep up the appearances when dealing with the outside world. Humans are so shallow.” She exhaled, plopping back onto the tree stump.

I gaped at her, wordless.

“Wow,” I said. “I can’t believe you didn’t die. Valentina said that was impossible.”

“Well, of course I died! I was terminally ill when I arrived here. I barely made it to Rome in 1981.” She set a hand over her heart. “Then I talked Ludovic into trying... I knew I might never wake up again, yes; but you know what they say: fortune favors the bold... and nothing ventured, nothing gained! So, we did it anyway. I was so sick that I didn’t have much to lose at any rate. And, against all odds, it worked.” She sighed wistfully. “It took me a while to adjust, but then we were happy. So happy! Only it lasted so little time...”

“Unbelievable,” I said, rubbing my upper arms to warm them up and trying to reconcile Julia’s tale with Valentina’s warnings. “I’m glad you survived. So, you are a vampire now?”

“I still like to consider myself a witch, given how much effort I had to put into becoming―and staying―one.”

“Sounds fair.”

We sat in silence for a while, Julia playing with her gorgeous hairdo and waiting for me to process all the new information.

“It’s a lot to take in,” I said.

“I know. But we should get to work. The stories from the past can wait. Time is scarce, and we need to deal with the present first. Are you willing to help me? To help Francesca and her brother?”

“Of course. Just tell me what I have to do.”

“For a start, I want you to remember an address. It’s a secret prison in Venice. Listen carefully.” Julia rubbed my forehead, and tiny invisible tentacles hugged my brain from several angles. “Sorry, I know this is not very pleasant, but it will help you retain the name. It’s the fifth pink house by the canals, in Stella Alley in Venice. That’s where they took them. That’s where we must go. If anything happens to me, promise you’ll go there and find a way to free them.”

“I’ll try to... I hope I’ll remember everything,” I said, regretful not to have pen and paper with me.

“Oh, you will remember,” she simpered just a little. “And now, as I promised you on our first encounter, I’m going to teach you something useful. Because it happens to be valuable for both of us, and you are going to need this expertise.”

I stared at her, expectant.

“I know I owe you an apology, so consider this my gift to you.” She stood up and a wooden stick, akin to a magic wand, appeared in her right hand. “Tonight, I’m going to pose as your Fairy Godmother, and you get to make a wish.”

“A wish?” I said with excitement, dozens of ideas bubbling in my mind. “What kind of wish?”

“This evening, you’re going to learn the real reason why most vampires hate mirrors. Why do you think it is?”

“They can’t see themselves?” I ventured.

“Wrong.” She touched my shoulder with the tip of her wand, but it just went through my flesh like a snowy breeze. “They are afraid of getting unwanted visitors. Like us. Mirrors are portals. Faster than planes, and much more discreet. With the right training, you can travel just about anywhere using one.”

“So, you are sending me to that pink house in Venice, to bring back Francesca and your husband?”

“Of course not. You’re not ready yet, you need to practice first. I’ll teach you a useful incantation so you can travel on your own, without having to call me. You also get to choose where to send your ghostly self and you can stay there for a little while. Pick somewhere pretty, but not too far. Isn’t that exciting?”

It was.

“Can I visit my daughters?” I asked with excitement.

“I said not too far. The further you go, the more energy you are going to need, and you don’t have it yet. Try to think about someone or someplace a bit closer so we don’t deplete ourselves during the experiment, okay?”

“It’s not like I know anyone in this country. Apart from the witches, but I’m already their prisoner.”

“No? Nobody?” She threw me a meaningful, expectant glance.

The scar on my neck started to tingle furiously, wiggling its tiny roots down to my heart and growing long, spiral branches which flew toward the forests around Lake Como, pointing vaguely at the creature I had missed the most during these cold winter nights of captivity.

“What if I don’t know exactly where, but I know with whom?”

“As long as you hold strong feelings toward this person, the spell should be able to take you to them,” she said patiently.

“Does it matter whether it’s love or resentment?”

“Well... resentment is fine; but love works better. Love is the strongest energy in this world, as you must have learned by now.” She nodded, holding my gaze. “If there’s enough, it will take you anywhere. But for a beginner like you, having something of his―because I’m guessing who this could be―will make the ride a bit smoother. Do you happen to have anything from him?”

“No,” I answered quietly, feeling suddenly sad about it.

“Are you sure? Nothing?”

The tiny, invisibly spider legs growing from my neck seemed to tie around my wrist and a tubular bracelet of white light appeared on my forearm.

“That should be enough,” Julia said. She pinched the bracelet with two translucent fingers and made it spin. Platinum sparkles flew around it, and I tried to imitate her; but when I touched the bangle, my fingers found nothing.

“That’s a glittery bond you have there,” she commented. “Although a bit weak, in my opinion. You two should water it a bit more often.”

“Water it?” I frowned. Was that an old-fashioned euphemism I wasn’t aware of?

She half-smiled. “Never mind. You are still so young. And he never grew up to his real age. Probably not the best combination, but we must work with what we have.”

“What are you talking about, Julia?”

She flapped her hands around her, looking embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I was trying to get into the fairy role. Aren’t Fairy Godmothers supposed to meddle in young ladies’ affairs?” She sighed, and I gave her a blank stare. I wasn’t sure I could still be categorized as a young lady. “Good, let’s begin.”

She started to wave her wand and murmur unintelligible words, but a sudden sense of worry pervaded me. I had no idea what had happened to Clarence after the fire. He could be just about anywhere, as far as I knew.

“Wait, Julia,” I ventured. “What if he is somewhere dangerous? What if they are holding him captive, too? The last time I saw him he was fighting a man because he tried to kiss me...”

Julia stopped in her tracks and chuckled.

“Good old Clarence, that must have been a fun sight! I wish I hadn’t missed it. You should know dueling was considered a sport in Georgian times, and he was quite passionate about it back then...”

“No, you don’t understand!” I shrieked. “That was definitely not fun, and I don’t know where he went afterward. What if your spell throws me straight into a trap? What if someone attacks me?”

“Don’t you think you would know it, if he was somewhere dangerous?” She caressed my light bracelet meaningfully and her fingers tiptoed to the glowing bite marks on my neck. “You know more than you think, little girl. If only you wanted to listen to your inner voice.”

I sighed. My inner voice was chatty indeed, but I didn’t really trust it.

“But just in case, I’ll show you a quick way to get back,” Julia continued. “Nobody can harm you, because your body won’t travel with you. There is nothing to fear, my child. And now,” she said, waving her makeshift wand, “watch with attention, because we don’t know what will be of me if the hunters find me. This might be the last time we get to practice together. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” I stood up, shaking with excitement.

“Fine.” Her lips curved upwards. “And, before we start, there are two important things. Listen up.”

“Tell me.”

“First: if anything happens to me, you have to promise to help Ludovic and his sister.”

“I promise I will try,” I agreed. It was the best I could offer her, given the unstable situation.

“All right.” She lay a cold, weightless hand on my arm. “And second, as your Fairy Godmother, I’m bound to remind you to make good use of this journey, because the spell will be automatically reversed at midnight.”

Chapter 25

Alba

Julia recited an incantation and asked me to repeat it. As I pronounced the verses, the mirror turned into a gushing, silent glass waterfall.

“Now we wait for the glass to fade away, so you can step in,” Julia instructed me. She stood next to me, imposing despite her small size. “And remember: never fear. Nobody can touch you. You will be safe at all times. Until midnight, that is.”

“Why can’t I stay past midnight and escape the witches for good?”

“Because we are not sending your physical body all the way there. That would take vast amounts of energy and knowledge... energy I can’t afford now and expertise you don’t possess. Tonight is just for practice.” She twirled in her skirt and winked. “This spell will turn you into a wandering spirit for a couple of hours. I bet he’s going to be thrilled.”

I had no idea what he was going to think, and I could only hope I wasn’t about to walk into a lion’s den, in spirit form or not. But the thought of finding Clarence, of seeing him and finding out what had happened to him, was inspiring enough to compensate for any fears or doubts I might have had against Julia’s plan.

The mirror was nearly gone, and I caught a glimpse of a blurry dark forest on the other side.

“Where are we leaving my body?” It felt strange to talk about it like it was a shirt one could let go of. “Will it lie unconscious in the attic of the witches’ house, or will you take care of it while my spirit, um... flies around?”

I imagined what the witches might do to me if they found me knocked out in the mirror room. A memory of the time Katie had drawn cat whiskers on her sleeping sister with permanent markers came to mind, exacerbating my anxiety.

Julia extended her hand and touched the melting mirror, creating rainbow waves on its surface.

“Don’t worry,” she said, dismissing my words. “Your body will remain somewhere in between worlds, right at the boundary below the veil. Just don’t get lost on your way, because that would force your soul to remain forever in another dimension.”

“Oh... okay...?” I swallowed. What was I getting myself into? “How do I avoid that?”

“Concentrate on the place ―the person―you are about to visit.” She scanned me with narrowed eyes. “That will keep you anchored, and you won’t get lost in time and space.”

“So that you know, if I remain a ghost forever because of this, I’m going to haunt you for the rest of your immortal life,” I warned her.

Julia let out a brief laugh. “I can live with that. If only you knew about all the entities already haunting me.” I arched an eyebrow, but she had already lifted her wand. “The portal is now open. Are you ready?” she asked.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” I answered, and closed my eyes.

***

A FLASH OF LIGHT ENGULFED me, then dissipated into a silent vacuum.

I was back at the inn, and Julia was gone.

I sensed Clarence before I saw him. To my shock, he didn’t notice my arrival despite his fine hearing.

This was new.

Clarence was sitting on a crumbling wicker chair among the ruins of the burnt inn, concentrated on folding a piece of paper into an intricate swan shape. His long, strong fingers formed the paper swan’s neck delicately: he was lost in his thoughts and unaware of my presence.

I studied him attentively, taking advantage of this rare occasion to take in his clean-cut features at leisure. The tailored white shirt hung open, currently sooty and stained, with the tails sticking out of his trousers. It offered an ample―and delightful―view of his torso, now marred by a few dark scars I had never seen before. I wondered what he might have gone through during the past days. His hair had become shorter on one side, slightly charred and sticking out in all directions, unrulier than usual but still framing the angles of his face as nicely as always. It was such an uncommon sight, to find this usually pristine, eternally graceful man in such a state of delicious messiness. He looked so human: so vulnerable.

Before I could decide how to greet him, an involuntary wheeze escaped my lungs, giving away my presence.

The paper swan dropped from his fingers onto the ashy ground, and he gaped at me, quickly jumping into a stalking position. His maroon gaze flared wildly in the darkness, a predatory gleam flickering in his eyes. In less than a second, he appeared by my side, so swift that I didn’t even see him coming.

“Alba!” he gasped, and tried to embrace me, but his arms passed right through my ethereal body.

A deranged look flashed in his eyes as he took in my half-presence in the clearing, clad as I was in a hideous, threadbare linen nightgown. Did he turn even paler, or was it just my imagination?

In vain, he tried to touch me once again, becoming more and more agitated when he realized he couldn’t.

“Clarence,” I whispered quietly, trying to translate the turmoil of feelings inside me into something I could understand. Was it love? Was it spite? Whatever it was, it had brought me to him, and I was awfully relieved to see him. I breathed in his calming scent, trying to decide what to tell him first; but the only thing that came to mind was, “You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”

“My dear...” he mumbled, his voice unsteady as he sank his claws into his own arms with an expression of sheer horror. “What happened to you?”

Chapter 26

Clarence

Alba had a sickly air about herself.

She was surrounded by a faint purple glimmer and clad in a tattered cream shroud which floated eerily around her, defying the gentle breeze. An inquisitive gaze lit her face, but her skin remained a diluted watercolor of ivory and grey, its ashen hue unnervingly similar to my own.

The ghostly creature facing me was but a vague reflection of the warm-blooded, lively woman I had held in my arms just a few days earlier; an unsettling vision made of air, who was there... but then again wasn’t.

Was I dreaming?

I dreamed so rarely.

But I couldn’t feel her.

There was no scent. No energy. Nothing.

Just a spectral vision.

A ghost.

I had thought she was safe.

Had I fooled myself?

Could she be...?

Did she really escape the fire, as I had wanted to believe?

I had sifted through the ashes, combing the area with my heart in my throat, praying to gods I didn’t believe in so I would not find her there.

This could not be.

I started to choke.

No.

The word burned in the back of my mind, but I did not want to acknowledge it.

My hands dampened and flapped fruitlessly all through the space she should have occupied.

“Have I startled you?” she asked. The voice, though hers, was but a distant echo.

She gave me a weak smile, which made her appear slightly less specter-like. I had never seen a ghost smile that way. I had never seen any ghosts do anything, to be frank. This ghost seemed oddly approachable.

“Sorry I was stalking you.” Her cheeks were hollower, but that didn’t make her any less alluring than before. “It wasn’t my intention to frighten you.”

Out of instinct, I tried to touch her once again, and my hand passed right through her body. She was so cold. Even colder than I. A pointillist painting made from droplets of winter dew.

“Alba...” I repeated. When I attempted to say her name, my voice broke. “Where were you? I have been hiding, I was injured... I was so concerned about you.”

I fell to my knees, at her feet.

She sat beside me, her eyes half-closed as if trying to conjure yet another spirit.

“Don’t worry, there’s nothing wrong with me,” she said, or rather echoed. “I was with the witches. They locked me in a basement, but I think I found a way to get out. What about you? Were you here all this time?”

I dismissed the question. “I’m well, thank you. But you...? What is... what is this? Is this really you?”

She exhaled a little naughty laugh. “Of course it’s me.”

“Well, don’t be offended, my dear, but you appear fairly washed out.”

I regretted the remark as soon as I said it, seeing as it caused her features to turn somber again.

“Clarence, I’m fine, I already told you. I had to use a little trick to come to you,” she said. Given her appearance, it was hard to accept she was fine. “I’m relieved to see you are okay, too. But before you start with the teasing...” She smoothed her threadbare nightgown, pensively. “Our time tonight is limited. Please know that I’m really confused about you at the moment. I saw what you did to Carlo and...” She looked away. “So many things have happened lately... I’m not sure what to believe, whether to trust you. I know you gave me an explanation, but then you went and attacked him right after that. I’m not sure I know you anymore.”

I stared at her, speechless.

That bastard from the boat had tried to steal her from me twice. First with a kiss, then outright attempting to kidnap her in her sleep. For all I knew, he could have caused the fire on purpose, in a bout of morbid, jealous retaliation.

As for my trustworthiness, I had to agree. I had been an absolute fool. Thanks to the profusion of idle hours spent evading the sun in a leaky chest freezer I had come to regret most of my past choices immensely.

I propped my elbow on one knee and massaged my forehead in a desperate attempt to summon some lucidity―and a few less ghosts.

“Forgive me, my dear. I can’t think clearly, seeing you like this,” I confessed. “For the moment, I need you to trust me. I’m not proud of all my actions, and it saddens me you feel like that toward me. Please, know that there was a reason for everything I did. For everything that happened. Can I have your trust for now?”

“Trust, you say,” she muttered, pensive, seemingly remembering something important. “Okay.” She nodded. “You have my trust. I believe you. But I expect a lengthy explanation as soon as life goes back to normal. Hopefully soon.”

“I promise you will have it,” I studied her surreptitiously. She did believe me. “But now, Alba, have mercy and tell me why you look so transparent tonight.”

She raised her eyebrows, watching me with a sudden mixture of endearment and mischief.

“Why do you think I do?”

“Are you or are you not a ghost?” I said, no: I implored her. “I need to know. Then we can discuss whatever you desire.”

“And what if I was one?” she asked quietly, her eyes half-closed.

“Then, I would have to die again and find a way to keep you company in the after-afterlife. It was never my wish to wander the earth as a ghost; but I will, if that’s what it takes to embrace you once again.”

“Ah.” She sighed, her lips curling up just slightly. “That must be the most romantic thing I have ever been told.” Alba leaned toward me and a minute, ethereal droplet of rain of a kiss found its way to the side of my ear. “Still, I believe it would be very unwise of you to try. I’m not sure you could become a ghost, even if you wished for it so... fervently.”

I twisted my fingers so hard that I nearly snapped one of them.

“Is this... a consequence of the fire?” I asked, trying to keep the horrid recollections at bay. “Did you...” I took a deep, coerced breath, for courage. “Did you die that night?”

A brief silence ensued, although it might have lasted a century, for all I knew.

She shook her head, and her body started to quiver gently with what turned out to be a soft chuckle. She was so amused by my assumption, that the urge to rip off my thumb receded―at least momentarily.

“Then who did this to you?” I inquired nervously.

So, she had not died in the fire. Fabulous news. But she had turned into an intangible mist, and such things didn’t just happen on their own.

“I did it myself,” she declared proudly.

I sprung to my feet. “Are you insane? Please tell me this is not what I think.”

Had she...? Would she...?

I knew things had been hard for her, but...

I held my head in my hands, unable to think logically any longer.

“This is not what you think,” she repeated my words very slowly, brushing her icy fingers over my shoulder.

I shivered under her touch. I had always been the coldest creature of both of us. It was a peculiar sensation, to put it mildly.

“You really believe I’m a ghost?” She raised her eyebrows with fascination. “You do look frightened, Clarence. Since when are vampires scared of ghosts? Aren’t you supposed to be in the same league? Peers in undeath?” She laughed quietly once more.

“Alba...” I grunted, crouching once again to look directly into her eyes. They were clouded and faded, the green in them almost grey now. I turned aside, unable to stare into them any longer. “Don’t taunt me. This is not amusing at all.”

“All right,” she drawled. “I’ll tell you who it was. It was Julia. She was playing the Fairy Godmother, and I got to make a wish.”

“And you wished to become a disembodied soul?” I growled, trying not to pull out the remainder of my hair out of sheer exasperation.

She laughed. “I wished to be able to ghost you just like you did to me so very often during the past months.”

I tried to exhale, but there was no more air in my lungs, so I pounded the crumbling wall behind us instead. Seeing the remaining bricks collapse into a pile of rumble provided me with some relief, though not even remotely enough to withstand the current conversation.

“I’m going to kill Julia for this,” I said.

“Clarence, calm down.” Her smile became a lighthouse, beaming in the middle of the ruined inn. “It’s just an astral projection, I thought you would recognize that right away. She was teaching me a spell. I’m fine. I’m not dead. I promise.”

I stood up and paced around her. Having her so close with no way to touch her was the closest thing to hell I could fathom at that moment.

Fine. She was alive, even though she was more a mirage than a normal human. She claimed to still possess a physical body, so it must be there... somewhere.

We only had to get her back into it.

I would drag Julia back from the Underworld with my bare hands if necessary, and I would make her turn this witch back into her tangible form, even if it was the last thing I did in this atrocious world.

“Listen to me.” She cut my train of thought abruptly. “Francesca is in danger, and her brother, too. They have been captured by hunters, and they are being tortured. I managed to summon Julia, and she helped me get to you. She also gave me the exact address where they are keeping them hostage. I think I’ve made an ally among the witches, and she could help me escape. I have a plan.”

I froze as she spoke of Francesca. My dear Francesca. Being captured by hunters was the worst possible fate for a vampire. And not only her, also Ludovic. None of them deserved such an end.

For some reason, immortality was prone to whole decades of tedium sprinkled with sudden bouts of tragedies, all ensuing in a matter of hours. This seemed just like the beginning of one of those.

“Clarence, are you paying attention to me?” Alba asked, and I nodded, making an effort to look at her colorless face without wincing. “I suggest you meet me tomorrow night at the witches’ house, by the Museum of Witchcraft, and help me escape. I can wait for you in the attic. There’s an old window you could use to break in. Do you think you could make it? Will you find it on your own?”

I was feeling much better that evening. Slumbering in the chest freezer had helped, and the wound caused by the silver dagger had nearly closed. Yet, I was still starving to death, and so far, I hadn’t been able to shift, which limited my ability to go outside during the day. Silver daggers were vicious weapons, and they caused all sorts of trouble. But perhaps, in a day or two, I would be able to fly again and make it to Como. It was hard to be certain.

“Definitely,” I said, trying to sound convincing.

“Okay. That was the urgent part,” she said. “Now come here.” She sat back on the grass and tapped on the ground for me to join her. “We still have a while to talk before the spell sends me back to the place I came from. I can only stay until midnight.”

“Midnight?” I sneered. “Centuries shall pass away; secret things be known; but witches will keep making a fuss about bloody midnight forevermore.” I held my forehead, paraphrasing Poe. It was too much witchcraft nonsense for one single evening. “And then we vampires are supposed to be stuck in time.”

“This has nothing to do with being stuck in time, Clarence,” she said, in her mother voice. “Midnight is the magical moment when today becomes tomorrow. Don’t you think that’s kind of special?”

“At least you seem to be benefitting from the forceful mingling with witches,” I groaned. “Probably more beneficial than cowering in a freezer chest while sitting on a puddle of rotten raspberry ice-cream.”

She gaped at me. “Did you just say a freezer chest?” She blinked. “Was it, by any chance, a 63-inch-long freezer chest?”

I snorted. “Do you think I walk around with a measuring tape?”

She rubbed her neck, her mouth still wide open. “Incredible,” she said.

“What is so incredible?” I asked, confused.

“Never mind. It’s too long to explain.”

We remained silent, sitting next to each other.

“I guess it wasn’t too much fun,” she said, “being there for so long.”

“Boredom was the least of my concerns. The only thing I wanted was to fly again and find you. You were the only thing in my mind all these days.”

“Trust me, you have been living in my thoughts, too.” She stirred, and the air carried a cold sigh my way. “Not only in my thoughts. I can’t explain it, but... I could feel you, Clarence. Normally, I would have worried sick about you, but somehow I sensed you were safe.”

“I know. I felt the same, too.” I paused. “That is, until you turned up looking like The Canterville Ghost, minus the chains.”

“I thought he was a really silly, clumsy ghost who didn’t manage to scare anyone?” She raised her eyebrows with suspicion.

“Well, yes, that’s right,” I said, trying not to smile at her accurate―and fitting―description of Sir Simon de Canterville. “Anyhow, your new appearance was... a little bit distracting.”

She lowered her hand, uncovering the two small scars on the crook of her neck.

“Bloody hell!” I shouted, leaning forward to take a closer look. It was a good thing I couldn’t touch her, because just the sight of those two little lumps caused such an intense reaction inside me that I had to pause and close my eyes before speaking again. “Why did I listen to you? People will see it! This... this is going to remain forever!”

She danced a little, sitting with her arms around her knees. “I like forever, even if you don’t. In these turbulent days, and given the uncertainty of everything around me, it sounds so... reassuring.”

She stretched her back and the formless, hideous nightgown slid off her perfectly rounded shoulders.

“You are an obstinate, incorporeal witch.” I said, shaking my head. “But you will always be my Isolde, translucent or not.”

Alba grinned and tried to wrap me in her arms, forgetting she was a mere hologram. She nearly toppled over, unable as she was to prop herself against me, and I loathed not being able to help her stand up.

“And you will always be my ancient, infuriating vampire,” she said, regaining her balance on her own.

“That’s right,” I admitted. “So, what now?”

“Now it’s when the spectral entity goes and kisses you,” she said mischievously, and winked.

Her lips left a halo of ice on mine: I was a warmblood again compared to her newfound coolness.

They say ghost kisses send whirlwinds rushing in your ears.

It is true.

Weaving the translucent wisps of air around her, I conjured her peculiar witch smell, so distracting now it was absent. I remembered it so well that I could almost bring it back, just with the power of my mind.

For a second, my fingers got tangled in a chestnut, silky mess.

Or didn’t they?

No, they did not.

It must have been my imagination.

She may be a ghost, but she was still her, and she was here, and she was alive.

And I was ever so thankful to have my beloved witch back.

Chapter 27

Alba

I had never seen Clarence in such a state of distress.

As far as I knew, he was supposed to be the one startling people, and not the other way around. And yet, on my arrival, he had been terrified of a ridiculous fake ghost... which happened to be me.

It was so endearing that, for a second, I forgot about the precarious situation we all found ourselves in.

The only thing I really wished, right there, right then, was to kiss him properly before midnight stole him from me and threw me back into the witches’ den.

“Damn it,” he said, rubbing his forehead, “you scared me, Isolde.”

I heard a low buzz coming out of my chest, and a ball of light started to form between us.

At first, it was tiny, not larger than a pebble; but then, it started to grow and became fluffy and round.

“Another new trick?” Clarence took the sphere in his hands and turned it around.

“You can see it?” I gasped. “No way, you can hold it?”

“I certainly can. There’s this halo around you all the time, hadn’t I told you?” He seemed truly surprised I didn’t know. “It used to be grey and frayed, but it’s definitely improving! This bundle must have detached from the loose fringes around your head. You are shedding those ugly chunks of stale energy, at last.”

He had been seeing that all this time? What else were vampires able to see? What wonders did he just take for granted, not even considering them mention-worthy?

“You’ll never cease to amaze me,” I confessed with a head shake.

“Well, what can I say... my prowess is rather splendid.” Clarence smirked, gradually returning to his normal self. He kneaded the light ball, twisting it into an infinity shape before leaping back far enough to throw it at me. The orb spun in the air, in a boomerang-like pattern. I jumped to catch it mid-flight but missed. He laughed at me and allowed the orb to land on the ground, bouncing into the nearby shrubbery.

“The Witches of the Lake pretended to play ball with energy spheres.” I was perplexed. “Maybe they weren’t pretending, after all?”

Clarence smiled and leapt into the shrubbery, reappearing with the shining object in his hand. “Catch!” he shouted with glee.

I stepped back to seize it, but the impulse made me stumble backwards.

“This is so cool!” I giggled. The ball squirmed against my ethereal fingers like a living being. It reminded me of a warm―but oddly weightless―little bunny.

We played fetch for a while, nestled in our magic bubble in between time and space, and tacitly agreed to set aside the worries while the Fairy Godmother’s spell lasted. Clarence kept leaping cheerfully in the air, following the light ball with predatory skill: I stared at him with astonishment, as I had rarely been privy to that feral side of him. He could virtually fly, his movements so swift and effortless that I could have watched his little performance for days on end and never got tired of it. Obviously, there was no way for me to best him: if he ever missed the ball, it was mostly because he was rolling on the floor, laughing too hard at my clumsiness to pay attention to the game. It was too easy for him, but he seemed to enjoy himself as much as I did.

As for me, I relished in my temporary ability to hover over the ground; but even as a ghost, I soon became tired and breathless. It didn’t take me long to end up slumping with exhaustion, my hands raised in surrender.

“Okay, vampire, you win,” I grunted, and he bowed in a gentlemanly gesture of appreciation, a satisfied grin illuminating his face.

I lay on the ground, or at least I tried to: being insubstantial made things harder than they seemed. I kept floating an inch over the frosty grass, blissfully ignored by the law of gravitation.

“Why hadn’t we done this before?” Clarence asked, beaming as he lay next to me and crossed his arms nonchalantly behind his head.

It occurred to me that, currently, he appeared much more human than I did. For a start, he wasn’t transparent, nor levitating over the ground.

He looked dazzling, relaxed, and so happy.

Right then and there, I realized I was irrevocably in love with that vampire―with that man. For the first time ever, I secretly admitted the truth to myself―with the proper words. No matter what life threw at us, be it bundles of light or darkness, I didn’t wish to stay away from someone, dead or undead, who was able to make me smile and forget my sorrows even in the bleakest of times.

“Clarence...” I muttered, suddenly overwhelmed by all the emotions dashing inside me. I caressed the air above his cheek, taking care not to let my spectral fingers disappear into his skin. Things were weird enough already, without the added perk of untouchability.

“That tickles,” he complained, contorting his face in a funny grimace.

I turned my hand in the air and studied the beautiful curve of his dark eyebrows through it. I leaned over him with fascination and tried again.

“Does it, really?” I asked. “I can’t feel anything.”

“Uh-huh. But keep doing it.” He closed his eyes, and a simper found its way to his lips. “Mind you, in two centuries I have had it much worse.”

I tried to slap his leg, unsuccessfully.

“Clarence! You ungrateful vampire! I’m doing my best, given the circumstances.”

“What about this?” He propped himself up on an elbow and drew a very slight line, wiggling his fingertips from the crown of my head to my hip.

This time, I shuddered.

“Still nothing?” He was clearly growing intrigued by our fun supernatural experiment.

“No―I actually felt something. It was like... tiny creepy snakes... or fleas,” I reflected aloud.

He snorted, which made the snakes crawl even faster and pinch the sensitive spot right under my armpit. I tried to shake them off, but they didn’t want to go away.

“Snakes?” He shook his head. “Fleas? Isolde, can you at least make an effort to be faintly romantic? Just for once? Please?”

“Okay...” I sighed. “It’s like... frozen satin ribbons... growing out of your fingertips; so thin and light that it’s a torment. But they are pleasant too, and binding, and... relentless.”

Clarence tilted his head. Sheer delight radiated out of him as he struggled to hide his admiration. “That was so much better, my dear! Mary Shelley would have been proud of you.”

He bent to face me, his maroon eyes gleaming in the chilly night as he kissed me, very slowly. His hair was ruffled, and his pale skin shone under the moonlight like polished selenite. He was, and would always be, a bedazzling sight.

“How am I doing?” he asked, raising a hesitant glance.

“Um... not to be harsh, but... more than a kiss, that was a bunch of spiders tap-dancing below my nose.”

“I’m taking back the Mary Shelley analogy, just so you know. At least until you stop comparing my efforts to insects and reptiles,” he grunted, arching an eyebrow. “Was this better or worse than the fleas?”

“No, slightly better. But...” I bit my lip. “Maybe a bit too soft? I guess I’ve grown used to vampire nibbles,” I teased him.

He became so still that I thought he had literally turned to stone.

“Clarence, are you alright?” I waved my hand through his chest until he finally blinked.

He scratched the back of his head and looked away.

“About that...” he said ruefully, fixing his gaze on the marks on my neck. “I’m aware we still haven’t had time to discuss the subject properly after...”

“Wait a minute,” I interrupted him, “are you blushing?” Of course, he wasn’t; but the way he rubbed his neck he might have, if he could. “You’re vampire-blushing, Clarence! In all shades of white!”

“I’m most definitely not blushing,” he declared. “That is virtually impossible.”

“So I thought, but look at you! You are so cute when you do that!”

“Excuse me, but vampires are not supposed to be cute,” he admonished me in all seriousness. “And besides, you should try harder if you want me to vampire-blush, as you name it.”

He stared at me with lustful defiance in his eyes.

“Be careful what you wish for,” I said softly. “I’m an entity now. I’m sure I could be really dangerous if I wanted to.”

I closed my eyes and inched closer to him, allowing my weightless body to float gently. I circled around him with my arms open and he watched me, absolutely enthralled. The air rushed around us in whirlwinds, and before I knew, I felt a slight resistance, a vague pressure under my palms.

“What...?” I murmured, my hand over his shoulders, now clearly feeling the firmness of his muscles under my fingertips.

I didn’t know how I had done it, but I was there.

Whole.

I materialized beside him and my feet touched the ground with a quiet thump, right on the ashes of the burned inn. He burrowed in my arms, as astounded as I was to find out that my hands were warm and consistent again.

“Very well, witch,” he whispered in a ragged voice, “this time, you win.”

We got rid of the sooty shirt and the tattered nightgown, hurrying and well aware of the invisible magic clock ticking against us.

The simple ability to sense each other’s skin suddenly became the most precious treasure. A simple thing, but so essential: as always in life, losing something turned to be the only way to start valuing it.

I caressed every tiny nook of him with fervor, realizing what a gift it was: just being able to touch each other.

To be there, all of me.

Nude and lost in each other.

We blended, mist and earth rising and falling in a mystical ballet. I let his solid chest shelter me, forgetting to breathe as his lips found mine, and we both came to life a minute before midnight.

Chapter 28

Alba

There was no bell to strike the hour in the wrecked inn, but the moon flickered twelve times in the sky to signal the end of our sweet truce.

“I’m coming for you tomorrow. At midnight, as proper magical customs dictate,” Clarence said solemnly. “Find your way to that attic, and I will take care of the rest.”

My hands started to fade and became faintly transparent again.

“I’ll be there,” I whispered, my voice swept away by a ghostly wind current.

The large mirror from the witches’ house emerged behind us: a daunting, spectral presence threatening to suck me in like a black hole.

“Look at me now, Alba, for this is important.” He placed one hand on his unbeating heart and the other over mine. “On this night, I vow to never leave your side again, unless it’s you who sends me away. For I love you, my Isolde, and trying to deny that was the most foolish mistake of both my lives. And I hope one day you shall forgive me for all the grief I caused you and find it in you to love me back in the same manner.”

I gaped at him as my body dissolved like salt into water and my fingertips blurred into the surrounding space.

His mesmerizing maroon eyes flashed, fixed on mine as he added with a significant nod, “And I mean this. Forever.”

Forever, I tried to repeat, but my voice was gone before I could answer and tell him how I felt. My eyes filled with tears, drawn away by the inevitable pull of the mirror.

I extended my misty arms toward Clarence, hoping for one more second to kiss him goodbye; but the mirror’s energy sucked me in with the force of a tornado and pulled us apart.

A flash followed, and Clarence and the inn were gone.

***

AFTER THE BURST OF light, I found myself lying on the floor, back in the attic of the witches’ house. I was exhausted. Just like Alice had warned me, the extensive use of magic had left me depleted. When I tried to stand up, I found my limbs heavy and virtually unable to move.

Crawling, I started to drag my sluggish, alien body toward the door, when a soft cackle startled me.

“Julia?” I asked weakly, striving to lift my head off the hardwood floor.

It wasn’t Julia waiting for me by the door.

“Sorry, the traitor left early,” Valentina said. “I wouldn’t have expected less from that vixen. She reeked of death to high heaven. I had to air the whole house after she escaped.”

I exhaled and flopped back on the floor. My real-world body had become too cumbersome to handle.

“Aren’t you going to tell me where you went?” Valentina asked, nudging me with her foot.

“I fell asleep,” I lied. It sounded plausible enough.

“Of course you did. Did you have sweet dreams?” Valentina crossed her arms. She was standing under the door lintel in her sleeping gown, her white hair gleaming under the moon. “Such an endearing love story. The Beauty and the Beast, wasn’t it? Or was it rather Little Red Riding Hood... and the wolf?”

“No, it’s the one called The Wicked Old Witch Who Should Have Minded Her Own Business,” I growled, feeling for the buttons of my nightgown and realizing with dismay that the garment wasn’t there at all. Oh, shit. I was stark naked in front of Valentina, sprawled on the floor like a dead starfish.

“Sometimes, when mice are hiding in their hole, they forget their tail is out,” she said with a smirk. “Did you think us so stupid not to notice your little escapade?”

I didn’t answer. I had trusted Julia to keep me safe. There must have been a good reason for her to leave me in the lurch like that.

“So, we should expect our guest tomorrow at midnight, is that right?” Valentina sneered. “You know, my witchling, that lady friend of yours is not the only one who can put mirrors to good use. I peeked into the other side and let me tell you: it was distressing to watch one of our kind involved in such improper behavior with an undead... but you know I’d do anything for the highest good of my sisters.”

I swallowed, mortified at the thought of what Valentina might have seen and heard. This must be one of the most humiliating moments in my whole life.

“Rest assured,” she continued, “I’ll take care personally that you get hold of no more mirrors. Intruding in another witch’s home like that old rockabilly did tonight is considered very bad manners in our world. Although I doubt you could repeat the feat on your own. Or would you, little witchling?”

I clenched my teeth, helpless. She was probably right.

“Don’t worry about your vampire lover,” she said, as she started to descend the stairs, dragging me by the hair like the witches in fairy tales. “He won’t be disappointed. There will be a witch waiting for him tomorrow... though it might not be the one he’s expecting.”

***

THE WITCHES LOCKED me back into the basement. I yelled and kicked, throwing all objects at my reach against the doors and windows. I even attempted to cast the Fulminatio spell to bust the door lock, but I encountered two obstacles: first, I was absolutely drained after my mirror travel adventure; and second, as soon as I blurted the first verse of the spell, Valentina barged into the room carrying an imposing staff. Either she had uncanny ways to detect magic in the bud, or she wasn’t as deaf as Alice had suggested.

“Would you like me to chain you to the wall and muzzle you? Because I think you are begging me to,” she cautioned me. “Just knowing the text of one Great Spell doesn’t automatically turn you into a match for a veteran high priestess.”

She strolled around the room, a true earthquake scene after my destructive bout of frustration.

“If you behave properly, we’re sending you back home as soon as we catch the bloodsucker. Until then, be a good girl, will you? Don’t make me chastise you.”

She raised her staff and all the objects in the room flew to the ceiling and hovered right over my head. I recoiled, but the floating altar table and all the shiny―and sharp―crystals on it followed my steps like an ominous cloud.

“Do anything stupid again and those rocks will hail on your head, capisci?”

***

THAT DAY THE WITCHES didn’t bring me any food, nor did I receive Alice’s customary visit. I was dizzy and still very weak due to hunger and exhaustion when Elda finally brought me some watery soup toward the evening. She delivered it to my doorstep with a silent, accusatory glance. It tasted off, bitter and spicy, but I had got used to their bizarre cookery and ate it up without a question.

The soft winter daylight faded slowly, until the golden glare of the streetlights started to filter through the high barred windows of my prison.

The clock on the stairs struck each hour unhurriedly, oblivious to my fear and sorrow.

Clarence had promised to come for me. My original plan had been to convince Alice to leave my door open so I could sneak silently into the attic, taking advantage of the witches’ deafness. He had promised to come, and he always kept his promises.

You must choose trust over fear, Alice had told me after reading my fortune in the cards. Well, trust I had. But we hadn’t planned a fight. And the fear was threatening to overpower me.

I started to feel queasy. The soup had left a strange aftertaste in my mouth, and my head was starting to spin.

Would Clarence be foolhardy enough to try to face a whole coven of witches on his own, once he realized what he had walked into?

Would he put himself at risk just to get me out of there?

I prayed he wouldn’t.

I knew he would.

Chapter 29

Clarence

The lake shone like an Y-shaped mirror of onyx as I hovered above it, headed to the scenic city of Como. The silhouette of its blue shores reminded me of the dowsing rods used by diviners to find water, and I laughed at the irony: I had spent days wondering about Alba’s whereabouts, while overlooking a thirty-mile long arrow pointing directly at her location. It was unsettling to think of the many times I had been blind to the answers glaring right at me.

Unsurprisingly, the smell of witches pervaded the streets surrounding the Museum of Witchcraft. It was practically a miracle I hadn’t detected it in all the hours I spent hiding in the devastated inn. I blamed it on the wind, which had been blowing south and away from the lake for many days.

I had been lucky enough to come across a wandering human right before sunrise. He was an early hunter, unlikely to kill anything with that nasty cigar giving away his presence to all forest creatures in a hundred-mile radius. Smoker blood was not my favorite, but the chances of finding a better catch in such dark and wintry weather were very slim. So, I hunted the hunter and drank enough from him to recover my strength―more than expected, which had rendered him unconscious. I left him in a sheltered spot near a human settlement with his memories―and my bite marks―suitably erased. Not my proudest moment, but necessary for that vicious silver wound to finally vanish and allow me to fly again.

Following Alba’s directions, I headed to the roof of the neighboring townhouse. I perched patiently on the orange clay tiles and listened to the sounds inside through the windowpane.

Her breathing sounded close, but oddly irregular. Almost sickly. She definitely hadn’t been poorly last night. Ghostly, yes; but not unwell, like she appeared to be now, judging by the ragged, paused breaths leaking out of the house.

Slow and labored, the sounds were coming from a nearby spot right below the roof. I could hear and smell other people, too: the other witches, perhaps sleeping in the lower floors.

I waited for Alba’s sign for me to come in, as agreed.

I waited some more, but the sign never came.

Life as a vampire had taught me the value of patience. As the long-lived predator I was, I had become a master of calm perseverance. But all the tribulations of the past weeks had caused my patience to start running awfully thin.

I grew tired of waiting.

Shifting discreetly into a human form, I broke the window lock and slipped into the dark attic.

I found Alba curled up in the corner of a nearly empty room, rocking herself like a madwoman. Most of the walls were covered in mirrors, and I frowned at the vast glass surfaces, which taunted me in return and denied me a reflection.

Swiftly, I leaped to her side and tried to help her on her feet. But she resisted, striving to pull me downwards with all her weight. She was never too heavy but, for some unexpected reason, that petite little witch had turned from weightless ghost to human boulder in the roughly twenty-four hours we had been apart.

“What are you doing?” I whispered, lifting her off the floor against her will. “We need to go.”

She struggled against my grip with erratic, uncoordinated movements.

“Are you... drunk?” I asked.

Go away, she mouthed silently, her eyes glancing sideways just slightly, alternating from the door to the roof window. Fast. Now. Leave!

I released her, blinking in confusion.

What was all this about? Had she changed her mind about me?

Why did she suddenly want to stay with the witches?

Why on earth had she chosen the night of our escape to be half seas over, like a bloody buccaneer?

“The witches,” she hissed in a slurry tone, as if reading my mind, “It’s a trap. Leave me, Clarence! Go!”

“I fear no witches but you,” I mumbled, draping an arm around her waist and taking a swift leap to the roof. I held onto a ceiling beam, holding Alba like a sack of grain with my free arm. The door to the room opened, and an elderly lady in a frilly nightgown entered the room, holding a young girl’s hand. The girl must be barely fifteen, practically a child.

“So, what do we have here?” the lady said. “Looking for your long-lost reflection, sir? Come down, I will hand it back to you: I hear bonedust has no trouble with mirrors.”

Several thoughts crossed my mind at the same time. Would it be too reckless to take off without erasing those women’s memories? Oblivion required touching them, but how safe could it be, touching that old witch’s hands? Not quite, I decided.

I kicked the ceiling window wide open with my knee: we would deal with these witches some other day. I passed one leg through the frame, which left us hanging from it upside down like bats. I struggled to reach the roof and get out without dropping sluggish Alba in the process.

Just when I was about to succeed, the window slammed closed of its own accord, stabbing my legs with shattered glass shards and forcing me to let go of the wooden frame.

We dropped to the floor, at the witches’ feet. They were still holding hands, and the eldest one snapped her fingers. Three more witches appeared and surrounded us, forming a small, eerie circle.

I deposited somnolent Alba gently on the floor and studied the witches as I got up on my knees. There were five of them. I could probably kill them all relatively fast: just jump at their throats and slaughter them one by one. A bit messy, but effective. Nevertheless, attacking a group of elderly women and teenagers felt ridiculously wrong. I needed to find a better way out. And fast.

Alba had fallen asleep. I held her tight and stood up, turning to look at each of the witches, assessing their weaknesses. They must know I was hesitating.

“Surrender now, and she lives,” the white-haired lady said, pointing at Alba.

“Would you murder your own sister?” I asked with a mixture of fascination and disbelief.

“That one is not our sister,” she spat. “She’s too far gone to help her. She will never be one of us.”

No, that she would not.

Fortunately.

“I have a better proposal,” I said slowly, flexing my knees to gather momentum. “I’m going to leap out of this room, and you all are going to stay put where you are. And then, I shall spare your lives and your memories.”

I jumped up, ready to break the window glass with the crown of my head if necessary; but we never reached the ceiling.

An invisible wall appeared mid-air, and my arms and legs turned to stone.

I could not move.

Invisible ties restrained me, immobilizing each part of my body.

The witches had closed their eyes: all but the eldest one, who was muttering an incantation under her teeth with her gaze fixed on us.

“You seem to be a properly educated gentleman,” she said. “I’m sure you are familiar with Medusa’s legend.”

I squinted at her, my eyelids stalled half-closed and unwilling to open any further. Alba was about to slip off my arm, which was numb and had ceased to obey me. We were floating over the witches’ circle, and they were staring at us triumphantly.

“You should have never entered Medusa’s home, vampire,” the lady continued, “for a man your age should already know what happens to those who stare upon a powerful witch’s face when she’s cross.”

Alba fell off my useless arms and crashed to the floor below us, hitting the middle of the witches circle with a soft thud.

I fell right after her, trapped in a body which had turned into a prison. Another witch came and took Alba away, while another one chained me and dragged me down a flight of stairs.

Stiff like a corpse, I watched the events unfold with horrified detachment.

Medusa had turned me into stone, and stone I would remain until she released me.

Chapter 30

Alba

“Why is she petrified?” Agnes said, pricking my ribs with a sharp, red nail. “I thought you only cast the spell on the vampire.”

“So I did,” Valentina answered, pursing her lips. “This is odd. It has nothing to do with my spell. I released it half an hour ago, anyway. I may be gifted, but even I can’t hold an immobilizing spell for hours on end.”

I was back in the basement of the witches’ house.

Clarence wasn’t there.

They had taken him away.

Chained.

In a hearse.

The witches had drugged me and used me as bait to lure him into their trap. They must have spiked that awfully bitter soup with a powerful sedative. By the time they had guided me upstairs to await him, I could barely speak, let alone use any spells.

Slowly, long after Clarence was gone, the effects of the narcotic herbs had begun to dissipate, and the events of the night started to replay in my mind.

I felt nauseous―again―and I arched to throw up all over the sleeping mat. It was colder than usual in the basement room, and I started to shiver uncontrollably. The witches covered me with sheets and blankets, and I vomited all over them. One of them rushed to hold a bowl under my chin.

“Side effects of valerian root,” Valentina said casually. “It will wear off.”

“How much did you give her?” another one asked.

“I don’t know, five grams or so? I didn’t want to risk it, so I put some in the tea, and some more in the soup... who knows how much she took in the end? I didn’t expect her to eat everything up!”

“Are you insane?” Berenice whisper-shouted. “That’s twenty times more than she should have taken! Enough to knock out a mammoth. What if she dies on us? She’s already undernourished!”

I didn’t know much about valerian root, but I doubted the sheer devastation which consumed me could be solely caused by the side effects of that herb. I had just lured the love of my life to a mortal trap. Worst of all: I had done it approximately two seconds after realizing he was the love of my life. A piece of information I hadn’t had the time to share with him, and now I never might.

I threw up again.

Berenice joined the small group hovering around me. There was a deep frown on her forehead, and she put a warm cup to my lips.

“This girl is in shock, can’t you see that?” she chided the others, making her way among them and sitting next to me on the floormat.

“What, are you on their side now?” Valentina fanned herself with a piece of parchment. Seemingly I was the only one about to freeze.

The taste of bile still filled my mouth, so I downed the beverage Berenice was offering in one noisy gulp, not caring anymore whether they outright poisoned me. To my surprise, the liquid was sweet, thick, and vaguely comforting. I drank the whole cup and closed my eyes.

I wanted to cry. Shriek. But the tears had dried up and there was nothing left. Just a profound, devastating emptiness.

“Of course I’m not on their side,” Berenice answered with a huff. “But you could show a bit more empathy for the witchling. It might be the first time she saw such potent magic. No wonder she’s in shock.”

I was too weak to roll my eyes, otherwise I would have. When Valentina bent over to check my pulse, I made sure to be sick all over her. And that was the only highlight of that bleak and utterly gruesome night.

***

I WOKE UP THE NEXT morning and found the door to my room hanging wide open for the first time since my arrival. Nobody stood watch next to it.

Was I free to go?

The memories of the last hours trickled in irregular―and increasingly painful―ripples, but I pushed them back, at least temporarily. A deep void was growing inside my chest, and if I allowed it to, it might have ended up devouring me.

I stood up and got out of the lavender-smelling basement, following the laughs of the witches coming from the kitchen upstairs. They were in the middle of a very animated conversation, admiring some dreadful works of stitchery and slurping their customary green smoothies for breakfast.

“Good morning, little witchling,” Berenice said from behind the sink, “glad to see you up so early. Would you like some orange juice?”

I snarled a guttural yes and slumped on one of the empty chairs around the table, with my face in my hands, my head too heavy for my neck to hold it. It must be the herbs the witches had put in my food, combined with the fall from the ceiling to the floor. Clarence, I thought, fighting the mind fog, where are you?

The sound of the orange juicer put an end to the witches’ mindless chatter, and I was thankful for their enforced stillness. Their strident voices were worse than woodpeckers hammering on my brain.

When Berenice turned the appliance off, someone was ringing wildly at the door.

“I’ll get it,” she said, putting a tall glass in front of me and wiping her hands on a multicolored apron.

She disappeared down the narrow corridor and the main door screeched when she opened it. There was plenty of cooing, and a few low-pitched, dismissive grunts.

“O Dio mio, come in, you’re freezing!” she squealed, and a few thumps on the floor informed me that she must be skipping like an excited kangaroo.

Berenice trotted back to the kitchen, followed by the newcomer’s heavy footsteps, which faded into one of the adjacent rooms.

“You won’t guess who came!” she shouted, peeking into the kitchen and ripping off her apron. She smoothed her dress and fixed her lipstick with a fingertip, using a pot lid as a mirror. “He’s waiting in the living room,” she muttered through puckered lips.

The witches put down their breakfasts and marched out of the kitchen, but nobody invited me to join them. I settled in my chair and sipped my orange juice with disinterest, almost wishing there was some sort of drug inside it to numb the corroding grief which was threatening to spread through all my body.

“Come, Alba,” Valentina came back in and forced me to stand up. “I don’t like it when you remain alone for too long.”

***

WHEN THE GROUP OF WITCHES reached the living room, their lively chatter came to an abrupt halt.

The man standing in the middle of the dusty Persian rug had the look of someone who had just come back from a date with Death herself. Rivers of reddened veins outlined his azure blue eyes, and his otherwise well-tanned complexion had turned a washed out yellow. A startling changeover for the sporty, robust man I had shared a plane ride with not so long ago.

“Carlo, my sweet child!” Valentina exclaimed, hugging him.

She was tiny against the wide-shouldered policeman, but I had seen what she was able to do, and that made her much scarier than him.

The four women swarmed around Carlo, but I remained under the door lintel, silent.

“Shouldn’t she go back to the basement?” Agnes whispered. She had forgotten to put on her hearing aids, which meant her whispers were perfectly audible for anyone else in the room.

“No, it’s her I came to talk to,” he said, dangling his coat over his shoulder.

The women exchanged surprised glances.

“All right, Alba can stay,” Valentina said with a frown.

“I’d rather speak to her in private,” Carlo added with a lopsided grin. Berenice nearly choked. “Glad you two made it out of the fire alive,” he said, in a tone which was all but glad, referring to me and Berenice. “I don’t know about you, but I saw my whole life flash before my eyes that night.”

I swallowed and nodded slowly.

Carlo grabbed my arm, his touch inappropriately warm as compared to Clarence’s icy hands.

“The woman looks awful, what have you been doing with her?” Carlo asked the witches, taking in the shabby rags I was wearing and my neglected and underfed appearance. They averted their gazes and none answered. “She’s pale as a ghost. A walk outside would do her well. What do you think, Valentina?”

“Please. That would be nice,” I said weakly. Apart from my spectral visit to Clarence, I hadn’t left the house since my arrival.

“Better not,” Valentina grunted. She stood in front of the door, blocking the exit.

“Just to the lake and back,” Carlo said, rubbing the high priestess’ shoulders amiably.

“I’m not sure I trust her.” She crossed her arms, eyeing me with suspicion. “She’s problematic.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on her. We’ll be back before lunch,” Carlo said in an appeasing tone.

“You better behave,” Valentina warned me.

I let out a ragged breath as my only reply. Even if I had wanted to, there was no way I could pull off anything heroic in my current physical and mental state. I was heartbroken, exhausted, and still suffering the after-effects of whatever drugs they had given me the previous night.

“She’ll be a good girl,” Carlo answered instead of me, flipping his trench coat in the air. He paused for a second and pinched my nightgown with disgust. “Just put normal clothes on her, okay? I can’t take her out wearing this filthy bedsheet.”

***

CARLO HELD MY ARM AS we walked down the narrow street, headed toward the shores of Lake Como. I dragged my feet like a zombie, too defeated to resist.

Stepping outside seemed like a good enough reason to allow him to do whatever he wanted with me.

Want to hold my hand?

Fine.

Want to throw me into the lake to be devoured by the fish?

Please, be my guest.

Berenice had lent me some of her colorful, clown-like clothes, and their cheerfulness was physically painful. Meanwhile, the bite marks on my neck had gone dormant, their roots vanished like they had never been there.

The morning was pleasant, bright and chilly; the air infused with the scent of algae and pine trees and a slight whiff of spring wafting shyly from the south.

The stores were opening, and their metallic roller shutters went up with deafening rumbles. Many locals sat comfortably in the sun, sipping espressos on the narrow terraces which bordered the cobbled streets of Como. Everyone around us was in an enviably delightful, relaxed mood.

Everyone―but me.

When people looked at us, they probably saw just a couple of foreign tourists strolling arm in arm toward the lakeshore.

If only they knew I was crumbling inside.

Carlo pointed at the only empty table in a café nearby. It was next to a window, overlooking the glistening waters.

“Coffee?” he asked.

I grunted, shaking my head. “I’ve been sitting inside for days. I’d rather keep walking.”

“Yes. Me too,” he answered curtly. “Although I’ve spent longer lying than sitting.”

I eyed him attentively. Judging by his yellowish face, he must have been discharged from hospital barely a day or two ago.

“So, you are alive,” I said, hoping he would finally tell me what he wanted from me. The last time we had met, he had brought me wildflowers and I had kicked him out of my room because of the two vampires hiding in my closet.

Carlo remained silent for a while, which was unlike him. When he finally answered, his eyes were fixed in the reflections of the sun over the minute golden ripples of the lake.

“I need you to be honest with me,” he said. “Otherwise, I’ll have to resort to harsher persuasion techniques, and I really don’t feel like doing that. You look bad enough already.”

Was he threatening to torture me? I laughed inwardly: that man really had no idea how little I cared about anything anymore.

“Okay,” I said with a tired puff. “Ask away.”

“You asked whether I was alive, and the question is not that far-fetched: I could be dead now,” he said, his voice hoarse as he looked deeply into my eyes. “But I’m not, and someone is going to pay for this.”

He lifted his t-shirt and showed me his torso, toned by thousands of hours spent in a gym. It was covered now in dreadful-looking scars; scars caused by a beast with sharp claws and fangs.

My stomach churned.

“Do you know what happened to him?” I asked. My voice shook. I was so desperate to know about Clarence that I didn’t realize what a stupid question that was in the given situation.

Carlo pounded his fist against an old tree beside us, causing dry leaves to rain on us.

“What’s wrong with you, woman?” he shouted. “Is this really the only thing you can think of after seeing what that monster did to me? I said I was going to ask the questions, not the other way around. But if you must know, he’s on his way to the place where dead things belong.”

I stifled a gasp and shook his hand off my arm.

“So, the witches were right.” He huffed with disdain. “When I met you, I wanted to believe he had enthralled you, the way their kind do. But it’s obvious there’s something else going on here, or you are a lost cause.”

“What?” I stopped and leaned against an old house overlooking the lake. My legs refused to hold me any longer.

“Tell me why I found a vampire that night―” he lowered his voice, pulling me so close that I could smell his leather jacket, “tell me you didn’t invite him in. Tell me why, when the witches sent me for you, I found him next to you―in your bed.”

“What’s the point of this conversation?” I asked, eyes closed, as the floor seemed to melt under my feet. “I didn’t invite anyone in.”

That, at least, was the truth. Those vampires just kept wandering into people’s dwellings without anyone’s permission. They didn’t seem to be aware of proper vampire lore.

Carlo yanked the sides of my body with massive strength, then started to shake me like a ragdoll.

“I want you to tell me everything about him. What’s his name? Where did he come from?” There was hardly contained rage in his voice. An elder couple passed by and flung him a condemning look. He released me and waited for them to disappear. Then he pulled me closer, placing his lips over my ear. “Is he related to the vampire girl? How many more are there, and where are they hiding?”

I prayed for the earth to open and swallow me whole so I could escape Carlo’s questions. Why hadn’t I stayed at the witches’ house?

“Answer!” he roared. “Who was he, and what was he doing in your bed?”

“I’m old enough to share my bed with whomever I want,” I muttered wearily. “And I know nothing about any vampires. Vampires don’t exist, as far as I know.”

Carlo sniggered. “Right. You know nothing, huh?” He cornered me against the stone wall. Anyone passing by would have mistaken us for two lovers seeking privacy. “Do you have an idea how long I have been after you? Do you think it was by chance that I found you at the police station in Saint Emery? I needed to have a look at the lady who had been caught doing black magic rites among the tombs, in a cemetery frequented by vampires...”

I remembered that night very well. He had called me a necromancer, and I had barely escaped imprisonment.

“You know, Alba―confession time.” He clutched my upper arms. It hurt. “I have always liked playing with fire, and you... you smell like smoldering embers. I liked that about you on the very first day.” He started to caress my back and I tried to squirm away from him, but he was too strong, so I gave up. “I have a proposition for you. Barter. How do you feel about bartering?”

I stood back, as far away from him as I could. “I prefer paying for things normally, to be honest.”

“How much are your friends worth to you? What would you give to keep them safe?”

“I have no friends,” I replied. It wasn’t entirely false.

“I hear the hot blondie bloodsucker is tough as nails,” he said pensively, twisting my hair around his finger. “They say she doesn’t even scream when they torture her. There’s no way to pry information out of that tiny devil.” He made a tsking sound. “Then there’s the first guy we caught, but Natasha overdid it with him, and now he’s useless. And then there’s the new arrival...” His eyes hardened. “We both know him well, don’t we? The problem is, he won’t tell us anything. But Natasha says he seems weak. She thinks he will break much faster than the others, although she’s worried she might kill him by accident. And you? What do you think?”

I wriggled to get away from Carlo’s clutch, but he seemed to enjoy the resistance and smirked with pleasure, sticking his nose into my hair.

“What do you want from me?” I roared.

“What do you want, Alba?”

“Would you help me if I told you?”

He made a show of sniffing the air around me. “Obviously not. By the way, about that smell of smoke you have...” he commented, “I like it. But do they still burn witches nowadays?”

“Some try to,” I hissed. “But we usually escape riding our brooms, don’t we?”

“So, you don’t want to cooperate,” he said, and I wasn’t sure whether the sad tinge in his voice was true or feigned.

“I have nothing else to say.”

“Okay: your loss. Let’s go back to the house. But you are going to regret this.”

He nudged me behind the ear with the tip of his nose, then stopped to stare with disgust at the bite marks on my skin.

“I can’t believe I kissed you.” He stepped back and studied me from head to toe. “Now that I know the places your mouth has been to, it makes me want to barf.” His lips curled in a grimace of revulsion... or was it jealousy? “Tell me, amore, did the beast kiss you better than I?”

Oh, he did, and how.

I remained silent, but I let him read the answer in my eyes. He kicked every kickable object he found on our way back to the house.

That day the witches invited me to join them for lunch, but I declined and ran to my room. I slammed the door closed like a grounded teenager and cried myself to sleep, my mind still jumbled with the side effects of the witch’s herbs and distressing thoughts of Clarence, Francesca, and my children, and all the people who were currently suffering because of all my terrible choices.

Chapter 31

Alba

When Alice came to visit me in the evening, she found me sitting in the same position I had fallen into four hours earlier: hugging my knees and gazing blindly at the eclectic objects which adorned the witches’ altar, still in shock because they had taken Clarence away. I had learned that, if I stared at the items on the altar for long enough, they would come to life and start to dance. I was almost sure that one of the Catholic prayer cards had talked to me a while ago. It was the one with Sant’Antonio written on it and some sort of love prayer engraved in gold lettering. I could have sworn that, mid-dance, he had said “Get off your ass and wash your face already,” which was absurd and probably not the way a real saint would address a person. Therefore, I ignored it and kept staring into the void.

“Hey,” Alice said with awkwardness. She took a seat on the mat, then stood up again when she realized how badly it stank of old vomit. “How are you doing?”

I raised an eyebrow and grunted. “Are you seriously asking me that?”

She studied her feet, then picked up a bottle of rose water and started to spray the room with it. “Yeah, sorry. Bad conversation starter.”

“Can’t think of a worse one. I’m sick. I’m heartbroken. And I think I’m going crazy, too, because Saint Anthony’s prayer card just talked to me.”

“Did he?” She walked over to the altar and straightened the old cardboard immaginetta. “And what did he say?”

“He told me to go wash my face.”

She nodded, her expression grave. “Yeah, sounds like him. He has a sense of humor, and he’s usually spot on, too. Always take notice of whatever he tells you, even if it sounds absurd. There’s usually a reason.”

“Okay. I’ll go have a shower.” I stood up and headed to the bathroom, but Alice stopped me. A great thing, because my legs were numb after hours of sitting cross-legged and I nearly collapsed.

“Wait, I can’t stay long. You can shower later. They sent me to tell you the good news.” She hesitated before adding, “You are going home.”

I straightened my back, wondering whether I had heard that wrong. “Really?” I asked without much enthusiasm. “Home, home?”

“Yes, Valentina told us during lunch. She has given up on teaching you, and she’s sending you back to Emberbury. Her words, not mine.”

“Nice.” I exhaled.

It was not nice. Francesca and her brother, and now also Clarence, were being held hostage in Venice; if not already dead, then close to being it.

On the other hand, my kids had been opening Christmas presents with a bunch of strangers, possibly thinking I had abandoned them. That was, if they still remembered me after my days-long silence. For all I knew, they might have started to consider Minnie their new mother, just like Mark had been dreaming of.

“Aren’t you happy, or what?” Alice asked, blinking. “You are finally free to go.”

“As much as I miss my daughters, I can’t go home now,” I said, considering my options. “Not yet. Not until I make sure the people I love are safe.”

Alice nodded and continued, “Agnes got you plane tickets, and Carlo is driving you to the airport tomorrow morning, and...”

“I said I’m not going anywhere!” I shouted. “I don’t care whether they bought me plane tickets or a camel ride!”

Alice stared at me, offended.

“I’m just passing on the message,” she said raising her hands. “No need to kill the messenger, sister.”

“What about Francesca? What about...?” I didn’t finish the sentence. Even saying his name was hurtful. “I can’t just go and leave them: those are the people who helped me when I reached rock bottom. If it wasn’t for them, I might be dead by a curbside now. And now that they are in trouble, I’m not going to fly home and leave them here. Especially when all of this happened because of me.”

“I’m sorry,” Alice said, glancing left and right. She lowered her voice. “If you stop fretting and allow me to finish, I’ll explain my plan to you.”

“You have a plan?”

I was perplexed. Even though Alice had shown me some kindness, and she had admitted being sorry about Francesca, it was hard to trust her after seeing what those witches had done to Clarence. True, Alice hadn’t been there that night, but she was one of them. Then again, I wasn’t in a position to refuse anyone’s help.

“Carlo won’t be flying back with you. Which means that nobody is going to find out if you never board that plane. You can go through security check and hide in the airport bathrooms for a while. Miss the plane by accident, then wait for me outside. I could meet you at the terminal in the evening, when the museum closes.”

“And then what?”

“Then we’ll see. You can hide in my house for a while. I live in the mountains; if we’re careful, Valentina won’t find out. I have a few friends who could help, witches from other covens in the south. I could convince them to come up here. I’m not sure how I’ll get them onboard, given their opinion on vampires, but it’s worth a try. Meanwhile, we can research a spell to cast together. Even if none of us is very strong, we can accomplish larger things if we join our forces.”

I nodded. I had seen that.

“So, what do you say?” she asked, extending her hand for me to take it. “Are you in?”

Her words seemed to breathe new life into my wretched self, and a rush of adrenaline flooded me. I stood up and started to pace around the room, suddenly realizing how hungry I was. I hadn’t eaten real food for days.

“Okay,” I said, “it’s not like I have a better plan anyway, so we’ll stick to yours for now.”

***

THAT NIGHT I HAD STRANGE dreams, starring Julia and Saint Anthony of Padua. They were arguing heatedly over me.

“She needs to clip those grimy nails and get a proper haircut. The woman is more neglected than a hermit’s beard. I can’t do much for her if she keeps walking around in such a state,” Saint Anthony complained, waving a bunch of white lilies in my direction as if to banish a ghost or possibly dispel a horrible stench. “Have you had a look at yourself lately, young lady?”

He turned toward me, and I staggered in shock. I hadn’t expected him to see me―he was a saint, not a normal person; and he was part of a dream my brain had made up.

For some reason I wasn’t lying on the mat any longer but standing between Julia and Saint Anthony in my awful nightgown as two pairs of eyes watched me, expectant.

“Hhhh...” I tried to speak, but my vocal cords were on strike. Only a weak, useless hiss left my lips.

“Well, you really should see yourself,” he said, clicking his tongue. “You look a sight.”

I refrained from pointing out that he was wearing an ancient, mud-colored habit and wasn’t exactly the epitome of elegance, either.

“How is the poor girl to know?” Julia twirled in her polka dot dress. Tonight she was posing as a cute, blonde twenty-year-old pin-up girl in high-heeled silver shoes. “She needs a mirror. She can’t see herself properly as it is. Can you, sweetheart?” She kissed my cheek with a loud noise. “You must get hold of Turanna’s Mirror, Alba. Promise?”

Turanna’s Mirror? The one from the museum? Yes, of course, and I could also steal the Monna Lisa from The Louvre right after that.

I inspected my hands: Saint Anthony was right, and my nails were black and grubby: worse than a gravedigger’s. Who knew what my face might look like... his criticism was probably founded.

“Don’t fret, love, just ask Alice and everything will be fine,” Julia was saying. “But don’t you dare leave Como without it, do you hear me?”

I nodded hesitantly, in a vain attempt to say, Okay.

“Good girl,” she said with satisfaction. “You must, because I’m in the middle of a murky situation here keeping all those vampires and myself alive with all sorts of spells. They caught me snooping and now I’m trapped here, too. I won’t be able to mentor you for a while.”

They had caught Julia, too? I would have asked, but I couldn’t.

“Just remember the verses I taught you,” she said, “and if you can’t find yourself in the mirror, you should be looking deeper.”

After that, Julia started to dissolve. Her skin turned into a greyish, see-through mass, melting into a disgusting, brain-like form which started to get dry at the edges until it collapsed in a heap of dust. It was so horrifying that I wanted to scream, but my throat was blocked.

“Ah, these cursed creatures and their unholy habits.” Saint Anthony fanned himself and smudged the space previously occupied by Julia with his white lilies. “They are all the same: can’t they muster a proper adieu? Surely, you aren’t thinking of becoming one of them, are you? I think you would make a great nun, with a few minor adjustments. That would be a marvelous career for a bright woman like you.”

He crossed himself prudishly and that was when my throat decided to become functional again. I woke up screaming in the dark basement room, with Valentina standing by the door in a sleeping cap, a dog-print pajamas and a deep, menacing frown. She muttered a few foreign words and waved her hand in a figure-eight shape. Everything turned to black, and I had no more dreams.

***

“BREAKFAST!” I OPENED my eyes to find Berenice tugging at my sleeve. It must be early morning, judging by the faint light filtering through the basement windows. “Did you sleep well?” She forced me on my feet and I wobbled like a penguin. My stomach growled. I was starving. “I hear Carlo is picking you up at ten. Have you packed your things already?”

I rubbed my eyes, slowly processing all the new information and drudging after her to the kitchen.

Carlo? Packing? Things?

“What things?”

As far as I knew, only my purse had survived the fire, containing just my passport and phone. Alice had mentioned the phone was hidden in a cookie tin. As for the rest of items, I had no clue about their whereabouts.

“Is Alice here?” I asked with a yawn, grabbing an apple with silent acceptance. It was too sour, and my empty stomach complained after the very first bite.

Berenice pursed her lips and started to chop cucumbers for one of her milkshakes from hell.

“Alice? No, why? What do you need from her? She’s probably working today. The museum doesn’t open until half past nine.”

I waved my hand. “Never mind. I...” I looked around, a dozen stupid excuses flooding my mind. I couldn’t tell her about my dream. First of all, it would sound like I was crazy; and second, I doubted she would approve of me stealing Turanna’s mirror. “I wanted her to look at my future in the cards one last time.”

She nearly choked on a piece of cucumber.

“Oh, no, no. You don’t need a fortune teller now. Everything is going to be fine.” She drawled the word fine for so long that all my danger radars turned on. “What could go wrong? You are going home to your children, isn’t that beautiful?”

I raised an eyebrow instead of answering. Yes, what could go wrong? Apart from everything, that was.

Breakfast was as bland and depressing as usual. Apart from the apple, the only remotely edible thing they offered me was a bunch of blended raw spinach with lemon juice. It was disgusting, but I drank as much as I could, in the hopes of getting some of my strength back and surviving the day. Over the course of two weeks, I had been starved, poisoned, and drained of all my energy―physical and metaphysical. I needed to regain my health if I was to escape Carlo’s watch and find my way to Venice to help Clarence, Francesca and the others.

At the thought of Clarence, my fingers traveled to my neck. The little bumps were still there, but I could barely feel their tiny, elongated roots the way I used to.

I shuddered, pushing aside the resulting gloomy thoughts. Delving too deep into grim speculations wasn’t going to help me out of this. Clarence’s shadow was still crawling under my skin: but the pulse of our invisible connection had become worryingly feeble and distant. It was a mute cry of help; one only I could hear.

I needed to get to him as soon as possible.

I prayed silently for Alice to keep her promise and help me.

“Tea?” Berenice asked, unaware of my copious concerns.

“Yes, please,” I answered weakly.

“Pick the one you want,” she said.

Meanwhile, Elda and Agnes joined us in the kitchen with baskets full of mushrooms and started to clean them under running water and slice them for soup.

I rummaged through the glass jars on the counter. One of them contained a pink mass with... limbs? The thing waved at me from a pool of transparent liquid. Only then I noticed it had dots which vaguely resembled a pair of eyes.

I gasped and nearly dropped the jar, and the witches burst into laughter at my reaction.

“What on earth was that?” I shrieked, wiping my hands on my clothes.

“Just one of Elda’s experiments,” Valentina clarified, stepping in to check the label. She handed it to Elda. “If you don’t intend to finish that hex, you could at least put it in your bedroom, dear,” she said. “You promised to take care of Paolo in 1993.”

Elda sighed and took the jar, disappearing with it grudgingly into the corridor.

Valentina gave me an enigmatic smile. “It was nice having you here, and I’m sorry things didn’t work out as expected. Still, I hope you are happy with our decision to send you home. It’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

I looked at her blankly. How could she talk to me so casually, after all she had done to me and the people I loved? Did she realize the extent of her actions at all?

“I’m very happy. Thank you.”

That was the best I could muster without hitting her. I needed to keep calm. Just a couple of hours, and I would be on my way to finally doing something about the horrible mess my seemingly innocent Italian vacation had caused. I might alert the police, too, but not before making sure Clarence was safe and well hidden from the authorities’ prying eyes.

“Godspeed, Alba,” Valentina said, sipping her sage tea with half-closed eyes. “I doubt our paths will cross again in this world, but it was nice meeting you. Or, at least, productive.”

Chapter 32

Alba

At engineering school they never mentioned how fast Godspeed was supposed to be, but seemingly quite quick, because Carlo made his appearance minutes after Valentina said her unsettling goodbyes. Berenice gifted me an old pair of boots, one of her crazy patchwork dresses and even a warm parka. All the witches hugged me in an uncomfortably friendly fashion, somehow oblivious to the fact that they had kept me prisoner in that house for days and sent my vampire lover to a very likely demise.

Carlo arrived in his shiny red cabriolet and honked from the other side of the cobbled street.

The witches ushered me out the door in their mother-hen way; I nearly had to hold myself to a streetlamp so they didn’t shove me straight into Carlo’s car.

“I’ll need my passport, please,” I said, holding the lamp post with both hands. “And my phone!”

“Oh yes!” Agnes came out running and threw me my purse. I caught it in the air, shocked by the strong smoke stench coming from it. “The plane ticket is inside, but sorry about the phone,” Agnes said, glancing away coyly. “You must have dropped your bag during the fire.”

Yeah sure. During the fire.

The phone―or rather, its remains―could have well been trampled by a wildebeest stampede. The witches had thrown all the crushed pieces together into a Ziplock bag, so at least I didn’t have to fish out the odd chips and glass shards from the bottom of my purse.

Of course, that same phone had been working perfectly when Alice had shown it to me a couple of days ago. No doubt, those women must be direct descendants of Snow White’s wicked stepmother.

On the plus side, my passport was still there, and so was Clarence’s vintage copy of Robin Hood. Thankfully, the black feather was still inside, untouched, and I caressed it secretly as Carlo turned on the engine and sped out of the small city of Como.

“I see you like to travel light,” Carlo commented, adjusting the rear-view mirror. The rosiness was slowly returning to his cheeks, and he was in a better mood than the previous day.

I grunted and checked the car clock. Ten fifteen. The museum must be open already.

“I need you to turn around,” I said to Carlo, not really expecting him to comply.

“Forgot anything?”

“Yes. I must return something to Alice. She’s at the museum, working.”

“What museum? The Murano Glass Museum?”

“No. The Museum of Witchcraft. It won’t take me long, but it’s important, because I’m not sure I’ll see her again. Can you please turn back? Please?”

I flashed him what I considered my sweetest smile, hoping it didn’t make me resemble a hyena in my current state of neglect. He studied me with unaccustomed depth, almost like he pitied me.

“Okay.” He hesitated and exhaled loudly. “But be quick, or you might...” He paused and made a dangerous U-turn in the middle of the road that sent my stomach up my throat. “Miss your flight.”

He parked in front of the glass door, settling himself right under the big round sign which read divieto di sosta―no parking.

I jumped out of the car as fast as I could, praying the witches didn’t notice we were back, as they lived in the same street: that would unleash many unpleasant questions I didn’t have answers for.

“I don’t like waiting,” Carlo warned me, as he turned on the radio and started to browse on his phone.

***

I RACED THROUGH THE main door and barged into the museum reception. Alice was standing behind the counter wearing military attire and a jaded expression.

“What the hell are you doing here? Aren’t we supposed to meet at the airport this evening?” She flung me a confused look, covering her mouth like she expected someone to read her lips.

“You said I should pay attention to Saint Anthony, didn’t you?” I said, pulling at her sleeve to get her out of the reception nook. “Take me to the mirror room. I don’t have much time, the witches could see me, and Carlo is waiting outside.”

The museum had been invaded by dozens of primary school children, who raced through the corridors under the despairing watch of two worn-out teachers. A little girl with golden locks smiled at me. She reminded me of Iris, and my heart constricted a little. Soon, I told myself, mommy will be home soon.

“He visited me in a dream last night,” I muttered, ushering Alice down the halls and trying to avoid the tiny museum visitors who were virtually everywhere.

“Who?” Alice threw a deadly glance to a wild seven-year-old who was trying to climb an iron torture device.

“Saint Anthony, who else?” I puffed with impatience.

“Saint Anthony doesn’t do that.” She shook her head, like she was Saint Anthony’s best friend and knew what he enjoyed doing and what not.

“Anyways, whoever it was looked just like that picture of him: tonsure, lilies and habit. There was someone else in the dream: a witch friend. She urged me to take the mirror with me,” I whispered into Alice’s ear.

She blanched. “I hope you don’t mean Turanna’s Mirror.”

At that point, her face resembled a live reproduction of The Scream by Edvard Munch.

“I’ll give it back, okay? But she said under no circumstances should I leave Como without it. I know there must be a reason.” I grinned. “Please, Alice? I’m sure you can find a way. I’ll take good care of it.”

“The museum is crowded,” she moaned. “Visitors will notice!”

As we passed the toilets, a crazy idea formed in my mind.

“Give me a second,” I said, and stepped swiftly into the small lavatory.

It didn’t take me much effort to unhang the bathroom mirror. It was a simple rectangle with a wooden frame, full of soap splatters and a bit rusty at the corners.

I carried the heavy piece of glass out of the bathrooms, tucked under my arm, while Alice stared at me in shock. She had probably guessed what I was about to do... and she clearly didn’t like it.

“You are insane,” she shouted, trying to make herself heard above the voices of the screaming children.

“Get rid of the kids,” I commanded. In the middle of the schoolchildren chaos, nobody had even glanced at me. “Tell them there are mice... tarantulas... whatever you want.”

She rolled her eyes but did as I asked her. Somehow, she managed to dislodge a bunch of kids to the potions section, and we remained alone.

“Cameras?” I pointed at the offending black devices on the ceiling.

“They are all fake,” she reassured me.

I took the smaller Etruscan mirror with one hand and placed it gently on the floor, then clutched the cheap bathroom mirror with the other one and gestured toward Alice. “Help me lift this.”

“I’m going to lose my job,” she grumbled, her face pale as a sheet.

“It’s a lousy job anyway.” I elbowed her a little so she would stop complaining. “You deserve something better. Come on, heave-ho!”

We hung the bathroom mirror on the wall, and Alice stuck the antique one in a paper bag with the museum logo. Her hands were shaking violently when she handed it to me.

“Guard it with your life, do you hear me? You have no idea how much this is worth.”

I nodded. “I will! Bye, Alice, see you at the airport.” I placed a tiny kiss on her cheek and rushed out of the museum.

Carlo was tapping on the steering wheel with impatience when I got back into the car.

“What the hell are you carrying there?” he asked, squinting at the bulk under my arm.

“Souvenirs for the kids,” I answered, repressing a sneer.

“Want me to open the trunk?” He glanced at the bag sideways, trying to see what was inside.

I shook my head and slid the bag into my purse. “Better not. Fragile goods.”

Carlo shrugged, and we left the lake city behind, as the sun shone bright on the road to Venice and set his aviator glasses on fire.

Chapter 33

Clarence

A crimson halo framed Anne’s deceitfully angelic face as she bent over me, her irises casting golden sparkles in the darkness which surrounded us.

I didn’t know where I was, nor where she had come from. But she moved with magnificent self-assurance as she caressed me and carved magical symbols into my cheek with the tips of her sharp claws. I was shaking, lying on an ivory marble slab reminiscent of a medieval knight’s tombstone. I hadn’t felt that cold for centuries.

I tried to move, but found my limbs merged with the stone bed. She noticed my struggle and laughed softly.

I observed with bitterness how much I had missed that laugh, even though it never preceded anything good.

“You died in the fire,” I muttered. My lips were sealed, but she understood me, nonetheless.

Anne nodded and caressed my forehead.

“I burned in that fire,” she corrected me. “Burned to ashes. But did I ever die for you, my beloved Clarence?” Her hands wandered idly under my torn shirt. Her fingertips were scorching hot, like painful flames licking my skin. I shuddered. “I don’t think so,” she said with a fiery squint.

“Why are you here, after all this time?” I asked her.

“I missed you,” she said quietly. “I heard your call from the other side, and I came to assist your crossing. You are at the edge of afterlife and eternal death.”

“I did not summon you, Anne. I’m not going anywhere yet.”

“We can finally be together, Clarence. For all eternity, just like you wished. You are my only legacy, my best creation. True, it was purely your appearance that drew me to you first, and your lingering humanity that deterred me. But all these years of loneliness have taught me that, perhaps, you were not the worst option...” She smirked and kissed me. I contorted under the pressure of her burning lips, which scorched my skin and made me want to scream. “Take my hand, Clarence. Take it. Come with me.”

“Go away, Anne,” I grumbled in my thoughts. “You and I were never meant to be together. You told me yourself, a long time ago, and I was a fool not to listen.”

She pouted. “I can’t believe you are sending me away, after all I had to risk to reach you here. We are the same, my dear. We share the same blood. You are mine, and I am willing to be yours now. We belong together. Come.”

“No,” I tried to say, but she placed a sweltering finger over my lips, causing them to dissolve into smoldering blisters.

“It’s the witch, isn’t it?” She shook her luscious mane of black hair. “Do you believe she would still want you if she knew everything about you? If she knew about all the things we did together? If she knew about... me?”

I closed my eyes, her words sharp as darts in their truthfulness. She kissed me once again, a burning, painful caress over my already aching skin.

“Do not worry, my dear. Those are lowly, mortal creatures. Our kind must hold together. You belong with me. You always have.”

“No,” I answered, this time firmly.

Anne stepped back, and the flames which surrounded her turned wild and started to consume her, melting her hands and face into a horrible red and black mass of charred flesh.

“Clarence. You will never be good enough,” she screamed, her face reduced to a monstrous amalgam of bones and blackened tendons.

“Neither will you,” I whispered, as I watched the flames consume her once again―but this time, unlike the first time, all I felt was peace.

“You shall die, and sleep the sleep of the dead all alone...” she shrieked the beginning of a curse, but her last words were lost forever, for she had already turned to ashes.

“Farewell, Anne,” I repeated, sensing the pull of slumber. “I must let you go now.”

Chapter 34

Alba

“You just missed the airport exit,” I said, pointing at the green sign right behind us from the passenger seat of Carlo’s rented Alfa Romeo.

We had been driving for a couple of hours, and judging by the road signs, Venice airport must be around the corner.

“Ah, didn’t I tell you?” Carlo said, turning down the radio. “We are going sightseeing first. There’s plenty of time, anyway.”

“Sightseeing?” I checked the time. According to the tickets Agnes had printed for me, we did have time to spare; but the last thing I wanted to do was strolling around touristic sites with Carlo Lombardi, all while Clarence and the others might be suffering unthinkable tortures somewhere nearby. “Can’t you just leave me at the airport and go alone?” I pleaded.

“No, no. I was just joking about the sightseeing,” he said, on a more serious note. “I need to deliver some goods to a business partner. It’s just a small detour; it won’t take us long.”

“Okay.” I slumped into the seat, defeated. Carlo’s rental car was oddly low, so much so that I could peek at the underskirts of the truck in front of us.

“Isn’t it funny?” Carlo asked. “When we chatted on the plane, you didn’t want to go to Venice, but it seems you’ll end up going anyway. Aren’t you thrilled to see the channels?”

“Dying to,” I retorted, taking a deep breath to calm down my nerves.

We were really going to Venice―not to the airport.

What were the odds of me escaping Carlo and finding Stella Alley on my own?

Was that the most stupid idea ever?

Should I just keep to Alice’s plan, which might take days, or possibly weeks to come to fruition?

Would Clarence, Francesca and the rest remain alive long enough for us to find them?

Hundreds of variations of those same thoughts crammed in my mind as we cruised along the narrow car-and-railway bridge which crossed the lagoon and connected mainland Venice with the more touristy island half. The bridge was old, long and gray; a concrete abomination which had none of the dreamy connotations one would expect from the city of Casanova. But inspiringly enough, it had been baptized The Bridge of Freedom, which I decided to take as a good omen.

My first glimpse of La Serenissima was highly unromantic and encompassed a bunch of coaches, loud tour-guides, people dragging suitcases and no gondolas whatsoever.

I pondered bitterly about how often high expectations led us, mortals, to disappointment.

One should not expect Venice to be as stunning in real life as in postcards.

One should not expect a vampire lover to remain loyal forever.

And one should definitely not expect to be treated with decency by a coven of witches, when fairy tales kept warning us against them since early childhood.

All those affirmations were universal truths, and my overly optimistic expectations toward them had led me―and many others―to disaster.

Or perhaps I was just nervous and in a terrible mood, and I should stop philosophizing and start devising a smart escape strategy.

A loud screech took me out of my theoretical musings. We had reached a garage and Carlo was struggling to park in a ridiculously narrow spot. He had squeezed in the sleek Alfa Romeo, but he had also scratched the shiny red paint against one of the pillars. A colorful string of curses left his lips as he got out of the car and slammed the door closed with anger.

Even though I didn’t like Carlo much, I had to sympathize with him―I had a talent for ruining things in the blink of an eye, too.

He was still muttering to himself when we left the boring-looking building, crossed a few streets and―finally―got a peek at the famous canals right before jumping on a vaporetto water bus.

“Nice, huh?” Carlo commented, waving toward the picturesque water scene around us.

“Very nice,” I agreed, taking in postcard-Venice in all its glory. It wasn’t so bad, after all.

“Such a shame you never allowed me to take you sightseeing in Como,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I’m a good tour guide.”

I nodded absently and thought about the address Julia had told me about. If only my phone wasn’t broken, I could have checked the exact location, then try to outsmart Carlo and lose him among the narrow streets. And if only I knew in which direction to flee, I could go and check the place for myself.

“Where are we going?” I inquired, trying to keep my tone as casual as possible.

“You will find out soon enough,” he said, turning his back to me, his eyes focused on the green depths of the channels.

***

I STARED AT THE STREET plaque name in disbelief as I followed Carlo down the narrow sidewalk by the canal.

“Stella Alley?” I asked, staring at the name. My voice shook, and not only my voice, as we approached the fifth house of the row, which was―evidently―a washed out shade of salmon pink.

“It’s the fifth pink house by the canals, in Stella Alley in Venice. That’s where they took them. That’s where we must go. If anything happens to me, promise you’ll go there and find a way to free them.”

Carlo blinked and stared at me with suspicion. He rang the bell and propped himself against the flaky façade with his elbow.

“Stella, yes, like a star,” he said casually. I wasn’t asking for the meaning of the word, but he couldn’t know that.

Clarence was in that house. I could feel him.

I should be happy I just landed there so easily... shouldn’t I?

But I wasn’t.

This was wrong.

There was no way on earth walking through the main entrance of that building, in plain daylight, would help me get him out.

There was something dreadful about Carlo bringing me―just by chance―to the undercover prison I should be sneaking into with Alice’s help.

My feet were glued to the ground as the key turned on the other side of the heavy wooden door. Right then I noticed Carlo’s hands were empty. No bags. No files. Just the car keys, dancing merrily around his index finger.

“What exactly are you supposed to deliver at this address?” I asked, my fear growing into an out-of-control beast thumping against my chest.

Carlo grinned before he answered.

“Why, didn’t I tell you?” he said smugly, as the door swiveled open and a middle-aged lady dragged me into a pastel-colored lobby. “You, of course.”

Chapter 35

Alba

If it wasn’t for the horrible sensation in the pit of my stomach which suggested my life was about to spiral out of control, I would have appreciated how the inside of Stella Alley’s house was a tourist’s dream come true. Overlooking one of the minor waterways, the coral pink three story construction had arched windows and pine needle green shutters. Stepping inside immersed us in a sea of Baroque decadence and lavishly splurged funds, complete with paintings of chubby angels and azure Murano glass chandeliers.

This was a true Venetian Duke’s palace, and bore no resemblance whatsoever to the prison I had been told it concealed.

“Coffee or tea? Or do you witches drink just repugnant herb concoctions?” The lady of the house asked, taking a seat on a sapphire blue divan.

“I’ll drink anything but herb concoctions,” I answered, clutching my purse as a shield. I had been poisoned enough times already, thank you.

The lady snapped her fingers. Out of a nook framed in plaster reliefs appeared an overly well-built man in uniform, who resembled a bodyguard more than a butler. He took our orders with a notebook and a golden pen, pretending that was the most normal thing to do.

“Alba, let me introduce you to our business partner, Mrs. Grabnar,” Carlo said, while we waited for our refreshments. I was amazed to find out he was actually capable of polite conversation.

“Natasha?” I asked without a trace of surprise.

“You seem to be quite knowledgeable about me,” the lady observed. She must be in her fifties, with a perfect blond bob reminiscent of a wig. Her head-to-toe beige business casual attire matched the stucco on the ceilings perfectly, and several rows of fake ethnic necklaces tinkled as she drew closer and studied me with a critical eye. “That’s interesting, given how hard I work to keep a low profile.”

The wardrobe-sized butler came back with a tray containing a solid silver teapot and thin porcelain cups. I immediately made up my mind not to drink a single sip of whatever that teapot contained. It had taken me a while, but I had finally learned my lesson about accepting poisoned apples from strangers.

Natasha dropped at least four sugar cubes into her beverage and started to sip it with abandonment. “I hear you are a powerful witch,” she said slowly, staring at me from behind the golden rim of her cup.

“Excuse me?” I blinked.

“Mrs. Valentina told me. That’s why she sent you, isn’t it?”

“She said that?” I was baffled. She must have heard that wrong.

I watched for Carlo’s reaction, but he sat stoically, picking his teeth like he was alone in the room. He must have noticed my inquisitive stares because he took his finger out of his mouth and glanced at the clock on the opposite wall.

“Natasha, it’s better if you start with the interview as soon as possible, otherwise we’ll be late,” he said, inspecting the food leftovers under his nails. They were full of orange and green speckles and absolutely disgusting. I repressed my gag reflex, not sure whether it had been triggered by Carlo’s tooth picking or the idea of Clarence agonizing somewhere in the bowels of that very house.

“Actually, Carlo...” Natasha looked away from him and his dubious etiquette. “If you are in a hurry, you can leave us. She will be well taken care of here with me.”

“No, Natasha, you don’t understand, the witches booked her a flight and hired me to drive her. She lives abroad. We have twenty minutes at most, or she’ll miss it.”

“No, dear Carlo, it’s you who doesn’t understand. She’s staying here.” She nodded meaningfully. “For a while.”

I gaped at them. I wanted to join their peculiar verbal ping-pong match, but I couldn’t decide whether I should take Natasha’s side or Carlo’s. All in all, I had a mission to accomplish, and it might be easier to do so from the inside, wouldn’t it?

For goodness sake, this situation was getting surreal.

“What do you mean? The plane tickets are paid.” Carlo sounded sincerely shocked. “Valentina was clear about my duties.”

“Did you really believe those plane tickets were real? Haven’t you heard about Agnes and her hacking talents yet? Why would they buy a plane ticket if they promised to hand me those pretty, magic-wielding hands for my research?”

Okay. Definitely retreat and abort mission. Leaving that place had started to sound like the best option, at least until I could get back with Alice and her witch friends. That woman sounded dangerous. And very much insane. She wanted my pretty, magic-wielding hands? In marriage, to chop them off...?

I raised my hand―while I still had it. “Excuse me,” I said, trying to sound calm. “I don’t know who promised you my... hands... or well, whatever body part you need for your doubtful purposes, but I’m not interested in participating.” I stood up slowly. “Strange as it sounds, I agree with Carlo. We need to go.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Natasha said, pressing a button on the wall next to her. “Carlo, conversely, has become a bit of a hassle.” She pointed at the exit. “Arrivederci, sweetheart. Thanks for the present.”

“Natasha, no,” Carlo said firmly. “You can’t keep her here. This is not what the witches wanted. You are going to get me into trouble. I should have driven her straight to the airport.”

I thought of using their distraction to my advantage and looked around for a route of escape. The door was close enough, so I started to tiptoe in its direction while they merrily discussed what to do with me next.

“First of all, the witches are aware of my plans. And second, since when do you care about stray witches?” Natasha said. “Have you forgotten what brought you here in the first place?”

“It wasn’t the witches who took Eleanor’s life. True, I don’t like them, but I thought we were on the same side in this fight.”

“You and I have one thing in common, Carlo. We both are always on the same side: the side of the money. Aren’t we?”

Carlo didn’t answer. Instead, he scowled at Natasha and edged towards me, walking backwards to keep her under his watch. When he reached my side, I had almost made it to the plastered archway which led to the lavish foyer.

What the hell was going on here?

“I’m not leaving her here,” he said. “This is not what we agreed. My hands might not be the cleanest, but this is totally wrong.”

“You didn’t seem to mind when you brought me her coldblooded colleagues.”

“She’s not one of them.”

“Isn’t she?”

Wasn’t I?

In any case, I wasn’t staying around to discuss whether I should be granted a spot in a vampire family tree or not. I sneaked one foot out of the tearoom.

“Don’t make me use my gun, Natasha,” Carlo said, sticking a hand in his back pocket.

“Even as a policeman, I doubt you are allowed to shoot whoever you want just to settle personal grievances,” Natasha pointed out, playing with her jangly necklaces. “The chief of Emberbury police department won’t be pleased to find out what you did on that doomed August night, don’t you think?”

“Natasha, are you trying to blackmail me?”

“The long answer is I’m not interested in returning paid goods. The short one is... yes, I am.”

Carlo wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me against him. From my position behind him I could see his back pocket was empty: no guns in sight; he had been bluffing. “This is wrong, Natasha. We are leaving. Arrivederci.”

“Carlo, Carlo.” Natasha oozed arrogance from her perfectly botoxed pores. “Is it me, or do you have a thing for this little witch?”

“Go fuck yourself, Natasha.”

She produced a silver cell phone from the pocket of her blazer and dialed a number.

“Security?” She spoke into the handset, “I need help showing a guest to the door.”

I stood in the middle of the two, still holding my purse―heavy due to the mirror inside it―and wondering what the hell to do.

“Okay,” Carlo said, “You don’t need your minions, spare them the trip. I will show myself out.”

Natasha nodded with satisfaction, typing a brief message into her phone. “Good,” she said, “consider yourself fired, by the way. But thanks for the little mouse. You’ll get a reward with your last paycheck. To compensate you for the inconveniences.”

The butler came in, only this time he was carrying a gun instead of a silver tray. A real one, not like Carlo’s imaginary weapon.

“Domingo, Mr. Lombardi was leaving,” Natasha said softly. The butler pointed the gun at Carlo’s skull with the same calm expression he had while serving our tea. “Have fun outside, boys, but don’t overdo it.”

Carlo nudged me and dragged his hand down my back, pretending to hug me good-bye. He pulled at the handle of my purse, which was right behind us and out of Natasha’s sight. Then, he slipped something cold and sharp into the bag, right before detaching himself from my side and raising his hands in surrender.

“Okay,” he said, walking away from me. “But she’s not a vampire. You can’t just kidnap a normal person and expect not to get caught. It’s illegal, you know? Nobody will notice a missing bloodsucker, but people with papers and families are a very different thing.”

Good that they didn’t know the truth about the family part. Nobody in Emberbury would miss me if I never turned up again. At least nobody with a constant heartbeat or old enough to call a police station.

“I appreciate your input,” Natasha answered calmly. “But she’s mine now, and forget about alerting the authorities. Because, in that case, I might remember a thing or two about you, too.” She gestured toward the giant butler-turned-bouncer, who pushed Carlo toward the exit, possibly to bid him a proper farewell. “Bye Carlo. It was nice working with you.”

***

AS SOON AS I REMAINED alone with Natasha, the house became empty and incredibly crowded at the same time. In the newly found quiet, the aura of suffering coming from the depths of the house was overwhelming. There was dread and misery exuding from the underground, but not only that: there were presences I knew, and their agony started to leak into my soul, turning my knees into jelly.

But what could I do for them, if I had just become Natasha’s newest prisoner?

I felt into my bag, searching for the object Carlo had tucked secretively inside.

My fingers stroked the hilt of a knife: a decently-sized, ornate knife in a soft, leather sheath. The blade had delicate engravings along the hilt, and as soon as I touched them I recognized it: Clarence’s dagger. Carlo must have carried it hidden in the waist of his pants. But what did he expect me to do with it? Kill Natasha? Not very likely for someone who wasn’t even able to chop carrots properly.

“Ah, men,” Natasha said with an exhale, “always thinking with their lower... brains. It makes them terrible associates. Especially when you are trying to make a living off science.”

I didn’t answer. You didn’t need to be Einstein to realize the woman had a well-developed reptilian brain, too.

“You look pretty harmless for a witch,” Natasha commented, brushing her thumb along my jawbone and making me feel like a newly bought stallion meeting its owner.

“What’s going on in this place?” I asked her, my back still glued to the wall and my fingers around the hidden dagger.

“Just research,” she answered sweetly. “I’m a pathologist on a quest, and I’d appreciate your participation in a study. I used to be a coroner when I met our dear Carlo a long while ago, but those patients were quite boring. I needed something more motivating.”

“I thought coroners worked with dead people.” My voice broke as the possible ramifications of that statement started to sink in.

“And what do you think I’m doing?” She winked and clutched my wrist. “Follow me. I’ll show you to your accommodations and ask you a couple of questions. Do you prefer blue or red?”

I raked my mind for a way to fix the mess I had fallen into. Apparently, I had no other choice but to stab her if I wanted to get out. How and where did you stab a person for the best results? Why hadn’t Clarence nor Carlo explained to me the actually useful details?

“We just sent off two specimens to the better equipped laboratory in France, but we still have here Blondie and the one we call DDH: Dead, Dark and Handsome. I still haven’t been able to solve the mystery of his identity or his origins. Do you think you could help me out?”

“No,” I grunted. “I don’t think so. I don’t know anyone by that description.”

“No? Because I’m willing to reward your cooperation. Not necessarily with money... mercy is a legitimate form of currency, too.”

“I’m quite sure I don’t know him.”

Natasha snapped her fingers for me to follow her.

“This way, darling.” Natasha pointed at a glass elevator which opened into the wide hallway. “You know, it’s funny that you don’t know each other,” she said, “because he keeps mumbling your name in his dreams.”

Chapter 36

Clarence

Drifting to and fro by the shores of lucidity, memories of the witches from my past shuffled incessantly in my mind’s eye.

Witches. I had long known them; I had mostly avoided them. I had even loved one, or so I believed.

“Alba?” I called her, not sure that was a name or just a foreign word I had made up in my feverish delirium.

My thoughts were jumbled. I recalled witches never caring for us. They were always indifferent to our existence, as long as we left them in peace: which we did. Or, at least, as indifferent as witches could be to the creatures they despised.

I could still remember a time, at the turn of a century―but which one?―when we had battled together against a common enemy. But the truce hadn’t lasted long, and none of our kinds had expected it to.

Even so, I never anticipated meeting my ultimate death at the hands of witches. Their vampire hunting propaganda always sounded like a bad taste jest. For decades, I had scoffed at their comical attempts to draw human customers their way by spreading misinformation about us. They thrived on giving us bad press; not that we didn’t deserve it.

The last days had painfully taught me how printed words can be blown with the wind, but tungsten chains and coffin nails... not so much.

They could become fairly troublesome after very short periods of use.

But it wasn’t just the chains keeping me still and at the edge of death and madness: I had been the victim of a curse, perhaps just a spell; whatever it was, it had turned my limbs to stone; my vision was blurred, and my mind even more so.

For some reason, in my delirium, I kept having visions of Francesca by my side.

Francesca, and the scent of roses.

She was fond of roses, wasn’t she?

Roses...

Or was it Rose?

“Mother?” I whispered, feeling her invisible presence for the hundredth time, her kisses on my forehead.

My voice echoed in an empty room: Rose never answered, but I knew she was there with me.

My mind kept wandering into the strangest of places, in a pleasant hallucination which was much more pleasant than the present.

And then, there was Julia.

I had seen her, but she was gone now.

She had been so fair and lovely in my vision. Was it 1961 again? And if not, why wasn’t she dead?

Was I dead?

Or rather―how dead was I, precisely? Perhaps a nine, on a scale from zero to ten?

Now it was just Francesca and I in our respective glass coffins. Francesca, and I, and the scent of roses.

She was the Sleeping Beauty, our lovely Briar Rose.

Only I was asleep, and she was not.

Which left me with... what role exactly?

I always thought I would be the savior prince, armed with the Sword of Truth and the Shield of Virtue: seemingly, I was not.

Steps shook the ground below me and I foresaw the old witch coming back; or possibly Rose... perchance Julia?

However, it wasn’t Julia’s scent, nor Julia’s voice that inundated our glass prison.

Since when did angels assist the damned?

Since never, certainly.

It was Alba instead.

Why was she wielding a dagger?

With my name on it, no less!

But my eyelids were so heavy.

I closed my eyes and gave in to slumber.

Chapter 37

Alba

Natasha shepherded me to an elevator. I had never seen one in a private home before, but then, I had never been to a luxurious Venetian palace before either. She pressed a button, and a gleaming silver door glided aside silently.

“Witches first,” she said cynically.

I sighed and entered the cab after her. Natasha stuck a key into a lock to start the elevator. I followed her actions with my eyes as she put the key in a pocket of her trousers. I would need to get hold of it if I ever wanted to get out of that house again.

The elevator started to descend.

“I thought old Venetian houses had no basement,” I commented, striving to keep my voice calm. The back wall of the shaft was made of glass, and the stone foundations of the ancient house passed by, followed by―was that even possible?―water. Plenty of murky, greenish water. The elevator started to sink like a submarine into an underground aquarium of sorts. I checked the joints of the cab with unease, hoping they had been properly waterproofed.

Natasha hummed a song and pouted in the elevator mirror, checking her makeup.

“Ordinary Venetian houses are not usually built like this, you are right. But you are not the first witch to step into this house,” she explained casually. It was difficult to make out the words because her mouth was stretched in an odd O shape. “Even if you don’t know it yet, magic can be used to build things, not just destroy them.”

Was she insinuating there had been magic involved in the construction of the house? Watching the elevator descend into the dark waters of the canals, it wasn’t so hard to believe.

Magic, science, engineering: baffling how, sometimes, they could become absolutely undistinguishable.

“This is one of the deepest canals in Venice, reaching twelve meters or more.” She eyed me with contempt. “That’s forty feet for you.”

“I know. I’m familiar with the metric system, thank you.”

I slid the knife silently out of its sheath, without taking it out of the bag just yet. The indentures on the hilt dug at my fingertips, and I traced the rose petals of Clarence’s emblem on it.

A silver dagger. There were odd presents, and then there was... this. A weapon designed to kill vampires, gifted by a vampire to the most inept fighter in history. Stabbing people in cold blood was far from a talent of mine. I had never done such a thing and wasn’t sure I would be able to pull it off at all. I closed my eyes and bit my lip as I waited for the elevator to stop. The butler was still with Carlo, which gave me a few minutes to act.

Please, Clarence, send me the skill and the strength to do what I’m about to do, I pleaded in silence.

The cab shuddered with the characteristic thud of a hydraulic mechanism, and the door opened into a dark corridor.

A corridor full of presences.

The presences of people I knew and loved.

Natasha pressed a button on the wall, and a set of industrial fluorescent lights flashed a couple of times before illuminating the space with a sterile, bluish glow.

We stepped into a state-of-the-art, white and steel square room with a wide counter in the middle, which contrasted sharply against the carefully manicured, pastel and vintage upper floor. She turned toward a row of metallic cabinets and retrieved yet another bunch of keys.

“The red room might be the right one for you, after all,” she muttered to herself. “It’s full of... fond memories and souvenirs.”

She studied the other side of the submerged basement, where several glass cubicles opened into the square space we were standing in. They resembled the glass cages of a terrarium in a zoo. I tried to peek inside them, but they were in complete darkness, all the lamps in them still off.

The presences became so strong that my throat constricted. A soft moan came from the cage to my right, accompanied by a low lament in Francesca’s soprano voice.

“Francesca?” I ran to the source of the sound. A dark, trembling figure sat in the back of a cell, all skin and bones and tufts of lackluster, once golden hair.

“How I love happy reunions!” Natasha clapped her hands with glee. “Let’s see if you remember the name of the other one too! Funny that he would risk his life for a woman who doesn’t even know him, isn’t it? Anyways, follow me.”

Natasha pressed a switch and the lights of the cells turned on, offering now a clearer―and even more horrifying―sight.

The middle cubicle was empty, but the floor, otherwise made of light grey cement, was covered in dark crimson stains. To the right, I recognized Francesca, chained to a pillar in the corner of a glass and steel cell. Her locks were stiff and messy, and her eyes seemed lost in a distant spot beyond us. She sat hunched on the floor, and it took her a while to notice my existence. She looked up at me through tired, sleepy eyes, but showed no signs of recognition. When she extended her hands―or rather, the stumps which were left of them―she stared at her fingerless palms with melancholy and started to sing a macabre lullaby.

My stomach clenched.

“Ms. Lumin, come see the other one, I’d really appreciate your insight here,” Natasha said, her voice carrying no empathy for any of her prisoners. “I’ll let you catch up with Blondie in a minute.”

She knocked on the glass door of the other cell to attract my attention. I forced myself to stop staring at what was left of splendid Francesca, and took a deep breath to gather some courage. The pain and horror radiating from those underwater chambers was starting to make me nauseous.

I closed my eyes, then opened them slowly, mindful that, whatever sight awaited me, it wasn’t going to be pleasant.

The other cell was devoid of any furniture as well, except for a narrow metallic cot pushed against a grey cement bearing wall. The rest of partitions were transparent, which allowed the prisoners―and their jailers―to see through. The floors were filthy, the cells lacking any sinks or latrines.

The metallic cot held a vague resemblance to an altar, or a dissection table, and my eyes wandered until they found him lying on top of it, totally still and chained to vertical pillars on either side. A bloodied white sheet covered him up to the collar bones, revealing a mortally pale countenance.

That was no sheet: it was a shroud.

Clarence’s dark hair fell in short waves over the silver rim of the table, his eyes closed; the eyelids blue, purple and disturbingly thin and lifeless like the rest of his body.

But he wasn’t dead―yet.

I could feel it, and I knew only one thing: alive meant hope.

As I approached the clear door, the sheet over his chest raised just slightly, and he let out an almost imperceptible breath. I slid, powerless, to the floor, dragging my hands down the glass between us and leaving damp traces of desperation on it.

“So, who is this, and where did he come from?” Natasha smirked. “Maybe if you told me, I could do something to convince the witches to reverse the spell they cast on him. Would you be interested in such a deal?”

“What spell?” My voice seemed to come from a distant place.

“It’s not your turn to ask questions yet,” Natasha warned me. “Answer mine first.”

“I don’t know him,” I muttered softly. I couldn’t tell her about Clarence or The Cloister. That would just sentence even more innocent people to a certain death. “I don’t know why he tried to kidnap me from the witches’ house.”

Natasha burst into laughter. “Sure, you don’t. You are virtually melting down in front of his cell. It’s obvious you know each other very well. Don’t you want him to live? Why don’t you tell me where all the vampires are hiding, and I’ll make sure he wakes up again for a heartfelt goodbye kiss?”

“I don’t know any other vampires,” I replied, steadying myself against the glass as I tried to make my lie sound convincing. “But please, I beg you, do something if you can. This man is at death’s door. He desperately needs help.”

“At death’s door?” Natasha repeated, still laughing. “This creature is no man, and he has been dancing in Death’s parlor for centuries. Your pity is unnecessary.”

I closed my eyes and combed my fingers through my greasy, tangled hair. Natasha’s butler might appear at any moment, and once he did, my chances of freeing myself and the prisoners would be next to nil. I thought about the Fulminatio spell and, in my desperation, I started to recite the words in a soft whisper. Natasha pinched my arm, shaking her index finger in front of my face.

“Naughty, naughty girl,” she reprimanded me, seemingly unconcerned, and her words broke my already feeble concentration. “No magic allowed here. I know what you are trying to do, and it’s extremely stupid. We are surrounded by water in this basement. Can you imagine what would happen if you blew up the whole place?”

I could imagine it very well. One didn’t even need an engineering degree for that.

“Exactly,” Natasha continued, “try to picture this: first, the whole house would collapse over our heads. And then, even if we didn’t die crushed under the weight of the ceiling, we would drown in the canals before making it to the surface. Is that what you want?”

No, growled my inner voice in frustration.

“Neither do I. So, are you going to tell me what you know about the bloodsuckers, or do I have to stick you in the chill-out cell? The red one is vacant. You can stay in it for as long as you want, and rejoice in the sight of your dying friends until you feel like talking to me. But better hurry up, because I can’t promise these fellows will survive the night.”

She forced me to stand up, pulling under my arm, then pointed at the cell in the middle. The floor was dark, and disturbingly gooey and shiny.

“This is where our mischievous visitors stay,” she explained. “Our previous guest was an undefined creature we caught snooping around the house. She was wicked, bloodthirsty, and quite chameleonic. She took at least three different appearances during her stay. She even tried to impersonate me and fool the guard once, can you imagine? Anyways, I’m not easily deceived by supernatural tricks. I’m an expert at death and strange phenomena, and quick to catch quirky antics. So, please, don’t try anything stupid. I’ll notice right away and punish everyone for it.”

Natasha unlocked the empty cell, and the stench of blood and stale air hit me like a slap in the face.

“In case you were wondering,” she said with a cackle, “we ended up relocating Chameleon Lady to a safer place, together with her pretty boyfriend. But don’t worry, they left you souvenirs.” She studied the brown and red stains on the walls with a frown. “There’s some pretty sprinkle art for you to admire while you make up your mind.”

In order to throw me into that hole, she would have to kill me first.

The unsheathed dagger tinkled against Turanna’s mirror in my bag, expectant.

In one swift, clean move, I pulled the knife out of my purse and pressed its tip against Natasha’s back.

Natasha stumbled, recoiling with a shriek, and raised her arms in surrender.

How easy, I thought, pleased with myself.

“Give me the cell keys,” I snarled. The dagger was sharper than I thought, and I accidentally tore the back of her elegant shirt with the tip of the blade. She gasped, a drop of blood extending like a cherry spiderweb over the white fabric. Francesca moaned in her compartment and rattled her chains like a soul in pain. The scent of fresh blood must have awoken her from her detached reverie.

Natasha quickly recovered her composure.

“Child, you are going to hurt yourself,” she hissed, keeping her back stiff to evade the dagger.

“I don’t think so,” I retorted without much conviction. “Step into the cell and hand me the keys. No sudden moves, or I’ll stab you.”

I kicked her behind the knees, just like in the movies, but she didn’t even falter. She was taller and larger than me.

“No,” she said firmly, not a shred of tension in her voice. She extended a hand slowly in my direction. “Now you give me that knife. Domingo is about to come, and it’s obvious you don’t even know how to hold a weapon.”

She was probably right.

I tightened my grip around the hilt, but Natasha leaped back unexpectedly, swivelled, and attempted to take the dagger from me. Her hand grasped mine, and the dagger slid to her side as we both struggled to get hold of the weapon. I lunged at her with all my weight and sank the dagger into her flesh. My hand slipped down the blade, over the handguard, and the metal sliced my skin as the blade cut right above Natasha’s waist. She bent forwards, and we both let out a piercing shriek. Then, she clasped my wrist and pressed between my index and thumb fingers, forcing my hand open.

The dagger clanked as it hit the floor. Natasha pressed one hand against her ribs to stop the blood flow and retrieved the knife with the other one, pointing it at me.

“That was not very polite of you,” she grumbled. “But the difference between us is that I do know how to use this properly.” She stumbled back and leaned against the cell doors, ignoring her injuries. “Not so different from a scalpel.” She pricked me, and I bit my lips to drown a gasp. “Or a skull chisel.”

I looked frantically around us in search of a getaway, but she pressed the blade under my chin just a little harder.

“Don’t you even think about using an incantation now, unless you want me to chop off your vocal cords and perform an autopsy... on your still breathing body.” She kicked me into the middle cell and slammed the door shut, then faced me through the door. “It’s toughened glass, by the way,” she said, pointing at the transparent surfaces around me. “I’ll go upstairs to clean the wound, but I’m sending Domingo to see you in a minute. You better be good.”

Blood started to trickle down my injured hand and onto the sticky floor, mixing on the ground with Julia’s. Natasha hadn’t taken my purse, so I pressed the wound against its fabric in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding.

Natasha went out, and a soft click echoed in the distance. All the lights went off, and we prisoners were left in complete darkness.

Chapter 38

Alba

My eyes gradually got used to the weak glow coming from the sparse emergency lights above the elevator.

I stumbled to an upwards position, feeling the sticky ground under the fingertips of my healthy hand but disregarding the nature of the substances smeared on it.

“Francesca!” I whispered, tapping on the partition between us. It consisted of two thick glass panes with a fine metallic grid embedded in the middle. Francesca was a formless black bundle in a corner, hunched like an old beggar, her dress turned to rags.

She crawled toward me, followed by a rumble of thick metallic chains.

“Alba?” Her voice was hoarse, and I wondered how much screaming would do that to a vampire’s throat. “Is that you?”

“Yes,” I answered hurriedly. “What did they do to you? Are you okay?”

She grumbled softly and flopped back down languidly on the stone floor before answering, “I’m so thirsty, Alba. So, so thirsty...”

I closed my eyes, unable to stand the sight.

“I’m sorry, Francesca. We’ll find you something to eat, but we need to get out of here first. Do you have an idea how?” I winced as the pain in my hand became sharper. I had tried to apply some pressure, but the blood kept dripping down my forearm.

“Are we alone now?” she asked weakly.

“Yes. But we must hurry. The guard is coming.”

“There’s no way to leave this place,” she said. “This is a glass coffin.”

“Can’t you just smash the glass and get us out?”

“I’m so weak... I can hardly speak. Even if I shatter the glass, these chains are indestructible. Tungsten chains. Vampireproof. You think I didn’t try?”

She rattled them, showcasing the wounds made on her wrists and ankles by the constant contact with the spiked metal shackles that restrained her.

“There must be a way. But we need to wake up Clarence first. What’s wrong with him?” My fingers clenched as I waited for her slow reaction to my question.

“A spell...” she muttered drowsily, as her eyes glazed over. “The witch cast a spell on him.”

“What kind of spell?”

“The Silver Cast...”

“What’s a silver cast?”

“What? Everyone knows about it... but I thought it was extinct by now.”

“Francesca, I don’t know about it,” I muttered, my patience wearing thin. “Will you tell me, please?” I knelt next to her from my side of the glass, and she approached me from hers. A small pool of fresh blood had started to gather on the floor, and I scooted over to avoid sitting directly on it.

Francesca blinked and swayed left and right like a drunkard, staring at my blood as it merged into a small puddle in the cell. “I can’t... think... I’m just so... thirsty...”

“Francesca, please!” I pleaded, wishing to shake her back into her senses. “Please, focus! I need you!”

She bared her fangs and grinned. For the first time ever, I saw the monster in her. Torture had tainted her fair beauty, leaving just a gaunt, demented expression on what once was the most beautiful creature I had ever laid eyes on.

The hydraulic hiss of the elevator caught my attention, and the door opened brusquely into the main space.

Domingo, the butler-bodyguard, burst out of the elevator and approached us with a frown.

“So now we keep witches in here, too,” he stated, crossing two muscular arms in front of his chest as he studied me.

He was still carrying a gun and, oddly, my first thought was, I hope he didn’t shoot Carlo. Since when did I care so much about Carlo?

“Natasha is turning this place into a freaking paranormal zoo.” He rolled his eyes. “What will be next? Elves and pixies? The freaking Tooth Fairy?”

He snorted and turned around to sit at a desk in the main area, overlooking our cells as he twirled the gun like a roulette in his hand.

Francesca had fallen back into her trance, weeping and moaning bitterly about her thirst. I leaned against Clarence’s cell, yearning to touch him. My breath created a veil of steam between us, blurring the image of his inert body on the sterile metal table. As I stared at him in tears he flinched in his sleep, as if acknowledging my presence.

“I’m the worst witch ever,” I murmured against the glass. It was hard and cold, and it reminded me of his lips. “This is all my fault.”

Clarence’s eyes flashed open for a second, and his head shook slightly, in what could have been a feeble “No.”

His head fell down on the hard table once again, this time turned toward me. I could see his whole face now, emaciated and wounded. There were red stains around the corners of his closed eyes, and dry tears mixed with blood over his temples.

He had been crying, and so was I now.

What was I going to do?

Were we all bound to die in this underwater grave, forgotten below the Venetian waterways?

Could this really be the end?

Would my children grow up with Minnie as their mother, believing I had abandoned them? Thinking I didn’t love them?

My thoughts slipped to the happy days back in The Cloister. To the day we had kissed on the roof of Saint Magdalene’s church. To the afternoon I had watched him play pick up sticks with my daughters, and his wide, heart-melting smile when I had been right and beaten him.

Pick up sticks.

I looked at the pillars holding the ceiling above us, studying the structure of the underwater basement. What would happen if I removed just one single stick out of a dozen? What if I removed two?

Francesca’s chains rattled again, and I traced them with my eyes. They were coiled around the steel pillars.

She had said those chains were made of tungsten: vampire hunters’ chains. I had read about them in the leaflet those Salem witches had given me, what seemed like an eternity ago. That leaflet was still in my purse, wasn’t it? I searched for it and Turanna’s mirror stared back at me from the inside of the bag, glowing faintly with a dim, purple glimmer. Just like my own.

A crazy idea sparked in my mind.

The guard was scrolling on his phone, oblivious to my scheming. Francesca stopped whining, and for a second her eyes regained a vague degree of sanity.

“I have an idea,” I whispered.

She tilted her head, like an expectant doll.

“I know a way...” I started to say.

“No talkie,” the guard grunted, banging the desk with a heavy paper punch.

Francesca’s glimpse caught mine as I allowed the blood from my wounded hand to pool and run under the glass partition between us. A quick glimpse of understanding ignited her eyes, and she prostrated herself on the floor, licking greedily the dark drops I was offering.

Chapter 39

Alba

“He’s about to leave for dinner,” Francesca murmured, pointing discreetly at the guard.

I nodded slightly, unwilling to attract the gorilla’s attention.

Francesca had licked the few drops of my blood which had seeped under the glass. She hadn’t complained about the bitter taste, which wasn’t so surprising, given her moribund state. The characteristic teal glow was now starting to return to her eyes, and I trusted her sanity would make a speedy reappearance, too.

The guard threw a dismissive glance in our direction before standing up and disappearing into the elevator in search of food.

As soon as the door closed with a thud, I turned back to Francesca.

“This is the plan,” I told her hurriedly. “You break the glass. I take care of the pillars.”

She nodded slowly. “I can do that.”

“Then I get us out of here. I have a magic mirror, and I think I know how to use it. If I hold your hand, it will take you with me. But I’ll need to get hold of Clarence’s, too.”

“Fine,” she said, exhausted. “But once you remove the four pillars we are tied to, the building is going to collapse over our heads. Have you considered that?”

“Leave it to me. I’m the expert here.” I took a deep breath, hoping I was right. I always won at pick up sticks, didn’t I? We just had to remove them in the right order, and clear out as fast as possible. “But I’ll need your help. Do you think you could hold the ceiling? Just for two minutes, so I can get to Clarence and cast the spell?”

“I could try.” Francesca smacked her lips, then bent down and licked the floor squeaky clean.

“Good. Let’s do it.”

She stood up, her fingerless hands raised in a magnificent stance despite the days of torture and starvation. She was such a resilient creature, Francesca. Her eyes set on fire, otherworldly and blue, and she gave me a sign with her head, inviting me to proceed.

I cowered in the furthest corner of the cell and took out Turanna’s mirror.

“If this goes wrong,” Francesca said, her voice back to its deep, melodic hum, “you should know that you and Julia are the only two witches I ever trusted. And I’m glad we met in this life.”

My awkward, grateful smile lasted less than a second, because Francesca’s colossal blow shattered the safety glass in a million pieces, triggering a deafening alarm. Amidst the roar, she leaped into my cell and smashed the wall to Clarence’s side with her naked fist.

Clarence was still unconscious, lying on the metal slab with his hands on his lap and his eyes closed. I ran to him and threw my arms around his ice-cold chest.

“Your turn,” Francesca said, tugging at her chains. The whole building shook as she did so, and a wave of panic raised from the pit of my stomach. “I trust you, Alba. Remember.”

At least someone did.

“You both need to get closer,” I shouted. “I need to touch you both at the same time!”

“I can’t reach him while I’m chained!” she yelled over the growing noise. “Find a way!”

A downward arrow of light shone over the elevator door. Someone was coming.

Clarence was heavy, too heavy for me.

“Stand in that corner,” I ordered Francesca, pointing at one of the master pillars. “I’ll drag Clarence to your side, blow the pillars and take your hand so we can teleport the hell out of here.”

She raised an eyebrow, echoing my doubts, but obeyed silently.

I recited the Fulminatio spell, imbuing all my hopes in the words as I pronounced them.

Rays of light flew through my arms and out of my fingers, and the pillars blasted one by one.

The explosions were deafening, so much that I didn’t even hear the elevator doors opening and the guard rushing toward us, pointing his gun at me.

The ceiling started to crumble, deadly boulders raining on us.

Francesca stood just like Atlas, holding the sky on her shoulders. The veins in her neck bulged, and a feral grunt escaped her throat.

I embraced Clarence, holding his lifeless body against my chest as I tried to drag him closer to Francesca.

The mirror glowed, blinding and purple.

Clouds of grey dust.

The outer walls exploding under the pressure of the water outside.

Dark streams rushing in from all sides.

The guard opening fire.

Francesca twisted herself and intercepted the bullet aimed at my heart. She never let go of the collapsing ceiling.

“Go! Now!” She shouted, as the bullet burned a growing hole in the middle of her chest.

Turanna’s mirror was so hot that I could smell my skin sizzling. There was no reflection on its smoldering surface, and I started to panic. Alice had told me, back in the museum, that it should turn reflective when activated. I forced myself to hold both Clarence and the magic tool, despite the horrible pain and burns it was causing me.

The skies crumbled over Atlas, over Francesca, over us. I couldn’t reach her anymore.

Just remember the verses I taught you, Julia had said in the dream, smiling in her silver shoes, and if you can’t find yourself in the mirror, you should be looking deeper.

I squeezed Clarence’s hand, and Julia’s words echoed in my mind, right before Francesca, and the guard, and the basement, all disappeared into a flash of purple light.

Chapter 40

Alba

Water bubbled in my ears, and I found myself hobbling over the sludgy bottom of the canals in complete darkness. The mirror had fallen from my hand, disappearing forever into the bottom of the Venice lagoon; but I was still holding Clarence, my elbow linked around his shoulder like a twining vine. He was still lifeless, and horribly stiff, which made the task of hauling him to the surface grueling at best.

And, to make things worse, I was drowning.

If I let go of him, I might get out of the water fast enough to save myself. He didn’t need to breathe, but I did.

Still, I could not leave him. Not in that state.

I swam upwards, not sure where upwards was. Clarence was lighter underwater, but his dead weight still made me clumsy and kept sinking me back.

I hadn’t had time to think where to teleport, so Turanna, or the mirror, must have decided for me. I guessed we were outside Natasha’s house, immersed in the water. In one of the deepest canals of the whole city. Lucky me.

My lungs hurt, and I longed to take a deep breath. But I knew that, if I did, I would be dead within minutes.

But if I didn’t, I would die before long, too.

I flailed my free arm in desperation, trying to spot a glow in the darkness: any signs of dry land. Water gushed in my ears and left a filthy sewage taste on my tightly closed lips.

I hadn’t perished tortured by Natasha; nor crushed under the weight of a collapsing building. Yet here I was, about to meet my end drowned in a fetid lagoon.

Unless I let go of Clarence.

The water trembled over my head, and a muffled noise reverberated around me.

A motorboat.

I kicked my legs in desperation, following the sound of the engine, disregarding the possibility of being run over. By then, I didn’t really care. I just wanted to breathe.

Breathe...

***

THE WORLD WAS ROCKING left and right.

Had I had too much to drink?

“Too much water, signorina, yes,” someone answered. I must have voiced my thoughts aloud. A man was sitting next to me, wearing an orange softshell jacket. He had wrapped me in a coarse grey blanket, and I was aboard an expensive-looking motorboat traveling along one of the canals under a plump full moon.

I looked around frantically, searching for Clarence. There was a clean bandage on my hand, and the wound had stopped bleeding.

I remembered swimming to the surface and clasping a wooden post. A group of tourists had found us and dragged us up to the pier.

But how I had ended up on a leather couch, in the cabin of a luxurious water taxi―seemingly losing Clarence in the process―was beyond my recollection.

Had he fallen back into the water?

Had he been found by humans?

I started to panic.

“Where are we going?” I asked the man in the orange softshell. There were two more people, but the other just kept staring at me in silence, with a mixture of pity and discomfort.

“You fell into the canals, madam. We were passing by on the way to our hotel and volunteered to take you to a hospital. You swallowed a few gallons of sewer water. Not the best after-dinner choice.”

As if on cue, something―an eel?―gurgled inside my chest, and I started to cough. He eyed me with sympathy.

“No, no, I don’t need a hospital, I’m perfectly fine,” I said, once I could finally stop coughing and gurgling, but he raised an eyebrow. “I’m serious. I just want to see my friend. The one who was with me. Where is he? There was a girl too. Young, blond hair,” I added, hoping Francesca had made it out of the crumbling building.

The man lowered his eyes and tilted his head toward the other two people, silently seeking their support.

“We didn’t see any girls, but about your other friend...” he started in a compassionate tone, then turned anxiously to an older lady who had been watching us from the other side of the motorboat.

She was draped in a black trench coat and could have been the man’s mother, because they shared the same aquiline nose. She sat next to me on the bench and took my hand, the way people usually do right before delivering terrible news.

“I’m sorry, madam,” she said softly. “One of the passersby happened to be a nurse. She checked your friend’s vitals...” She squeezed my hand and paused to make sure I understood what she was saying. “She advised us to take you to the mainland, to a hospital. She was really kind and stayed behind with him, to wait for the police and the...” she paused, “and the coroners.”

My chest tightened as she spoke.

Of course they had taken him for dead.

Clarence was dead, for goodness sake.

Had been so for two centuries: nothing wrong with that.

He was cold, rarely had a heartbeat, and breathed just when he felt like it.

What else were they to think?

I forbid myself to consider any other possibilities.

Still, Clarence in the hands of physicians, or the authorities, especially in his ill state, was extremely bad news. Much worse than the fact that he was relatively dead―I had already come to terms with that minor issue short after my arrival at The Cloister.

“Can we go back?” I croaked, trying to sound calm and failing miserably.

The tourists looked at each other, doubt clearly visible in their eyes. “Are you sure, madam? You don’t want to see a doctor?”

“Completely sure. Please. I need to see him.”

***

WHEN WE REACHED THE place where we had emerged from the canals, the moon was high in the sky and cast kaleidoscopic reflections over the tar-colored waters.

Carlo Lombardi was standing by the pier and waved at us.

“I know her,” he said to the water taxi driver. “You can leave her with me.”

He greeted me with a chin nod from the embankment.

“You know him?” The elder lady didn’t seem keen on trusting him. I didn’t blame her: he had never seemed very trustworthy to me, either.

“It’s okay,” I said, swallowing and hoping I wasn’t wrong. Carlo offered me a hand to disembark the motorboat, and I took it, leaning to speak in his ear.

“Do you know where... he is?” I whispered.

“Yes,” he answered curtly. After that, he said goodbye to the helpful tourists, reassuring them I would be fine with him. “You can go home, thank you for your help,” he told them. “I’m a cop, we are friends.”

“I’m not your friend,” I hissed after they left. He might have defended me against Natasha and provided me with a weapon, but it was him who had brought me to her in the first place.

I was still wet and shivering, and Carlo helped me wrap the thick borrowed blanket around my shoulders. It was heavy and a bit damp, and it kept slipping down; but it was better than walking around Venice in my soaked clothes, on a chilly January night.

“I saw the house blow up in the air from afar, and I got a feeling you had something to do with it,” he said. “It wasn’t hard to find you after that.”

“So, where is he?” I asked, scanning Carlo’s body language and trying to read his intentions. If he didn’t know where Clarence was, I had no reason to stay with him.

“Do you trust me?” he asked with an inscrutable squint.

“Of course not,” I retorted.

“Smart girl. But you will have to, if you want me to help you. I won’t be able to keep him there for too long. I might have picked that piece of scum off the sidewalk, but don’t expect me to do anything beyond that. I’m doing this for you, not him. He can go to hell, as far as I’m concerned.”

I tried hard to control my urge to strangle him.

“You still didn’t tell me where he is,” I pointed out. Was this a trick to lure me into yet another trap?

“There’s this place, not far from here...” he answered, steering us toward a winding alley, away from the main waterways.

“You will have to tie me, drug me and possibly kill me if you intend me to go into that dark alley with you,” I roared. “You and the witches sold me to Natasha. Do you think I’m stupid enough to step into yet another ambush?”

He sighed and gave me an exhausted glance.

“Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t know they were so crazy. The witches said Natasha wanted a brief interview with you. They didn’t mention she would carry it out in a dungeon.”

“You are sorry?” I screamed, and a couple of tourists stopped kissing just to stare at us, so I lowered my tone. “A whole house just collapsed over my head. I nearly drowned. My friends are... I don’t even know what became of them! They could all be dead, for all I know!” My jaw twitched, and I reminded myself I shouldn’t be shouting. “And you played a good part in all this.”

“Okay, look, yes, I’ve been working for Natasha. I’ve been finding vampires for her. She pays well, and I don’t like the bloodsuckers anyway. I don’t really know if she kills them, nor do I care if that’s what she wants them for. She probably does, eventually. It doesn’t count as murder if they were dead to start with, does it?”

He raised his eyebrows, and I growled as a reply.

“But living people,” he continued, “people like you and me... that’s a different story. You are not a soulless creature like them, so I didn’t expect her to jail you. So, yes, I’m sorry, and I’m trying to make it up to you. Don’t make this harder for me than it is already, okay?”

“First of all, they are not soulless,” I hissed. “And second, why is she so keen on hunting vampires? What does she need them for?”

He stared at me with half-closed eyes. “She wants to know what keeps them alive after death. Seems someone is willing to pay for the formula.”

“Someone, who?” I rubbed my hands together to warm them up.

“Do you think she shares her secrets with me?” He shrugged. “I was just a pawn in her game. Maybe the government, maybe a private investor: I have no idea. I just helped the witches get her the subjects she needed, that’s it.”

“Why should I believe you? Why should I go with you now? For all I know, Natasha could be waiting for me right now in the place you are taking me to.”

“I tried to defend you from her, didn’t I? I lied to the crowd on the pier and pretended I was a policeman to get your friend out of sight before the real cops arrived. I took him to the only safe place I know nearby, but I’m not the only one who has the keys. Sorry, but you’ll have to believe me or accept he might not be there tomorrow when you change your mind.”

“And why would you do this?” I asked with suspicion. “He tried to kill you.”

“Because I’m stupid, I guess.” He took out his wallet and extracted a small photograph from it, then handed it to me. “Look. This is Eleanor Lombardi,” he said quietly. It was a picture of him with a sweet-looking, curvy, red-haired woman. They were both smiling, and he still didn’t have any of the wrinkles which now festooned the corners of his blue eyes. “My wife.”

They looked happy together. I remembered what Berenice had told me about his wife’s death, and I felt a pang of pity for him.

“I’m... I’m sorry for your loss,” I said, handing him back the photo. “Berenice told me about her, back at the inn.”

“Did she? But did she tell you everything? Do you know how she died?”

“She said it was a violent death.”

“A vampire murdered my wife,” he murmured, waiting for my reaction. I gasped, not knowing what to answer. “Yes, she was an innocent. I saw the bastard jump off the window of our bedroom when I came home from a night shift. She was lying in bed when I found her, and everything was covered in blood. Her blood. There were no bite marks, but I had known about vampires since I was born. My great-grandfather and all the Lombardis before him were hunters. Such things were openly discussed in my family. That bastard must have traced me. He used my wife to settle the score with my long dead relatives.” His voice broke, and I felt truly sorry for him. “My wife’s case is still open for the police. It will forever be.”

I stared at him, paralyzed, Elizabeth’s rules echoing in my mind: “You will not kill gratuitously.” Whoever that vampire had been, it couldn’t have been anyone from The Cloister.

Or so I hoped.

“Sure this will be enough for you to understand how I feel about your... friends. I will never side with those creatures. They stole the only thing I ever loved. I have only hatred for them, and I wish them all dead. For good.”

I steadied myself against a metal fence overlooking the water, listening to the boats and the rumor of conversations around us. It was a busy evening in Venice, despite the cold and humidity.

“I’m so sorry this happened to you. I... I have no words.” I said, tugging at the corners of the blanket to keep it from falling to the ground. “But this doesn’t sound like a reason for you to help me. More like... the opposite.”

“Yes. I told you, I’m stupid.” His eyes were glassy, and he sounded so raw, so sincere. Gone was the cocky man from the plane. This was just a wounded, broken man telling me his life story, and I felt a sudden and deep empathy for Carlo Lombardi.

“So... why?”

“Because I’m sorry I dragged you into this mess, and I have a conscience after all. I like you, Alba. If you remember, I took you on a date on that boat. I brought you flowers. That was not part of my contract. You can imagine how I felt when I found you with him,” he said sorely. “And yes, I was jealous, and I’m sorry I set the inn on fire. It wasn’t on purpose. I didn’t expect your interview with Natasha to snowball into this nightmare. So, consider this my apology for everything that happened. Even though I think you are wrong on so many levels, and you’re going to regret your choices big time.”

***

WE MARCHED IN SILENCE for a while, the sounds of sirens and shouting voices looming in the distance. Natasha’s house appeared in front of us―or rather, what was left of it. The building had collapsed from the foundations, demolishing part of the neighboring houses in the process and covering the nearby streets and canals in mountains of rubble, which extended well beyond the embankment. The police had already taped off the area, and the hectic scene reminded me of a busy anthill.

“I have no idea what you did in there, and even less how you managed to get out alive,” Carlo commented, shaking his head. “They are saying it was a gas explosion, but I saw everything from afar. The house blasted into a purple flare: it was the weirdest thing ever. I don’t think gas explosions look like that.”

“In that you are right,” I said tersely. “At least the gas part.”

He pointed at a narrow street not far away.

“Follow me,” he said. I walked behind him, tired and numb under the soggy blanket. My bad cough was back and, if I didn’t find a change of clothes soon, I might very well die of pneumonia.

He pointed at a house on the other side of the alley, which must be at least a few hundred years old and showed clear signs of decline. It had a small, aged wooden door facing the alley. Carlo opened it and turned on the lights inside.

“Come in,” he said from a dusty hallway.

I glanced in and hesitated. A musty smell was coming from the inside. It must have been empty for a long time.

I tried to tune into my intuition, searching for clues of a trap. The place was absolutely silent, and Carlo stared at me, expectant.

“Are you coming in or not?” he asked with impatience.

I took courage and stepped in.

I followed Carlo along a somber corridor into what must have once been a living room. A large crucifix hung on the widest wall, and I recognized a set of stakes and knives, ordered by size, on a decrepit dresser.

“What’s this place?” I asked, taking one of the wooden stakes and weighing it in my hand. It was long and heavier than I had expected. And extremely sharp.

“Just a warehouse for Natasha and her minions to keep old stuff.”

“Looks like a vampire hunting museum,” I murmured, studying a row of moldy dry garlic garlands which dangled from most lamps.

“Museums are full of outdated things nobody uses anymore, but everything you see here is still perfectly functional.” He disappeared into a side room and peeked out of the door, waving at me. “Hurry up. Someone might come any minute.”

I left the stake back on the dresser and went after him.

“You should have seen the faces of those tourists when I appeared at the peer pushing Natasha’s wheelbarrow and pretending to be a cop...” Carlo was saying, but I stopped listening somewhere around the middle of his sentence, my eyes traveling from the vase full of dusty, dry roses on the bedside table and then to the man lying in an old bed with an ornate headboard.

Clarence lay asleep, and the expression on his face was peaceful now, almost angelic.

“So, here’s your Sleeping Beauty, as promised,” Carlo said with an impatient huff.

I ran to Clarence’s side, pushing aside whole curtains of cobwebs. Then I took his hand, burying my face in his damp, torn shirt, and started to weep aloud on his chest.

Carlo cleared his throat from the doorway and tapped his fingers against the doorframe. I turned to find him still glaring at us, with his arms tightly crossed.

“I’m going outside for a cigarette,” he said uncomfortably.

“No, wait! I don’t know how to wake him up,” I sobbed. “They told me it’s a spell, but I don’t know what to do about it.”

As I spoke, I remembered about Francesca, carrying the weight of a whole building on her very own, and the tears started to run down my cheeks once again.

Carlo frowned. “What spell?”

“I don’t know, I think it’s called The Silver Cast. Do you know anything about it?” I squeezed Clarence’s hand and stood up to face Carlo.

“I’ve heard about it,” he said with irritation. “It used to be a great way to tame vampires who didn’t want to cooperate. But I didn’t know there were still witches able to cast that one.”

“What does it do?”

“It creates a silver cast around the heart, what else? The silver seeps slowly into their bloodstream and keeps them quiet. It poisons them gradually and kills them after a while. It’s like a silver stake, only the effects are much slower.”

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “And how do I reverse it?”

“No idea, I’m not a witch. But, as far as I know, these creatures are quite tough, and they thrive on other people’s life energy, don’t they?”

He tilted his chin meaningfully toward my neck and bit his lower lip, making me feel oddly self-conscious.

“Oh, okay,” I said, as a rush of warmth flooded my cheeks.

“Yeah, that might do the trick.” Carlo averted his eyes. “I guess I’ll leave you alone now. I’m not sure I have the stomach to watch this. I’ll be outside if you need me.”

***

CLARENCE RESTED WITH his arms over his heart. The water had washed away the blood and grime from his face, but his nose appeared slightly too angulous, and his cheeks more sunken than usual. He wasn’t breathing, but his closed eyelids twitched faintly when I sat down by his side.

“It’s me, Alba,” I told him.

I removed the bandage from my hand and studied the cut: it was deep and still hurt. As soon as I opened my hand, the wound started bleeding again. A few crimson drops gathered over my palm, and I wiped them with the tip of my finger. I smeared the blood over his blue lips, turning them a shocking carmine color.

He took a deep breath but didn’t move.

“Wake up, Clarence,” I whispered, trying to shake his shoulders. I barely managed to nudge him.

I tried again. And again.

I pressed my finger against his lips, hoping he would smell the blood and wake up, but he didn’t react. He just lay there, lifeless and oblivious to my efforts.

What if Carlo had been wrong?

I decided not to consider such grim possibilities just yet.

What if my blood wasn’t good enough? It smelled horrible, didn’t it? Was that the problem? Had he been just polite when he said it didn’t bother him? What was I going to do?

Desperate, I licked the blood off the wound and bent over Clarence to kiss him.

I approached him slowly, letting my lips softly brush against his; hoping he would respond to my kiss. I softly tracked the contour of his mouth, pausing over the ridge of his upper lip.

Suddenly, his eyes flung open, crimson and glimmering, and he yanked the back of my head, tangling his fingers in my hair, in a way very much unlike the Clarence I knew. He licked the blood off my lips, then stared at me for a second before pulling me toward him with inhuman strength and sinking his sharp fangs on my neck, with such passion and need that I shrieked, startled by his abrupt reaction. My whole body shook with a mixture of panic and passionate elation as the pain gave way to pleasure in a matter of seconds.

He snarled and held me against his chest, drinking deep until a glimpse of realization finally reached his eyes and he sat up, a dismayed expression on his face.

“Alba?” he said, looking around in confusion. “Where am I? What happened?”

The color had returned to his cheeks, although it had probably left mine in the meantime. I let out a sigh of relief, not before stepping back and slightly away from him, my knees shaking with a mixture of rapture and shock.

“It’s fine,” I said, my voice quivering. “You woke up. You woke up... don’t worry.”

“I’m... I’m sorry,” he stuttered, staring at my neck with horror. “I didn’t know it was you. I thought I was dreaming. I was... I didn’t...”

“Shh.” I put my finger to his red lips. “It’s okay.”

I hugged him, pressing my cheek against his and letting my warmth extend to his skin.

Carlo appeared in the doorway. He must have heard my scream, because he arrived carrying a large stake and a hammer.

“Everything alright here?” he barked.

I nodded and covered the bites with one hand as I urged him with the other one to lower the stake. He left it on a dresser by my side. “In case you change your mind,” he mumbled.

“No, everything is great.” I grinned. “Your idea worked.”

“Awesome,” he said without much conviction, his eyes settling on Clarence’s blood-stained lips. “I can’t say I’m exactly happy to hear that, but I hope I gained your trust now.”

“I guess you did,” I answered slowly.

“We can’t stay here,” he said, eyeing Clarence with disgust. “It’s not safe. Come with me to the car, I know a place where we can stay in for a couple of days, until you decide what to do.”

“Okay, just give us a minute, will you?” I said.

“Yeah, okay, but hurry up.” Carlo turned his back to us and left the room. When I thought he was already gone, he peeked once more into the bedroom, addressing me like Clarence wasn’t even in the room, “And tell Sleeping Beauty that, if he ever tries to bite me again, I’m turning him into vampire dust, will you?”

Clarence’s eyes flashed, but I silenced him with a warning glance, aware of the vast vampire hunting arsenal available in the adjacent room.

I nodded to Carlo. “I’ll tell him,” I answered, and waited for his steps to fade.

“You scared me,” I said, sitting back on the edge of the bed.

“Forgive me,” he whispered. His eyes were back to a subdued shade of maroon, with no traces of light in them. “I... I was not myself.” He stood up, but his legs faltered, and he had to hold onto the dresser. “Actually, I was, and that is the problem.”

Clarence caressed the stake, forgotten on the chest of drawers, and lifted it pensively.

“I love all versions of you,” I said quietly. “You should know that.”

He sighed and kissed the top of my head without saying a word.

“You scared me because I thought you would never wake up again,” I clarified. “Otherwise, I’m fine. I just didn’t expect such an enthusiastic... greeting. You didn’t hurt me. I was just a bit surprised.”

He smiled with bitterness. “Thank you for being you,” he said. “Sincerely. I promise this will not happen again. If it does, feel free to use this on me while I sleep.” He handed me the stake. “I reckon the witches taught you to?”

“No, they didn’t. They think I’m a disgrace.” I shrugged, then left the stake where it had been. “It’s okay if it happens again, just... give me a little warning first, will you? I don’t think Sleeping Beauty bit Prince Florimond like that in the fairy tale.”

“I don’t think the good Fairy Hippolyta looked like Carlo, either,” he commented.

We looked at each other and snorted.

“Come on, let’s go,” I told him, “the good Fairy Hippolyta must be getting impatient out there.”

Clarence took a tentative step but stumbled against the dresser once again. I extended my hand and offered it to him. “Let me help you.”

“I’m too heavy for you,” he protested, reluctant to take it.

“Give me some credit,” I retorted. “I got you out of Natasha’s house, didn’t I? I can hold you if you need me to. I’m stronger than I look.”

He wrapped an arm around my shoulders.

“As always, you are right,” he said with a nod, sniffing the tender spot behind my ear as we left the dark bedroom behind. “Walking together is so much easier.”

Epilogue

We sailed the highway, swift as an arrow, possibly the oddest crew which ever traveled the Northern Italian roads: a vampire-hunting corrupt policeman, an inept witch wrapped in a damp blanket and a puzzled, hungry vampire; the three of us sharing a red and slightly too small Alfa Romeo, on our way to Tuscany’s undulating hills.

Carlo’s family property was located on top of a steep slope, overlooking vast rows of vineyards. He told us they usually rented the house to tourists, but it was vacant when we arrived. The property manager, a kind and discreet neighbour, had already changed the sheets and was waiting for us with hot coffee, bread and jam when we parked on the driveway right before sunrise.

I smirked as Clarence fiddled with a teaspoon and pretended to sip his coffee, complimenting the housekeeper with flawless politeness. Just in case, I held his arm to keep him from leaping on the housekeeper’s neck. It was obvious from his clumsy behavior that he was still thirsty and confused, but the blue tinge to his skin was gone, replaced by a slightly more human-looking, albeit sickly pallor. For some reason, he didn’t seem to remember much from the moment he had been captured by the witches until he woke up to the taste of my blood on his lips.

“I can’t stay,” Carlo said, once the kind neighbor went back home. The car ride had been awkwardly silent, mostly because Carlo refused to talk to Clarence and vice-versa. As for me, I was just thankful they hadn’t tried to kill each other. “I’m booking a flight for this evening and going back to Emberbury.” He threw me a sidelong glance. “What about you?”

I watched the steam rise from the coffee cup between my hands. “I’d like to remain in Italy, at least for a couple of days, until I find out what happened to the others. If you don’t mind us staying here a little longer.”

Carlo nodded, watching the vineyards from the old-fashioned kitchen window, and handed me a bunch of keys. “Okay. Stay as long as you want. Give the keys to Maria before you go, and feel free to call me when you get back.” He scribbled his phone number on a piece of scrap paper, which reminded me that I had no operative phone at all.

“I’ll see,” I answered. “Thank you for everything,” I added, not sure whether thanks were in order after all our ups and downs.

“See you in Emberbury,” Carlo said, and slammed the door behind him.

“Hopefully not,” Clarence muttered, and I smiled at him, relieved to have him back.

***

THE NEXT DAY, THE NEIGHBOR lent me her van, and I drove to the village to get myself a new phone. The first thing I did was try to ring up Alice in case she had news about Francesca, Julia and Ludovic, but she was unavailable. After that, I called Minnie and finally spoke to my daughters, who were happy and well. On my way back to the villa, I bought cheese, cookies and vegetables from a stall by the road and devoured half of my haul during the ride.

I found Clarence in the wine cellar, where he had made himself a cozy nook in a trunk to spend the day away from sunlight.

“Any news?” he asked me as I reached the end of the stairs.

I shook my head. “No. I can’t reach Alice to ask her about Natasha.” I took a seat on the stool next to him. “But Katie and Iris are okay.”

“That’s nice to hear,” he said, rubbing my back fondly, although his wrinkled forehead gave away his concern.

“Natasha said Julia and Ludovic had been relocated to France,” I told him, remembering our conversation in Venice. “But Francesca...”

He held his head in his hands over the wooden bar counter but remained silent. I had explained to him everything that happened while he was unconscious, and some of his memories seemed to be seeping back, blended with bizarre dreams and visions.

“I can’t believe I might not see her again.” He avoided my eyes and stared at the mosaic on the wall, lost in his recollections. I rested my head in the crook of his neck, allowing him time to grieve, and he let out a deep breath.

“She was always so brave. Much more than I,” he breathed into my hair.

“She is really brave,” I corrected him. “More than all of us combined.”

We remained silent for a while, sharing a turmoil of unspoken, grim reflections.

“I’m sure there’s still hope,” I said, squeezing his hand.

“And Julia. And Ludovic,” he continued, in a distraught tone. “Just when I found out they were still alive, I lost them again.”

“We’ll find them.”

I stood up and placed my hands on his shoulders, trying to massage his rock-hard back with my healthy hand. It was more difficult than it seemed at first sight. He placed his hand over mine with affection and gave me a faint, appreciative smile.

“You should go back to Emberbury and check on your daughters. Talk to Elizabeth, too,” he added with a sad tinge in his voice. “She will know what to do.”

I thought about my phone conversation with Minnie. She had found it strange that I hadn’t answered for so long, but I had lied about losing my phone, and she had believed me. For a Harvard graduate, she wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer. But judging by the pictures she had sent me, the girls were doing well in her charge. Still, I missed them so much.

“Maybe you’re right,” I answered. “But what about you?”

“I’ll leave right after you. As soon as I feel good enough to withstand the crossing.”

I swallowed, wondering when that would be. He looked livelier this morning, and I prayed the Silver Cast spell had been reversed for good. But what if he changed his mind and disappeared for weeks once again, just like he had done a few times before? He lowered his gaze, possibly reading my mind, and made the stool swivel so we were facing each other.

“I know what you are thinking,” he said, “but I have learned a lesson out of this.” He caressed my cheek with his thumb. “I’m not leaving you again. Ever. I promised you that night, when you were a ghost. And I promise you now that you are not.”

I closed my eyes, too overwhelmed to answer.

“Unless, that is, you are already fed up with this old, indecisive vampire and his whims,” he added, cupping my face in his hands.

“Who ghosted me and then bit me,” I pointed out with a tiny simper. “Twice, to be precise.”

Clarence tilted his head and glanced away, looking embarrassed. “Sorry about that. I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“Don’t worry, I have seen worse,” I teased him, and his eyes glimmered dangerously.

He stood up and started to study the intricate glass mosaic which adorned the wall behind us.

“It’s spectacular, isn’t it? What do you think?” he asked me with a half-smile, brushing the tip of his finger against the soft glass tiles.

“Are you trying to change the subject?” I admonished him.

“No.” He chuckled and vaguely vampire-blushed. “Fine, perhaps I am. Do you really want to continue that route? Alone and locked in a remote cellar with a thirsty vampire?”

“Hm.” Did I? I was quite weak myself after everything that had happened. As suggestive as his offer might sound, it would have to wait.

I turned to the mosaic.

“Maybe you’re right. So, if you want my honest opinion about this... piece of art, it’s not the ugliest I have seen, but...” I stopped mid-sentence.

“But what?”

“I don’t know. I never understood the appeal of mosaics. You first shatter a bunch of perfectly usable tiles, spend days putting them together like a puzzle, and end up with a picture made out of mismatched shards. Isn’t the whole thing a bit ridiculous? The final product looks like a broken vase glued together. It will never be seamless. It will never be... perfect.”

“That, it will never be,” he agreed, placing a naughty kiss on the crown of my head. “I agree.”

“Then why do you find mosaics so stunning?”

“Because, my dear Isolde,” he said dreamily, scooping me into his arms, “the fact that someone managed to put them together after being so broken makes them short of a miracle.”

––––––––

End of Book 2

BOOK 3: Witches’ Masquerade

“So be it, let me die:

but to save yourself long memories,
listen awhile.

King’s daughter,
my life is not only in your power
but is yours of right.

My life is yours
because you returned it to me twice.”

Tristan

The Romance of Tristan and Iseult, M. Joseph Bdier

Chapter 1

Alba

As soon as I saw the vampire queen waiting for me by the arrival gate at Emberbury International Airport, I knew the rest of the evening was going to be much less pleasant than the long transatlantic flight itself―which was no small feat, considering I hated those with a passion.

My plane had landed after 3:00 a.m., and I was one of the first passengers to disembark. Being the only one without a suitcase had certain drawbacks, but it made my trip extremely quick and breezy. It should be pointed out that my travel minimalism hadn’t happened by choice: most of my stuff had burned down in a hotel fire back in Italy, while I tried―and failed―to take a relaxing vacation... all with the very respectable purpose of finding myself and not killing anyone in the process. I hadn’t achieved any of the latter, and things had kept snowballing since then.

Elizabeth followed me silently to the taxi stand, not even bothering to offer me a lousy hello. Things must have been dire for a woman of her status to take the trouble to show herself in a crowded, public place. Elizabeth Swamp rarely left The Cloister, unless to rapidly quench her thirst, and even when she did, she took great care to help everyone forget they had ever met her. Something told me that this evening was a first for her in many respects.

“May I share your ride?” she asked, untangling her Victorian frock from the wheels of an abandoned baggage trolley.

“Hi, Elizabeth... long time no see.” I forced myself to smile, opening the door of the taxi for her. “Of course you can. Please get in.”

She gathered her skirts, filling all the space in the back with a mass of pine green velvet and tulle which made the taxi look like the van of a clandestine fabric dealer. Seeing there would be no room for me to travel beside her, I took a seat in the front and started to give the driver directions to get us to The Cloister.

“Excuse me,” Elizabeth said, lifting a finger from behind the fabric bundle hiding half of her face, “that’s not the right address. We are staying at Westside Avenue.”

“Are we?” I asked, perplexed. Last time I had checked, there was a rundown property at that address, the majority of its furnishings consisting of cobwebs and worm-eaten grand pianos. Besides, all my things were in The Cloister, and I had absolutely no personal items with me apart from the filthy clothes I was wearing and a half-empty backpack with my passport.

“How did you know about my flight?” I asked, reclining against the headrest and stifling an exhausted yawn. The past weeks in Italy had been taxing, and I had hoped for a good night’s sleep at last―sadly, my humble dream seemed to be drifting further and further away.

“You sent a communication,” she replied in a calm voice, and it took me a second to understand she meant an email, “and you also taught us how to use the information highway. I was always a scholarly woman.”

I nodded in admiration. I hadn’t thought her able to read my emails, but I had sent one from Tuscany anyway, just in case. Apparently, I had created a monster with my teachings; or better said, enhanced the monster she already was with a sprinkle of useful technology.

***

THE REST OF THE CAR ride took place in silence; the matters we needed to discuss were all too sensitive to be tackled in front of a stranger.

By the time the driver pulled over and announced our destination, I had dozed off. The sudden lack of movement woke me up just in time to see Elizabeth extending him a tip which would have been enough to cover a round trip to Vegas. In a limo. With champagne.

Elizabeth and I got out of the car avoiding each other’s gaze, while she dug up the keys to the main door. They were, as usual, buried in a planter. She closed the door behind us, leaving the space around us in complete darkness.

“Please, take a seat,” Elizabeth said, disappearing into the depths of the old townhouse. She might have forgotten that I didn’t share her superb vampire sight and wouldn’t be able to find a chair in total blackness.

A match hissed on the other side of the room, and soon a soft orange light illuminated the space. I looked around, but I still couldn’t find anything to sit on, so I let myself flop on the floor, using my backpack as a cushion. The place smelled of mildew and old memories, many of them involving Clarence.

“I can’t believe I didn’t foresee this,” Elizabeth spat, dragging an antique armchair out of nowhere and sitting down on it with royal flair. So they did have furniture after all, but she wasn’t going to offer me any. I shrugged, sprawled out at her feet like the sworn vassal I was, and lowered my gaze as I waited for her imminent accusations. “My entire life’s endeavors falling to pieces because of a witch... larva.”

She tapped her long, sharp nails on the gilded arms of the chair and studied me with half-closed eyes. Exhaustion had made me drowsy, and that might have been the reason Elizabeth suddenly didn’t seem as formidable as she usually did. In the dimly lit house, with her skirts oddly crumpled around her knees, she looked like a very tired middle-aged lady after a Halloween party which had gone on for too long.

“I should kill you,” she said. “I should have eliminated you as soon as I saw you.”

She motioned for me to stand up, and I grimaced. If she really wanted to kill me right there and right then, there wasn’t much I could do to prevent it. Hopefully, she would kill me fast, at the very least. As she approached me, I wondered what would become of my daughters after I was gone, and I got a knot in my stomach.

Luckily for me, she changed her mind and sat back again. I sighed in relief, but it lasted only until she formulated her next question.

“Where is Clarence?” she enquired, her lips a thin, accusatory line. “Why didn’t he come with you?”

“He’s still in Italy, but he’ll be here soon, I hope. He wasn’t feeling well enough to fly on his own, and traveling by plane wouldn’t have been safe for him. Lots of security cameras and mirrors, and perhaps sunlight too.”

A ladder of fine lines covered Elizabeth’s forehead. “He shouldn’t have gone to Italy after you,” she said. “None of you should have left The Cloister without my permission.”

“It was all my fault. I caused all this mess. I’m so sorry, Elizabeth.”

I was. I truly was.

“He’s like a son to me. I saved every single member of The Cloister from a horrible fate. I found them when they were lost: most were outcasts, crazed with bloodlust; others were blinded by their thirst for revenge... but all of them had one thing in common: they were worthy despite their dire circumstances. I saw their value and worked to bring their true selves back to the surface.”

“You’ve been very kind to us all,” I said, hoping to appease her. At that point, keeping the vampire queen in a good mood seemed like a great step toward surviving the night.

“Kind?” she growled. “Kind! You know what would have been kind? Telling me in that communication of yours that Francesca wasn’t coming to Emberbury and why. Tell me, Alba, why? Why isn’t she here either?”

I remained silent. It wasn’t accidental that I hadn’t given her too many details in my email. First of all, I didn’t even expect her to read it, and I was also worried about strangers trying to spy upon us. And second, I hadn’t decided whether to reveal the truth about Julia. As far as Elizabeth knew, Julia had died thirty years ago. Telling her the whole story would have compromised Francesca’s safety, as she had betrayed Elizabeth’s rules to help the previous witch of The Cloister. But then again... Francesca might be dead for all I knew. I closed my eyes and held my head between my knees, still shaken by the very real possibility of never seeing Francesca again.

“You owe me an explanation, and don’t you dare lie to me,” Elizabeth warned me, “I want to know exactly what happened while you were away and where Francesca is. And remember, I can hear your heartbeat. I can smell your fear polluting the air of this room. If you think you can lie to an old vampire and get away with it, you are more naïve than I thought.”

“Okay.” I slumped closer to the floor, trying to become invisible, and Elizabeth’s eyes shone red and menacing. “Maybe I should start by telling you that Julia is still alive.” I waited for her reaction, but she remained deceivingly stoic. I swallowed and continued, “She’s alive, or at least she still was when I met her. She asked me to go to Italy so she could teach me magic, but in truth, she wanted me to help her rescue her lover... I mean husband... from vampire hunters. Francesca was there too, and well, the hunters...”

“Julia.” Elizabeth nodded, realization sinking in. “Julia is still alive... because they turned her into a vampire... of course.” She stood up and started to pace, her footsteps inaudible in the drafty room. “So Ludovic was with her all this time.” She shook her head. “I was such a fool. And Francesca knew everything but hid it from me, didn’t she? Of course, she would do anything for her brother.”

I nodded in silence, allowing Elizabeth to figure everything out by herself.

“I still can’t believe they succeeded. Most witches die, go insane or self-destruct when turned into vampires. Our customs don’t sit well with their... Goddess,” she pronounced the last word with a mocking tone. “I suppose Julia told you I’m evil to enforce the Five Rules... but look at the chaos she caused with her little disruption: it proves I was right all along. There’s a reason everyone under my watch is asked to swear under The Five Rules. Just five. They protect all of us from the hostile world outside. But you witches are always smarter, aren’t you?” She lifted my chin, forcing me to look into her glimmering eyes. “What have you done, Alba? What have you done?”

“I’m sorry,” I muttered. Her fingers dug into my skin painfully, but I didn’t dare move. “I... I’ll fix it,” I added in a shaky voice, even though I wasn’t sure that what I had started was fixable.

“Hunters,” she snarled. “We managed to remain invisible for two centuries, but this is what you get if you mingle with witches. Who were they? What did they want?”

I told Elizabeth about Natasha Grabnar and her underwater laboratory full of moribund vampires and how we had escaped the secret prison under the Venice channels, losing Francesca in the process.

“You had better bring them back,” she ordered. “Bring my children back to me. I didn’t spend half a century mending their souls just for you to turn them into a wreck once again.”

“I didn’t turn anyone into a wreck.”

“You have absolutely no idea what you are meddling with. You can’t even imagine what Francesca was like when she came to me, let alone Clarence. He was broken, a self-destructing fireball of hatred. He will never completely overcome what he did to his father. What they did to each other.”

“He killed him, didn’t he?” I asked, although I thought I knew the answer.

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. “He didn’t tell you? Interesting.”

“He told me part of the story, but I don’t know what happened in the end.”

“Maybe you aren’t supposed to know.”

Her almond eyes were still an inch away from mine, her face a perfect, ageless slate, and her fangs shone between her slightly parted lips.

“So... you are not going to kill me, are you?” I managed to keep my voice firm, despite the turmoil inside.

She glared at me, her eyes glowing slightly golden now, and sighed. “If I were to kill you... would that solve my problem?”

I shook my head very slowly, cowering against the wall behind me. “You know I didn’t mean to cause any harm.”

She huffed. “Yes, I’d love to be rid of you, but no, I’m not going to kill you today. I should have never allowed any witches under our roof. I regret the day I gave in to Francesca’s wishes to take Julia in. It was a mistake.”

“So... am I fired then?”

Her bitter laughter took me by surprise. “You took a blood oath, for all that is wicked and unholy! That’s not a human contract you can just terminate. It’s a bond for life, and only death can break it. As long as you are alive, it’s still valid, and you will honor it.” The smirk vanished from her blood-red lips, and she produced a small envelope out of the depths of her corset. “These are Clarence and Francesca’s documents. They might need them for travel if they were injured. Bring them back or die trying. If not, I will kill you myself, and it will not be a merciful death.”

I nodded, taking the envelope with shaky hands.

“I’m glad we can agree on this,” Elizabeth said, turning her back to me and heading to the door. “You can’t come back to The Cloister with me. The hunters might be following you. You are allowed to stay here, but don’t you dare come near Saint Anne’s.”

“I will bring Clarence back,” I assured her. “As for Francesca, I’m not sure I can promise you anything because, for all I know, she might be...”

“Don’t you dare say the word,” Elizabeth warned me. “If anything happened to her because of you, you shall be sentenced to death. And this time, not even Clarence’s pleas will be enough to save you.”

“I... I understand. I’ll do my best to find her. I swear.” I swallowed. “Please have mercy, Elizabeth. I’ll do anything. Just... don’t kill me... please?”

“Isn’t it fascinating,” she said, curiosity illuminating her face, “how mortals get so attached to their brief, worthless existence. I wonder if you could enlighten me, Alba... why exactly are all of you so afraid of dying?”

Chapter 2

Alba

After Elizabeth left, I remained alone in the empty house in the disturbing company of my growing troubles. Soon it would be morning, and I decided it wasn’t worth the effort to go out and find a hotel for just a couple of hours. Instead, I walked upstairs, candle in hand, and found a dusty bed with linens in one of the moldy bedrooms. Sleep eluded me, though, so I stared at the ceiling thinking about Elizabeth’s threats until morning crept through the thin slits of the blinds and announced it was time to get up and start getting things done.

I was crawling around the floor, searching for my shoe―which had got lost in a massive nest of dust bunnies under the bed―when a flapping of wings blew away the dust and revealed my lost piece of footwear.

A large raven, its feathers sprinkled with white and gray, fluttered its way out of the bedroom fireplace and shook its wings to get rid of the soot and ash covering it. After that, a puff of white smoke hid the bird for a couple of seconds, and out of it came a dusty Jean-Pierre, his white hair and eyebrows covered in a light layer of ashes. He was carrying a blanket and a brown paper bag clutched against his coal-black waistcoat.

“Ma Cherie,” he said with a bow as he rushed to hug me. “I’m so pleased to see you again. Elizabeth forbade us to come, but of course, I needed to check on our lovely little witch!”

We remained joined in a silent embrace for a few moments with our eyes closed, until he tilted his head back and started to sniff me with clear disgust. “Why do you smell like Roquefort cheese?” he asked. “Have you bathed lately?”

I smelled my clothes, and sure enough, I detected the musty scent Jean-Pierre was talking about. “Last time I showered it was in another continent, but I also think these bedsheets are a bit moldy. Sorry.” I grinned in apology. “Let’s go downstairs. The smell is worse here in the bedroom.”

Jean-Pierre offered his elbow and escorted me gallantly down the stairs, then led me to the same armchair where Elizabeth had been sitting the night before. Once he had made sure I was comfortably seated, he kissed the back of my hand. “You are colder than I,” he commented with concern, then handed me the blanket he had been carrying and glanced at the large fireplace in the corner. “Let me light a fire for you.”

After that, he disappeared into a dark doorway and came back balancing a pile of logs taller than him. Patiently, he stacked the logs in neat rows, kneeling by the fireplace. “Everything here is so damp,” he complained, wiping his hand on his trousers. Using a match, he tried to kindle a wilted bunch of pine needles, but after many failed attempts and half a box of matches, there wasn’t even the slightest trace of a fire, although I had learned plenty of swearwords in French. “Damned tinder... all useless!” Jean-Pierre shouted in frustration.

“Yeah, I hear all guys there are players,” I mumbled, my mind too busy evaluating Elizabeth’s threats and the impossible task I had been entrusted with. “Loss of time, all that swiping. One could do better sweeping chimneys. Or so they say.”

“Excuse me?” Jean-Pierre arched his eyebrows, rolling up an old, musty newspaper to use instead of the pine needles. He inspected the inside of the fireplace, making sure the chimney wasn’t blocked.

I shook my head, forcing myself to return to the present moment. “I’m sorry, sometimes I don’t even know what I’m saying. It’s been a crazy couple of weeks, and my head is a mess.” Noticing his frustration with the fire, I got my backpack and found a lighter and a few old receipts: perhaps not the best tools, but at least they were dry. I handed them to Jean-Pierre, who turned the lighter in his fingers with puzzlement, pressing on the base instead of the spark wheel. It was obvious he had never seen one before. “Here, let me do it,” I said, getting impatient.

He was right―everything in that house was too damp. But I was starting to feel edgy, as it was clear that Jean-Pierre wouldn’t give up until he made sure it was warm enough for me. All I wanted was him to sit down already and update me on the current situation in The Cloister.

I clicked my fingers with annoyance, trying to think of an alternative. As I did it, purple sparks came out of my fingertips, lighting the room for a second.

“Uh-huh!” Jean-Pierre clapped and pointed at the fading sparks with admiration. “Very nice. Do it again!”

I repeated the clicking motion, and the sparkling intensified, creating a soft purple glow around us. With a wave of my hand, I directed it toward the logs in the fireplace: a thin purple fog came out of them and disappeared into the chimney, but nothing else happened. I tried to generate more sparks, but the trick had stopped working.

“Pure luck,” I said with a sigh. “As usual, I don’t know how I did it.”

Jean-Pierre inspected the firewood, rubbing a stick with his fingers and smelling it.

“Good job anyway,” he said with an appreciative nod, lighting one of the thinnest twigs, “looks quite dry now.”

“So, why are you here?” I asked him, hauling Elizabeth’s armchair next to the fireplace and rubbing my hands to warm them up. “Aren’t you worried Elizabeth will find out you came to see me?”

Jean-Pierre shrugged, reclining against the fireplace. He was dressed in black from head to toe, and his snowy hair shone slightly golden and orange by the first flames of the fire.

“I am, but I wanted to make sure you were alright. Also, it worries me that you will not be able to solve all this on your own.”

I plopped into the armchair again. He was so right. I had no idea how I was going to bring Francesca back to The Cloister. “So, you heard the news.”

Jean-Pierre nodded. Elizabeth must have told everyone about my failed vacation while I was tossing and turning in a moldy bed till the wee hours of the morning.

“I know about Francesca, but tell me, ma belle, what’s wrong with Clarence?” he asked cautiously, crouching to poke at the fire.

“Nothing is wrong with him. He’s just recovering from a curse, but he should be here soon. He was tired, that’s it.”

“A curse?” Jean-Pierre raised an eyebrow. “Well, that’s interesting. Not many modern curses could make a vampire... tired. Do you, by any chance, know its name?”

“I think it was called The Silver Cast. Have you heard about it? Francesca mentioned the name, but I didn’t have the chance to ask her for details. I think it’s supposed to encase the heart in a thin layer of silver, which seeps slowly into a vampire’s blood...”

“...and kills them slowly but relentlessly,” Jean-Pierre finished the sentence for me with a gloomy nod.

“Yes,” I said calmly, “but we managed to reverse the curse, so he should be fine soon.” I tried to sound reassuring.

“Did you? How?” His tone was skeptical and curious at the same time.

“Well, you know... Carlo...” No, he probably didn’t know him. “He’s a former vampire hunter I met on the plane. He suggested we could reverse the curse the way vampires usually solve everything... if you know what I mean.” I was feeling suddenly coy for some absurd reason, overwhelmed by the memories of Clarence’s bites and kisses in Venice after fleeing Natasha’s prison. I knew I had no reason to blush in front of Jean-Pierre: as much as he enjoyed playing the role of an innocent monk, everyone in The Cloister knew he was one of the least innocent vampires to walk on Earth.

Jean-Pierre’s mouth curved in a cunning, delighted smile. “Oh. Glad to hear he finally saw reason. I was starting to think there was something wrong with him.”

“What are you talking about?”

He caressed the top of my head. “Nothing, nothing. I’m just pleased you two are getting along again. I remember you had fallen out a little when you left The Cloister. The only problem is...” His expression turned somber, and he remained suddenly silent.

“Yes?” I invited him to continue.

“I’m not sure you want to hear this.”

“Hear what?”

He fidgeted with the buttons of his waistcoat, staring at the floor, and I puffed with impatience, about to pull out my hair. “What’s wrong? What’s the problem?”

“It’s about the Silver Cast,” he said, his smile completely vanished. “If what you are saying is true... I know about this curse. It was very popular a few centuries ago, when we were forced to battle against witches.”

“Finally! I’ve been having a hard time finding information about it. Clarence doesn’t seem to know much, and...”

“Oh, Clarence does know,” Jean-Pierre interrupted me, rolling his eyes, “we fought together back then. He saw many of our kind succumb to the curse. But I can understand why he would hide this piece of information from you.”

“Hide what? Will you tell me already?”

“I don’t want to worry you, ma belle,” Jean-Pierre said ominously, taking my hand in his, “and I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news... but someone should have told you that The Silver Cast is not a reversible curse.”

Chapter 3

Alba

“What do you mean it’s not reversible?” I shouted, jumping up from the armchair to look straight into Jean-Pierre’s eyes.

Jean-Pierre put his hands on my shoulders and sighed. “It used to be a well-known vampire slaughtering spell. Deadly, but extremely hard to cast. I am surprised there are witches out there who still remember it.”

“But Clarence said he was feeling better,” I said, crossing my arms. “He would have told me if he wasn’t!”

Jean-Pierre raised an eyebrow. “Would he?”

I held my breath, realization sinking in. Had he known the truth all this time? Did he know the curse was not reversible? Why had he sent me away then?

I growled, pulling at the ends of my hair. “That. Stupid. Vampire!”

“Yes... as you know, the curse creates a cast around the heart.” Jean-Pierre looked at me, expectant, and I invited him to continue. “What you might not know is that this silver cast later extends to the rest of the body, consuming the life energy of the victim. And once all their energy is gone, they slowly turn translucent until they vanish forever, turning into dust.”

“Oh my God,” I gasped. “That’s horrible.”

Jean-Pierre hugged me. “I’m sorry, Alba. I am sure his intention was not to worry you unnecessarily.”

“Unnecessarily?” I shouted, kicking the heavy armchair.

“Calm down, will you please?” he said. “There might be a way. I’ll look into it and get back to you. Don’t lose hope just yet.” He reached for the brown paper bag he had been carrying on his arrival, now forgotten on a dresser, and handed it to me. “Here, have a croissant. Croissants always make everything better.”

***

JEAN-PIERRE FLEW AWAY, promising to research more about The Silver Cast and leaving me with a still-warm French pastry I didn’t feel like eating. After a while holding the poor croissant and staring at it with disdain, I followed Jean-Pierre’s advice and ate half of it.

I was considering what to do with the other half, when my phone rang, and Carlo Lombardi’s voice greeted me from the other side.

“I hear you are back in Emberbury,” he said. It was early―too early to call anyone but your own mother in an emergency―but Carlo Lombardi was one of those people who thought his attention was always the most wonderful gift anyone could receive. I had texted him my new phone number and informed him of my arrival; perhaps not the smartest thing to do, but I couldn’t think of anyone else. It was good to have someone know I had returned, in case Elizabeth decided to kill me and get rid of my body.

“I’m back, yes,” I said.

“Where are you staying?”

Good question. Even though I had come to trust Carlo, to some extent, there was no way on earth I would have shared with him the location of The Cloister, nor the one of the house which the vampires used as their official address.

“I’m staying at a friend’s house.” Not a lie.

“Are you busy today?” he asked. “I think we should talk.”

“Actually, I am. I need to pick up my daughters. I hope they still remember me.”

As soon as I said it, I realized that this dark and cold house wouldn’t be suitable for Katie and Iris to stay. If they were to live with me again, I needed to find a better place until Elizabeth allowed me to go back to The Cloister.

“Okay, then let’s have dinner tonight,” Carlo suggested. “Do you like Mexican food?”

I grumbled, hesitating. “I do, but...”

“It’s not a date,” he clarified, sounding offended. “I don’t care about you and whatever you have with the bloodsucker. But we need to talk. Meet me at eight o’clock at Taco Hell, on Queen Street.”

“Such a perfect name,” I said, exhaling with relief. “Okay, see you there tonight.”

Chapter 4

Alba

I took a bus to Mark’s new apartment, which was very close to the courthouse: a place filled with unpleasant memories of my ex-husband, who I was about to see. In need of courage to survive the encounter, unavoidable if I was to pick up my daughters, I grabbed a takeaway espresso by the bus stop and drank it in one single gulp. It didn’t make me braver right away, but it helped appease the confusion and tiredness caused by jet lag.

It was Saturday, a week or so away from Valentine’s Day. The whole city had gone crazy with perfume ads, red hearts and pink garlands everywhere: funny how stores started celebrating V-Day a bit sooner each year. My thoughts drifted to Clarence, and I wondered what he might be up to, alone in Carlo’s villa in Italy. I wished he was here with me in Emberbury. I couldn’t remember ever going on a proper date on Valentine’s Day, and I was sure the company of a handsome vampire would have made it an exciting experience.

Definitely more exciting than meeting grumpy Mark before caffeine kicked in.

He caught me yawning as he opened the door and greeted me with a growl. “I didn’t expect you so early,” he complained, chewing a piece of toast with avocado. His blond hair was tousled, like he had just got out of bed, and he was wearing an expensive, though understated, t-shirt with matching sweatpants.

“That life-coach of yours from London seems to be working wonders on your manners, Mark,” I commented. I meant it―it was a clear improvement compared to the last time. No death-threats, for a start. “What was his name again?”

“Vladimir,” he answered. He answered! Yes, there was visible improvement going on. “Minnie will make you coffee,” he added then, perhaps exhausted after refraining from insulting me for a whole sixty seconds, “I have things to do.”

Mark disappeared into one of the rooms, leaving me in the middle of his new, open-plan kitchen, which was as empty and sterile as everything of his. High-pitched voices came out of the bathroom, mingled with Minnie’s posh accent, and I heard my daughters and Mark’s new girlfriend singing a cartoon tune and laughing together. I felt a pang of jealousy and sadness, suddenly aware of the shared experiences I must have missed during the last weeks, including most of the Christmas holidays. I shook my head. No, no. Wrong attitude. I should be happy they were having so much fun with Minnie. Yes, Minnie was a blessing in disguise, and she was kind to them. If it hadn’t been for her, I wouldn’t have trusted volatile Mark with the girls for longer than two hours.

Two golden-haired elves emerged from the bathroom and ran straight into my arms like tiny, effervescent bath bombs of happiness.

“Mommy!” they cheered and danced around me, still singing the same silly song and clad in horrid, glitter-ridden tutus.

I had missed them so much.

“Did you have fun in Italy?” Minnie asked. Even in her too-short silk robe, she was as spotless as usual, with perfect make-up and shiny ironed hair. I didn’t want to look at myself in the mirror―I hadn’t had time to exchange my unflattering t-shirt and jeans from the plane, which were some spare clothes I had found in Carlo’s Tuscany guesthouse, the ones forgotten or discarded by tourists on their way home. I was quite certain my coat had a hole too, right behind my elbow, so I flattened myself against a wall to prevent Minnie from seeing it.

“The trip was...” I paused, wondering how to explain I had almost died twice, been held prisoner by witches, caused an explosion and lost a vampire friend under a collapsing building. “It was great, thanks!”

“Venice is so charming, isn’t it?” Minnie nodded. “It’s one of my favorite cities. I remember the last time I was there...” She hesitated before continuing. “With my parents.” She finished the sentence in a surprisingly unsteady voice, which made me wonder whether she had been there with Mark, perhaps during one of his business trips, as they had been together while we were still married. I didn’t care. She was welcome to keep Mark forever, as far as I was concerned.

“Nice,” I said, hugging Katie and Iris. “So, Minnie... we’re going out for the day, but I must bring them back here this evening.”

Minnie gaped at me, incredulity apparent in her eyes. “You mean this evening? No way. They can’t stay here tonight. We have things to do, too. This was supposed to be two weeks and here we are, early February and still baby-sitting for you. Why on earth did you ask for full custody if you never have time to take care of them?”

I died a little inside listening to the truth in her words. If only she knew how I wished to take these two girls with me. But where was I supposed to take them? The house in Westside Avenue was a moldy hole, and if I didn’t find Francesca soon enough, they would soon be motherless anyway.

“My place has leaks,” I said in apology. “Also, my boss wants me to go on a business trip for a couple of weeks... it’s been a series of... unforeseen circumstances.” Minnie raised an eyebrow, and I grinned in desperation. “I’m so sorry.”

“That’s impossible,” Minnie retorted in an icy tone. “Then at least tell your nanny to come here. I just dismissed ours, and I can’t find a new one with such short notice. We have jobs, you know.”

Francesca... I missed her too. Had she been there, I wouldn’t have had to beg Minnie to take care of my kids, when that was nearly the last thing I wanted in the world.

“I’m really sorry, but Minnie, please, can you find a babysitter on your own? Mine is out of town. I don’t know who else to ask. I need your help,” I pleaded, holding my breath. “I’ll find a way to make up for all your troubles, I promise.”

Minnie sighed with impatience and started to browse on her phone. “Yeah, okay. I’ll do it. But two weeks, max. One more day, and I will make sure that Mark starts getting ideas to fan the flames of your rocky separation. And then you won’t need to pick the girls up ever again.”

“Thank you,” I said, swallowing my sadness and frustration.

Taking the hands of Katie and Iris, I grabbed their coats from the rack by the door and threw a last look at their little suitcases, neatly stacked in Mark’s hallway. They remained there, behind us, like a gloomy reminder that they wouldn’t spend the night with me for many days to come.

***

AFTER SUCH A LONG ABSENCE, I wanted to take the girls to a special place. The Butterfly House had always been one of my favorite places in Emberbury, and it was the ideal day trip during the winter months, thanks to the constant warm temperatures inside. Within its tall glass walls, it was easy to get lost and imagine being on a remote tropical island, covered in lush vegetation. The air in the conservatory was always thick, balmy and damp, brimming with the scent of orchids and other exotic flowers, and best of all, rainbow clouds of butterflies filled the air with fluttering colors. If you remained still for long enough, one of them might take a seat on your shoulder, or even kiss the tip of your nose.

My heart melted a little as I watched Katie and Iris run after the swarms of butterflies, trying to catch them and glowing with glee and childlike happiness. A group of visitors gathered around a bubbly tour guide with bouncing, blond ponytails, and I chased my kids to get them into the circle. Hopefully, we would be able to learn something new from the visit, apart from jumping over benches while attempting to catch a monarch butterfly.

“Welcome to Emberbury’s Butterfly House,” the guide said, swiveling to point at a particularly large specimen. “Follow me on a thirty-minute visit, where we’ll find out about the fifty-seven butterfly species living in our conservatory. This enclosure mimics their natural tropical environment almost perfectly. Even when it’s snowing outside, the temperature inside our glass house remains constant throughout the year...”

I squinted at her, my arms full with three heavy winter coats. Oh really, I hadn’t noticed.

We walked at the tail end of the group, admiring the many butterfly species and listening to stories about their favorite flowers to drink nectar from and places to live.

Toward the end of the visit, the guide stopped in front of an informative panel showing the different life stages of butterflies.

“Butterflies have an exoskeleton,” she explained. “That means they don’t have bones like humans do, but instead, they have a hard shield protecting their bodies from the outside. As all insects, they are invertebrates. Any questions so far?”

Little Katie started to hop like a hare, as if about to implode with all the questions bubbling inside her. She had always been a bit nerdy and advanced for her age.

“Yes?” the guide pointed at her, inviting her to speak.

“Hi, I’m Katie... I... I have a question...” she stammered. “I hope it’s not silly.”

“No such thing as a silly question,” the guide encouraged her.

“Okay! So, butterflies are invert... um, in-ver-te-brates?”

“Yes, that’s right,” the guide answered.

“And people? What are people?”

The guide glanced at her watch and sighed. “Vertebrates.”

“So...” Katie bit her lip with deep concentration. “What about ghosts? Are ghosts vertebrates or invertebrates?”

The guide gaped at her as if struck by lightning. “Uhh...” she muttered, open-mouthed. “Good question.”

People laughed in the background, and I turned around to throw the offenders a steely glance to make them shut up.

“To tell the truth, I have absolutely no idea,” the guide apologized. “Maybe you can ask your mom? I only know about insects, sorry! Anyone else?”

Katie sulked and slumped against my hip with disappointment. I stared at my clever little humans, and for the first time ever, I wondered what kind of effect growing up surrounded by vampires would have on their views of the world when they were adults.

Meanwhile, the guide continued with the visit. “As you can see,” she was saying, her voice steady and neutral, like a recording, “all butterflies start their life as caterpillars, which hatch from tiny eggs like this.” She pointed at an enlarged picture of something looking like a semitransparent water droplet. “We call them larvae. After a while, the caterpillar builds a chrysalis around it. Inside the chrysalis, the caterpillar goes dormant, and all its organs melt into some sort of soup...”

A few younger members of the audience let out appalled gasps, and the guide smirked with visible pleasure as her discourse achieved its expected effect.

“Ew,” groaned a little boy nearby, disgusted by the concept of caterpillar soup. “Gross.”

“Uh-huh, as you heard, they dissolve into caterpillar goo! But then, everything comes into place, just in a different order, creating their colorful wings. And when the time is right, a gorgeous butterfly emerges from the cocoon!”

She pointed at the last picture of the sequence, and Katie raised her hand, stirring nervously on her feet as she waited for her turn to ask yet another question.

“Yes?” the guide said, a bit more skeptical than the first time.

“Uh...” Katie stammered, and I prodded her softly, for courage. She swallowed and continued. “So, the caterpillar...” she paused and stared at her feet.

“Yes...?”

“Isn’t the caterpillar afraid?”

“Why would it be?” The guide blinked, scrunching her nose.

“Because she has to go into that cocoon and melt, and she doesn’t know what will happen to her. What if it hurts, or she dies, or she doesn’t remember her mommy when she comes out?”

The guide gave her a sweet, amused smile. “Of course not! Metamorphosis is a magical transformation. It’s a beautiful thing. They have no reason to fear it. They say butterflies still remember their caterpillar days when they come out of the cocoon. And there’s not much they can do to stop nature from taking its course anyways. They just go with the flow. A caterpillar is happy to go to sleep with a full belly and wait for her wings to grow inside the chrysalis. They trust the process, and it usually ends beautifully. And I’m sure it’s really cozy in there!”

“Yes, but... what if someone eats them while they are sleeping in their cozy cocoon?”

“It could happen, but as the saying goes... nothing risked, nothing gained!”

“I think caterpillars are pretty,” little Iris said, with the endearing matter-of-factness of a four-year-old.

“I think caterpillars and worms are disgusting, but butterflies are pretty,” Katie pointed out.

“I wish I could fly like they do,” her sister continued. “Will I grow butterfly wings when I grow up?”

The guide turned off the lights over the panels with a remote. She seemed eager to leave and flee my daughters’ interrogation. “No, I don’t think you will.”

The tour was over, and people started to leave the conservatory, chattering with amusement about Katie’s debate on the existential dilemmas of caterpillars. Yet that little girl was persistent, and she tried to slip in one more question before the guide was gone. “But Francesca has wings sometimes. And a beak. She showed me. Why can’t I have them too?”

I hushed my overtalkative kid before someone started to ask us uncomfortable questions. “We don’t talk about such things in places full of people, remember?” I whispered, thankful the guide was dealing with a lost tourist and hadn’t heard her.

“Sorry, mommy.” She stared at her tiny trainers. “Minnie is nice, but I miss Francesca. When will we see her again?”

I flinched and steered them toward the exit, following the other visitors. It was almost dinnertime, and I thought it better not to anger Mark by bringing them back too late.

“I don’t know, darling,” I said, helping her get into her coat. “I don’t know where she is.” Willing to be honest with my children, I added, “Maybe she won’t come back at all.”

Katie pushed me away, determined to do up her buttons herself. “Oh, no. I’m sure she will. She likes us too much to not come back.”

Nodding, I held back the tears as we stepped on the cold asphalt of the street. “Yes, that’s true. Maybe you’re right.”

I kissed the top of her head, marveling at the intensity and persistence of children’s innocence and hope.

How I wished I still had some of it myself.

How I wished it hadn’t been gone for so, so long.

Chapter 5

Clarence

London, 1807

I clearly remember the day I lost the last trace of my ephemeral, infantile innocence. Even though it was dead long before it was gone, I still held onto it for a while, flimsy and transparent as it was. Its loss turned me into someone else, harder and wiser, but more bitter too. I was still a child, not long past my ninth birthday, when my father, deeming me old enough for such endeavors, took me to an operation theatre at St. Thomas Hospital with the intention of introducing me to his peers and ascertaining whether I was to become a man worthy of his consideration: a man strong enough to stare death in the face without flinching.

As we alighted from the carriage, he took my hand in his and showed me the way. He was always cold, despite the impeccable leather gloves. The stench of the hospital was noticeable even from the outside, and I swallowed, holding my breath before entering the crowded operation theatre.

Father holding my hand was never a gesture of affection: it was either a practical matter or a sign of possession. On that morning, I was thankful for it and held onto his arm like a castaway, fighting to avoid being crushed by the compact human mass which kept crowding tighter and tighter to get a better glimpse of the spectacle about to start. My height limited my range of sight to belts and armpits and regaled me with all sorts of unpleasant smells which added up to the rancid odor of the theatre itself.

Father navigated the stairs down the semicircular wooden stands toward the front rows, which were reserved for medical professionals like him and his colleagues. The populace would have to be content with a place in the background, their line of sight constantly blocked by taller individuals. They swore and protested, pushing each other, but I envied their luck. From our privileged spot, the view of the milky white naked corpse was agleam as a cloudless morning sky.

The scalpel went in, slicing the dead woman’s abdomen like butter. A horrid stench reached me when the anatomist pulled out her innards. They scattered all over the dissection table, under the entranced stares of the onlookers. Someone vomited in the back, and people kicked him away from them, taking advantage of the weakling to secure a better spot.

A small, warm creature scurried between my feet, making me stumble.

A rat.

The rodent had looted a fleshy leftover and started to chew on it, right beside me.

My stomach churned, followed by a strong taste of rising bile.

“Sir...” I whispered with a hoarse throat, pulling at Father’s sleeve, “can I wait outside, please? I am feeling... unwell.”

“Nonsense. Of course not.” Father’s upper lip twisted with disdain. I silently pleaded for mercy, but he threw me a glacial glance in response. “Do not dare humiliate me in front of my peers, boy, or you shall pay dearly for it later.”

I held onto his coat, fighting the stale air which reeked of maggots, vomit and death.

“But Father...”

The world started to spin and faded to black. Father did not turn around, purposely ignoring my pleas. He wasn’t even looking when I collapsed on the floor, right next to the feeding rat, oblivious to Father’s peers and their opinion of me.

***

THE EMPTY SOCKETS OF a black skull were staring at me, creeping up and down the wall of my childhood bedroom while a woman screamed for help.

I blinked awake, realizing I was still dressed, lying in my bed. Father must have brought me back home, and the ghostly shapes were no more than the shadows cast by the single candlestick on the bedside table; the screams solely part of the nightmare I had been having while unconscious.

Or perhaps not.

Father’s voice boomed downstairs, and a shiver ran down my spine.

“That boy is a disgrace,” he was shouting.

“He is but a child,” Mother answered. Her voice sounded brave and steady; a rare occurrence these days. She never fought for herself anymore, but she always found the odd scrap of courage to stand up for me when needed. “Give him time, Victor.”

“I was leeching patients at his age,” he continued. “You made a girl out of him, encouraging his whining and teaching him skills suited for a lady’s maid, not a man.”

I tiptoed down the stairs, taking in the scene from above. Father was still wearing a suit, standing with his waistcoat half unbuttoned and his cravat undone. Mother, on the other hand, was already in her shift and sitting on the divan, her golden locks falling down her shoulders and gleaming in the candlelight.

“Let the child be a child a little longer. He will be a good man one day, Victor. I can assure you of that.”

“What would you know, woman?” Father snorted. “You have not even left the house for months, so fragile you are. You cannot even stand on your own feet most days. What do you know of the real world? It is a tough life out there. There’s no place for weakness if a man is to thrive and support a family with integrity.”

“It is not weakness that afflicts him.” She placed a hand over her heart. “He just feels things too deeply.” Her eyes paused for a second too long on Father’s empty bottle of Port wine, almost accusing. “Each of us deals with life’s troubles the best we know.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Father puffed and dismissed her words with a wave of his hand. “You can retire now, Rose. This conversation is over.”

Mother stood up to leave, but her knees failed her, and she had to sit down again. Father seemed cross that she was still there despite being dismissed, and I had to step in to protect her in my childish way.

“I am sorry, Father,” I muttered, peeking from behind the door frame. “Please forgive me. It was not on purpose.”

“No, I know it was not. It was your mother’s fault for coddling you.”

“No, Father! Mother did nothing wrong! It was the rats...”

“How dare you contradict me like that, boy?” His voice shook with barely contained rage. I knew that tone, and I knew what it portended.

“But Father...!”

Father exhaled slowly with his eyes closed.

“He is trying to explain to you what happened. Why not listen to him?” Mother interrupted.

“Silence, Rose! This boy needs to see reason once and for all. Go upstairs before I do something I will regret.”

“Don’t you dare threaten me,” she retorted with her hands on her hips, still too weak to stand up.

“Rose. Go. Upstairs!”

I stared at Father in horror, knowing what would come next.

“P-please, Father,” I stuttered, “chastise me if you must, but leave Mother alone.”

Father stood up, his eyes half-closed. “I did not ask for your opinion, boy.”

“Leave the child. Talk to me, Victor,” Mother pleaded, taking Father’s hand. “Do not touch him. I beg you.”

Father shook off her hand and took the poker which hung by the fireplace, then sat on the divan and gestured at me. “Come on here, boy. Let’s get this done with quickly.”

I remained still in front of him, my eyes narrowed, hoping that would make the whole room, and especially Father, disappear. Perhaps if I pressed them together hard enough, I might travel somewhere else, somewhere far, far away, where Mother and I would be safe from him.

Mother held onto the arm of the divan, stood up and set herself between us. “Leave the boy. He did nothing wrong.”

“Step aside, Rose,” Father commanded without glancing at her.

Yet Mother, small and reedy as she was, stood between us, steady as a mountain. But her body was frail as glass, and the slightest gust of wind could have blown her away.

“I said step aside!” Father shouted.

When Mother still did not budge, I closed my eyes even tighter.

I muttered a prayer.

And waited... waited for my nightmare to be a mere nightmare; but just like most times, it ended up being a premonition and not a bad dream after all.

***

TUSCANY, PRESENT DAY

A hard slap on the face woke me up.

I opened my eyes to find a dead bird lying on my chest, right on the spot which hurt with that cold, metallic pain radiating from the center of my heart.

Judging by the look and smell, that bird must have been dead for days. It had fallen from the ceiling, straight on my face, while I was trying to slumber inside an open trunk, in a vain attempt to fight the exhaustion and pain. Its flesh was crawling with maggots, its rotten stench so foul that I jumped out of the wooden chest to escape it.

Tuscany.

I was still in Tuscany.

I checked the small device Alba had bought me in the village before leaving. There was a message stating she had arrived safely.

I was hungry, but the cold fire of the curse kept burning my insides, steadily extending to my fingertips and arms. I needed to quench my thirst, but that would mean leaving the small winemakers’ hamlet and risking being discovered. I hadn’t tried to fly for a long time. Perhaps I should walk, if it was dark enough.

Taking the stylus Alba had carefully left by the telephone, I typed a message for her, like she had taught me, telling her I wasn’t fit for travel just yet.

“I’m going out to have dinner,” I finished it, adding an affectionate goodbye to dispel her worries.

I took the dead bird outside and buried it. I would be better off slumbering with the lid closed from then on.

After that, I attempted to turn into a bird myself. I tried many times, and each time I failed. My anger escalated with each unsuccessful attempt. Finally, I surrendered to my new reality. I let out a frustrated sigh and started to walk among the vineyards, hoping to catch at least a mouse to survive the night.

Chapter 6

Alba

Eating tacos in Carlo Lombardi’s company was far from a pleasant experience, and I should have anticipated that before agreeing to the stomach-wrenching horror I currently found myself part of. Dismayed by the sight of many green lettuce tendrils dangling from his greasy fingers, I pushed the monstrous marigold bouquet toward the middle of the table, hoping to block the hideous view.

“So... what brings you here, Carlo?” I asked, staring down at my plate to spare myself the still discernible sight of Carlo’s half-eaten tortillas.

“Protecting and serving you, what else?” he scoffed.

I snorted. “Yeah, right.”

“Can I tell you something personal first?” His eyes brimmed with mischief as he wiped his mouth with a checkered napkin.

“No,” I said, knowing he would do it anyway.

He did.

“If you need money for clothes, don’t hesitate to ask me. I’ll be glad to help.”

I rolled my eyes and tugged at the fringed tablecloth which adorned the solid wood table. I had spent the day entertaining the girls, so I hadn’t had any time to go shopping. Which meant I was still wearing whatever the guests had forgotten in the closets of Carlo’s Tuscany villa, just dirtier than in the morning. But Taco Hell wasn’t the fanciest restaurant in Emberbury, and I wasn’t particularly interested in impressing Carlo Lombardi either.

I squinted, trying to comprehend Carlo’s words over the ridiculously loud mariachis, and a bunting of Mexican flags swayed over our heads as if dancing to the music. Carlo was talkative and looking like his old self again, fully recovered from his little tryst with Clarence around Christmastime. He had been on duty that day but had exchanged his uniform for civilian casual: namely jeans and a nicely ironed blue shirt. He didn’t look bad at all―shame he couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

“So how was your first night back home?” he asked conversationally, waving at the waiter.

“Wonderful. I slept in an abandoned house, in a damp, moldy bed covered in dust, and I didn’t get pneumonia.”

“Well, my dog caught fleas in the doggy hotel while I was in Italy, and now they are probably all over my house. Can you beat that?”

“Not really. All bedbugs long dead where I was staying. Nobody had slept there for decades.”

“You can sleep in my house tonight if you prefer. I have central heating and no mold. The fleas are friendly too.”

I pictured sharing Carlo’s non-moldy apartment while being attacked by hordes of fleas. Not very enticing. I shook my head. “No, thanks, it’s fine. I have enough friends, and I got a new blanket.”

“No, really, I think you should come. Dog fleas don’t bite humans. At least I think they don’t. They just tickle a little.”

“Forget it,” I said.

“Think about it.” He shrugged. “And in the meantime, tell me, how is my best friend?”

“If by your best friend you mean Clarence, he’s still in Italy. Thanks for allowing us to stay in your house, by the way. But I don’t think you called me to discuss my boyfriend’s wellbeing, or did you?”

“So, he’s officially your boyfriend now?”

Come on. Vampires didn’t think in terms of labels. They were above such human trivialities. I took a deep breath and pushed my plate away, trying to dispel the discomfort his question had stirred. “Okay. What did you want to tell me, Carlo?”

“I found something you might want to check out. Something related to Natasha.”

Now, this was interesting.

Last time I had seen Natasha Grabnar, the scientist working for vampire hunters, she had jailed me in the basement of her Venetian house, and I had escaped thanks to a sheer miracle... with the help of an explosion and a teleporting, magic mirror. No victims had been found in the rubble, according to the news: not Francesca, not Natasha, nor any of her minions. My logical conclusion was that Natasha must have found a way to get out before the house blew up in the air. She must have fled somewhere else, probably to the same place where she held captive Julia and her husband, if they were still alive. Perhaps Francesca too, unless she had remained trapped under the crumbling building and been reduced to dust by the first rays of sunlight.

But no. Of course, that wasn’t an option.

I was going to find Francesca, Julia and her husband Ludovic, and earn Elizabeth’s favors back so I could resume my peaceful existence as a glorified vampire secretary in The Cloister. Anything else was out of the question.

“I’d definitely like to hear whatever you found out,” I answered, studying Carlo’s expression in search of deception. He seemed sincere. “But why, Carlo? Why would you help me... again?”

“Because you have pretty eyes?”

I laughed at the audacity. “Good try. But no. Seriously.”

“You know I have my reasons. Some I told you already in Venice. Some I don’t feel like sharing because they have nothing to do with you.”

“Fair enough, I guess.”

Carlo smirked and turned to the young waiter. “Pedro, will you bring us a bottle of that special homemade mezcal of your mother’s? I think my friend here could do with a glass or two.”

Pedro nodded knowingly and disappeared into the kitchen, only to be back two minutes later with a bottle wrapped in a checkered towel. He glanced left and right before setting it on our table, like he was about to present us with some rare, illegal, smuggled goods.

“Just because it’s you, Carlos,” he said before retiring back behind the bar. “But don’t tell Papi I gave it to you. There were only two left.”

Carlo unwrapped the bottle which had no label and looked a bit filthy. It contained a pale golden liquid, and he poured a bit in each of our glasses, raising his for a toast.

“What should we drink to...?” he asked with a smirk. “Oh, I know! To life, and may we keep ours for many years!”

I frowned at his sense of humor. After my conversation with Elizabeth, joking about such matters didn’t seem funny at all.

“Fine,” I conceded, raising my glass to his, “to life.” I was about to sample a little of the suspicious liquor when Carlo stopped me.

“No, no. You must drink it all at once. Like this.” He swallowed the whole glass in one gulp and shook like a wet dog. “See? This is how it’s done. Otherwise you won’t be able to drink it up.”

I raised an eyebrow but did as told, out of sheer curiosity. I almost choked with the extremely strong liquid and controlled the urge to spit everything back into the glass. “This is disgusting!” I shouted, slamming it back with no intention of ever trying mezcal again. “What have you given me?”

I grabbed the bottle and turned it in my hands. It smelled of alcohol, smoke and herbs. I was about to set it aside when I noticed a thing, no, a creature, lurking at the bottom of the bottle.

“Oh my God,” I shrieked, about to throw up, “there’s a worm inside the bottle!”

The creature was fleshy and soft and horridly real. Carlo took the bottle from my hands, as if scared I would smash it on the floor. “Don’t be silly. This is a delicacy. It’s an edible worm, and nowadays it’s almost impossible to find mezcal with a real agave moth larva. People pay good money for these! And it’s very common to fight for the worm. Everyone wants it!”

“Well, I’m definitely not fighting you to eat a dead worm.”

“Great. More for me.” He shrugged and fiddled with the back of his fork, trying to get the revolting dead creature through the neck of the bottle. I looked away to keep my dinner inside my stomach. “Also, I forgot to tell you,” Carlo said, “I don’t think it’ll happen to you, but just in case, you should know homemade mezcal can cause hallucinations in some people, especially if you aren’t used to it. So if you see anything strange tonight, stay calm: it’s probably the liquor and nothing to worry about.”

***

I DIDN’T HAVE ANY HALLUCINATIONS, at least not during dinner, but I was in the middle of dessert when the sight of Carlo sinking his spoon into a wobbly mass of caramel flan sent me running to the bathroom. I threw up noisily with the door open, under the judgmental gaze of two elderly women who needed a surprisingly long time to wash their hands.

“What?” I said to them, wiping my mouth on a piece of toilet paper. “I had to choose between locking the door and throwing up all over the floor. What would you have done?”

They looked away and pretended I was invisible as I made my way out of the bathroom and back to my seat, trying to walk in a straight line and failing.

“What the hell was that drink you gave me?” I growled at Carlo, drinking two glasses of water in a row in a vain attempt to settle my stomach.

“It’s not what I gave you, it’s what you didn’t eat,” he replied, pointing at my untouched dessert.

“I’m going home,” I said, standing up and heading to the bar to pay for my half. “Talk tomorrow.”

***

A THUMP OF HEAVY, RUSHED steps made the air tremble behind me.

Someone’s going to miss the bus, I thought vaguely, still absorbed in my musings as bus number twelve passed by. The stop was a few steps away, but I knew mine wouldn’t arrive for at least ten minutes, so I took out my phone and googled Natasha Grabnar’s name. Even though she was supposed to be a scientist, there was nothing to be found about her: no pictures, no scientific papers or research. She was probably using a fake name.

There was one lonely metal bench at the bus stop, and I collapsed on it with a sigh, allowing the tiredness of the last days to slowly swim to the surface. My stomach was growling, and I could have lain on the seat and fallen asleep in the middle of the street, had I wanted to.

A man approached and stood by the bus timetables, then sat next to me. I slid silently to the other side of the bench, annoyed by the excessive closeness of the stranger.

“Where are you going?” he asked, grabbing my shoulder with disgusting familiarity.

I tried to shake him off me, but he got a small knife out of his pocket and pressed it lightly against my side, cornering me against the bus stop. “I can drive you, honey. No drama, please.”

I looked around, trying to find an amicable face to help me, but there was nobody around. A couple in love appeared in the distance but passed by, their arms linked in a romantic embrace, and ignored me like I was nothing more than street furniture.

“I said no drama,” the thug warned, following the direction of my gaze and sinking the blade slightly deeper, enough for it to sting but not to draw blood.

He tried to drag me away from the bench and toward a black SUV with tinted back windows, but I fought with all my strength, kicking and biting: being killed before dawn, particularly by someone who wasn’t Elizabeth, wasn’t on my to-do list.

I closed my eyes, willing the familiar electric flow of magic to start rushing down my arms. The tingling was very weak, and my arms felt heavy. The trip had been challenging, and I was exhausted after a whole day out and about. When I felt the surge, I released it on the man’s chest, but he dodged my attack like he had been expecting it. The ray of light landed on a nearby trash can, blowing its contents up in the air and dying off with weak, tiny flashes like a lighter out of fuel.

With a last pull, the man lifted me off the sidewalk and carried me to the car, where another one was waiting with the trunk open. Then the lid fell, and darkness ensued.

***

I FRANTICALLY SEARCHED the inside of the trunk for a lever, a button, or any other way to open it from the inside. The trunk light had gone off as soon as they had closed the lid, and now I could only feel many small, pointy things inside, similar to gardening tools... or vampire hunter stakes. The air was stale and stank of cigarette smoke.

A loud bang shook the vehicle. I had heard both front doors closing, but the SUV hadn’t started.

The trunk lid opened again, and right in front of me stood Carlo, with a steaming gun in his hand and a deep frown marking his forehead.

“Get out. You are coming home with me.”

I had never been so thankful to see someone in my life; even if it was Lombardi, the most conceited human being on the planet.

“You should have agreed to sleep in my apartment,” he growled.

I was tipsy and about to throw up again, so I didn’t even answer. Thinking clearly was becoming harder and harder.

“Come,” he said, grabbing my arm, “it’s not safe here.”

We walked for a few blocks while I tried to process what had just happened. I was still in a state of shock when we reached an old, but neat, apartment building and he threw me an apologizing look.

“Elevator out of order,” he said, pointing at the long and steep staircase. “Sorry. I hope that’s okay.”

I dragged my feet after him, holding on to the handrail. He was faster and didn’t wait for me, but I found an open door on the fourth floor and stepped in without thinking, hoping that was Carlo’s apartment and not someone else’s.

Carlo was standing next to a coat hanger, tapping his foot with impatience.

“Do you usually walk around armed?” I asked wearily, throwing my coat at him and scanning the space for couches. I detected a green, battered one nearby, and slumped into it, too tired to ask for permission.

“Do you usually get kidnapped?” he quipped. “And yes, the answer to your question is yes. I feel safer that way.”

I was exhausted but not sleepy. As soon as I lay on the couch, the room started to spin like a helicopter over my head. I could almost hear the propellers.

“At this rate, your bloodsucking friend is going to try to kill me again in no time. Can you please text him and make sure to tell him I had nothing to do with the kidnappers, in case they come back?”

“Hmm,” I mumbled, too tired to form any words. I should really text Clarence, but I was drained, and my brain was muddled.

Carlo’s place was warm and dry as he had promised, and it wasn’t a car trunk. Progress, said a deep, dark part of my mind.

“The guys from the bus stop ran away,” Carlo was saying. “I really didn’t feel like killing them and having to explain that to my boss. But I jotted down the registration number, and I’ll look into it tomorrow at the office.”

“Hmm,” I repeated, the sound of the helicopter propellers getting louder and louder. The couch smelled of cheese and old socks, but it was warm and velvety, like a soft cocoon. I couldn’t even feel any flea bites. Yet. “Why do you have antennae?” I asked, noticing with shock the two long, shiny appendages sprouting out of Carlo’s head. They seemed to be made of pure light. How wonderfully odd.

“Remind me never to offer you homemade spirits again.” He let out an exaggerated sigh and disappeared into a nearby room. When he came back, I was almost asleep despite the spinning walls. He threw a pillow at me, and it landed on my face. “There. Keep the couch,” he grunted, his voice sounding farther and farther away. “I’ll be in the bedroom if you need me. “Sleep tight, you drunken lunatic.”

***

I BLINKED AWAKE IN need of a toilet. Propping myself to a sitting position, I scanned the room. Carlo’s living room was dirty and cluttered, and a dining table stood in a corner, covered in food leftovers and boxes. Crouching over a laptop, a tall figure appeared blue behind the soft light of the screen.

“Where is the bathroom?” I asked him.

He raised his eyes from the keyboard, and I gasped when instead of Carlo’s blue gaze, I spotted Clarence’s crimson irises glinting in the darkness.

I rubbed my eyes and took a deep breath, struggling to wake up. No, this had to be a dream. How else could Clarence appear in Carlo’s apartment in the middle of the night?

“The bathroom is over there. Just down the hall,” Clarence said, as if his presence in Carlo’s apartment was the most normal thing in the world.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, standing up on my unsteady feet. I rushed to hug him, but a foul smell made me stop a few steps away from him. “What’s that smell?” I scrunched my nose and tried to pinpoint the source of the stench. It was him, no doubt.

“I don’t know what you are talking about, my dear,” he answered with a shrug, closing the laptop, then stood up and opened his arms. “Come here. Have you not missed me?”

“You know I have...”

Clarence hugged me, his solid arms calming my nerves with their steady embrace. “There. Better?”

“Why are you here, Clarence? Weren’t you in Italy?”

“I needed to tell you something... a confession, shall we say.”

I nodded, circling around him. Something was amiss, but what? His hair was slightly ruffled, the mischievous smile warm as usual. But there was something... something which didn’t seem right.

“Tell me...”

“I killed someone,” he said, leaning his head to one side and extending one hand in my direction. “Someone very dear to me.”

“Oh, Clarence, no...”

I faltered and stepped away from him. Fear. His words had scared me, and he knew it. I could see it in his eyes. I studied his face and noticed it was covered in tiny holes which resembled pox marks. I had never seen those before.

“Yes. He was my best friend,” he confessed with a trembling exhale. “But there was someone else, too. And that was even worse because...”

While he was talking, a worm peeked out the corner of his eye, and I screamed, stumbling backwards against the sofa behind me.

“This is not real,” I said, my voice weakening.

“I wish it weren’t.” He sighed, and as he did, slight ripples started to form under the surface of his skin, with tiny bumps crawling under it.

“Clarence, your face...” I gasped.

Suddenly, dozens of worms burst out of his darkened pores, covering him in a gruesome, moving mass of white, glow-in-the-dark creatures.

I shrieked, and a myriad of fleshy maggots devoured Clarence right in front of me, until there was nothing left of him.

***

“WHY ARE YOU STARING at me like that?” Carlo said, lifting his gaze from the laptop. He looked a bit like an ant, but I attributed it to the liquor. “Are you going to use the bathroom or not? Would you like me to go with you?”

I blinked and shook my head, then held it with both hands, trying to get rid of the disturbing visions of Clarence. What the hell had that been?

“I think I just had another hallucination,” I said with an exhausted sigh. “Unless you have grown antennae for real.”

“Really? Well, that sucks.” Carlo stood up and poured me a glass of water. “Drink, and let’s hope you’ll be all right tomorrow so we can discuss what I found out about Natasha.”

I sipped some water, and Carlo’s antennae slowly vanished.

“Yes, thank you, I hope so too.” I closed my eyes, imagining how the water flushed out the remains of that wicked Mexican liquor. Two ghostly figures, one larger and one smaller, crossed the room and flew out the window. Yet another hallucination. I stumbled back to the sofa, making sure my feet were up to help with my spinning head.

“I think I really need to sleep,” I said, my eyelids heavy. “Good night, Carlo. See you in the morning.”

Chapter 7

Alba

Carlo went off to work very early in the morning, leaving behind a pleasant caffeine-scented cloud which made the apartment warm and cozy; at least much more so than my previous accommodations. He even left some coffee for me in the kitchen, and I drank it directly from the pot, staring at my disheveled reflection on the window panes. The windows were nearly opaque, covered by a thick layer of dust and grime, not unlike me. He had also left a stack of printed documents by the sink, and I started to flip through them while nibbling on a stale cookie I found under a heap of greasy takeaway boxes.

A raven shrieked outside the windowsill, and I struggled with the rusty locks to open the window and let him in.

“Hi, Jean-Pierre,” I greeted him, quickly closing the window again to ward off the chilly draft. The raven hit the glass repeatedly with his beak, and I stared at him blankly, trying to figure out what he was trying to tell me.

“Oh, yes, sorry!” I pulled down the shades to darken the interior of the kitchen and turned on the lights, then backed off to avoid the burst of thick fog I knew was coming. Vampire mist was unpleasant to get caught in: it felt cold and wet to the touch, but also thick and grainy, like being battered with handfuls of wet sand on a frosty winter day. Clarence had invited me to stay in it once, and I didn’t wish to repeat such an eerie experience ever again.

“Bonjour!” The gray haze vanished, and Jean-Pierre materialized in the kitchen, a wide smile on his face. “Your daily croissant delivery just arrived!” He presented me with a brown paper bag and gave me a genteel bow.

“I could get used to this.” I nodded approvingly as I bit into the still warm croissant with a sigh of pleasure. So much better than Carlo’s stale cookies. Also, the bag was covered in tiny red Valentine’s hearts. “How did you find me?”

He wiggled his nose, glancing sideways at my dirty sweater. “I’m not sure you would be too pleased to hear the answer. Let’s say I happened to fly by and...”

Witch smell, of course. Extremely off-putting to most vampires, except for Clarence perhaps. I sighed. “I see... well, thanks for coming. It’s nice to see you again.”

“I brought you something else. Apart from croissants,” he said.

I leaned against the kitchen counter, but my palms got stuck on its sticky surface. Maybe I should get Carlo a set of microfiber cloths for Valentine’s Day?

Meanwhile, Jean-Pierre took a ring out of the pocket of his waistcoat and extended it to me. It was a vintage-looking gold band with what appeared to be a tiny butterfly encrusted with jewels. It looked old, out of fashion, the kind of jewelry nobody would wear nowadays.

“When you see Clarence, would you be so kind as to give him this from me?” he said mysteriously.

I took the ring, which was cold to the touch, and scrutinized it for a while.

“Looks like something one would find on the Titanic,” I commented. It was a beautiful piece of jewelry but very much démodé.

“You aren’t entirely wrong,” he agreed.

“Why does Clarence need this? Does it have magic powers or something?”

Jean-Pierre smiled. “I think so. It was forged by witches, and it might help you find Francesca... if she can be found, that is.”

“Ah, so it’s Francesca’s!” Yes, it was definitely her style. Even though I had never seen her wearing it, the intricate, old fashioned design suited her well. Interesting she would own a ring made by witches.

“It was hers, and it wasn’t,” he answered cryptically. “Just give it to Clarence when you see him, will you? He will know what to do with it.”

I popped the ring in my pocket, and Jean-Pierre took out a fountain pen and a piece of paper and started to draw at the kitchen table. An oily stain formed under the paper, and he cursed in French, taking another one and starting anew.

“What’s that?” I asked, staring as he retraced the symbol, which reminded me of a round, large head with long stickman legs and slumping arms and shoulders.

“This is the Knot of Isis,” he clarified, leaning back to scrutinize his creation before handing it to me. “The Tyet.” I took the drawing. It wasn’t very pretty, but I refrained from commenting in hopes he would continue. “As promised, I looked into the Silver Cast curse. I found out a couple of interesting things.”

A smothered gasp got stuck in my lungs.

“Ah... and...?” I stammered.

“The Silver Cast curse dates back to Egyptian times. Back then, priests and priestesses with powerful magic walked the earth. They were experts in dealing with death and the dead, and they found many ways to guard themselves from the evils lurking at night.” He chuckled grimly, making it clear what kind of nightly evils he was referring to. “Isis was the Mother Goddess, a Healer. She could be invoked for the hardest healing spells and was said to be able to even resurrect the dead. She brought back her husband, Osiris, from death.”

“From death...” I repeated, starting to see where his discourse was heading and wondering whether such a healing spell would work on the undead.

“Yes, from death. When I was living in Marseille, I came across The Daughters of Isis.” He paused, as if trying to put his memories in order. “No, in truth it was they who sought me, for I was the only one who could translate an ancient text for them. Funny how witches are willing to be forgiving toward our kind when they need assistance and nobody else can provide it...”

“You can read Egyptian hieroglyphs?” I interrupted him. The man was a walking Rosetta Stone! No wonder witches had turned a blind eye to his blood-sucking habits.

“There are many things I can do, ma chérie. Casting spells is not one of them. But translating and transcribing most human languages, that poses no challenge to me. And I have an excellent memory too.” He sauntered toward me, his presence becoming denser around me. His hair and short beard were completely white and spotless, not a single gray strand marring them, and they contrasted starkly against his dark velvet outfit. Jean-Pierre wasn’t conventionally attractive, but his charm stemmed from his sharp intellect: he had lived long and acquired enough knowledge to keep a listener entertained for all eternity. Combined with his exotic accent, I could see how some women might find him irresistible, even though Clarence never missed an opportunity to smirk at his complacency.

“That’s impressive,” I conceded.

“It is, I agree,” he said with a smug smile.  “And that’s why I was hired by the Daughters of Isis, the mightiest witch coven in Europe...”

“Hah! So now we know who took the first place from those Italian snobs!” I couldn’t help myself from interrupting him, remembering the sulky attitude of the Witches of the Lake in Como when I had asked them why they called themselves the second most powerful coven in Europe.

“Oh, yes,” Jean-Pierre agreed, “the Italians were never happy about it. The Daughters of Isis are powerful. Very powerful. And if you could summon their help, you might be able to reverse that curse. Although I’m not sure it has ever been done before.”

Mingling with witch covens was always a scary prospect, especially after my last experience in Italy, but I would jump straight into a boiling cauldron if that could help rid Clarence of the mortal curse that was threatening to kill him.

“I’ll do anything,” I assured him. “Just tell me where to start.”

“The Daughters of Isis are the keepers of the Alcazar Grimoire, a manuscript which contains the only counterspell suitable to reverse the Silver Cast. Remember that Fulminatio spell I gifted you? That was a discarded page from the same book. I was commissioned to transcribe it... but I sneezed while working, and ink bled everywhere... I am proud to always deliver a spotless piece of work, not like these modern scribes today.” He rolled his eyes. “Anyhow, it proved lucky for you that I had to re-do it, don’t you think? Otherwise, I would have never kept that copy in the library for several hundred years.”

“Very lucky indeed,” I agreed, thinking of the many times the Fulminatio spell had got me out of trouble in the past months. “And if I understand correctly, this grimoire is now in Marseille?”

Jean-Pierre’s forehead furrowed for a second. “No, I was living in Marseille when the Daughters of Isis found me, but they took the grimoire to Alcazar Abbey, in the French Pyrenees. I suppose they keep it in a secret vault somewhere in the abbey.”

“Doesn’t sound very secret if you know where it is.”

“Yes, I may know its whereabouts, but it’s not going to be easy to get the manuscript out of there,” he clarified, pulling out yet another piece of blank paper. “I’ll write everything down for you, so you don’t forget.”

“Thank you so much, Jean-Pierre,” I said, hugging him. In normal circumstances, he would have taken advantage of my hug to bring me closer, but this time he remained tense, a deep frown forming between his eyebrows.

“Only...” he paused, his voice an anguished whisper. “Alba... do you remember that day, when we were alone in the library?”

I stared at him, puzzled. We had spent many hours in the library of The Cloister, although not usually alone. There was always someone else, mostly Francesca. Although... wait a second. “The Green Fairy?” I ventured, remembering with a shiver the time Jean-Pierre had lost control and almost bitten me with the excuse of being under the influence of an absinthe spell.

“The Green Fairy, yes,” he repeated, gloomily. “Do you remember her prophecy?”

I nodded slowly. I did remember, even though I had seemingly buried it in the deepest crooks of my mind.

“The Green Fairy wants you to know...” I started, echoing a message I had heard through his lips a long time ago, but my voice broke before reaching the end as realization sank in.

“...that Clarence Auberon will be your death,” Jean-Pierre finished the sentence for me, taking my hands.

“And what am I supposed to do with this information?” I asked with annoyance. “Why is it more relevant now than it was two months ago?”

“High magic spells can be dangerous, ma belle...” he said, his eyes glowing softly with something akin to fondness. “Promise me you will be careful and won’t take on more than you can handle, agreed? You must seek help from other witches. Don’t try to do it alone.”

“Oh, I see...” I sighed, then forced myself to smile at him with self-assurance as I placed a chaste kiss on his beardy cheek. “No, I would never do such a thing. I’m aware of my limitations. So yes, of course, Jean-Pierre: I promise. I’ll be careful. You have nothing to worry about.”

Chapter 8

Alba

I spent the morning with Katie and Iris and bought myself a few warm sweaters and two pairs of jeans. Everything I owned was still waiting for me in The Cloister, so it was a choice between shopping and walking around looking homeless. I wanted to get a pair of warm shoes too, but the kids were getting cranky, so I decided my current ballet flats would have to do. After lunch, I dropped the kids back at Mark and Minnie’s. Saying goodbye once again made me sad, but there was no way I could take them with me to freeze in Westside Avenue, and family camping in Carlo’s living room didn’t sound like a very promising alternative.

Carlo had promised to come back home straight after work so we could discuss his findings, but when I knocked on the door nobody answered. Not even the dog, whose main function seemed to be sleeping all day, ignoring everything and everyone around him. Thankfully, Carlo had left me a spare key, so I let myself in. While I waited, I had a look at Carlo’s documents while trying to make myself a sandwich. In a place that messy, the task wasn’t much different from hunting wild gazelles in the jungle: there was trash and leftovers piled everywhere, threatening to bury you forever if you weren’t skilled enough to evade them. Once my mission to feed myself was accomplished, and seeing Carlo hadn’t returned yet, I went to the bathroom to try my new clothes on.

I was still there when the main door slammed closed, and Carlo called to me from the living room, “Anybody home?”

“Yes, give me a second!” I shouted back at him, struggling to get out of a pair of supposedly elastic jeans. Why didn’t I try them on in the store? Oh yes, because my kids had the habit of whining loudly when dragged to stores, and they often amused themselves by opening the curtain of whatever changing room I might be using and flashing my underwear to the whole store.

“Did you have a chance to read Natasha’s emails?” Carlo asked, his steps approaching down the hallway. “The ones I printed for you this morning?”

Still trapped in the new jeans, I hopped on one foot, trying to reach the bathroom door and close it before Carlo found me in such an undignified predicament.

“Yes! Yes, I did!” I yelled, tripping on a set of cast-iron dumbbells in my vain attempt to kick the bathroom door closed. I fell and flew straight into Carlo’s open arms just as he was about to come in. He caught me with a surprised grin.

“Well, thanks for the warm welcome,” he said, hugging me with nonchalance as if half-naked women jumping into his lap was the most common occurrence in the world. “I see you are happy about my findings.” He blinked in a clear come-hither gesture, holding me by the armpits. My toes hurt after their brief encounter with Carlo’s weightlifting equipment, and I groaned.

“There’s a reason those are called dumb bells,” I mumbled, motioning to kick my leg out of the hellish jeans but then changing my mind and trying to pull them up again. “I think it’s related to the people who use them.”

“So, what do you think?” Carlo asked, ignoring my rudeness.

“I think it would be nice if you could wait outside while I get changed,” I said grumpily.

He obeyed with a shrug and left. The jeans had decided to stay stuck around my mid-thighs, so I wrapped myself in the least filthy towel I could find before coming out once again and answering, “As for the emails, I didn’t understand much, but they often mention a Natasha Dupont.”

“Exactly. And I’m almost sure Natasha Grabnar and Natasha Dupont are the same person. There are several people with that name in France, but if you keep reading...” Carlo went to the kitchen and peeled off the wrapper of a protein bar while he was talking. I hopped after him and cleared a stack of fitness magazines from a chair in order to sit down and listen. “They mention a laboratory in Paris and a contact in London.”

“I noticed that. But when I googled the name, I found dozens of people called Natasha Dupont.”

“Yes! But...” Carlo opened a can of soda, and the fizzing sound made me thirsty. I grabbed another one for myself while he kept talking and followed him to the living room. The dog woke up, sniffed my towel and tagged along lazily. “Today, at work, I checked the plates of the car of those men who tried to kidnap you last night. And, who knew? The owner’s name is Natasha Wilson, a biologist from Boston. Ms. Natasha Wilson owns an apartment in the center of Paris, and today, I found that address, too.”

“Good job,” I said, impressed, “so, I guess I should go to Paris. Do you think that’s where she took the vampires?”

“I don’t know, but I think that’s your best bet, unless you have a better lead.”

I didn’t, so that would have to do. I took a sip of my coke and sighed. “I don’t even know how to thank you for all the research you have done. This is going to be so helpful, I really appreciate your efforts...”

“Actually,” he interrupted me, “I’m coming with you. I have a few questions for Natasha myself.”

I stared at him blankly. He was coming with me? To Paris? Some children in the apartment above us started to jump, making the ceiling tremble, and one of the photo frames hanging on the wall tilted abruptly, offering a tacit answer to my question.

“This is about Eleanor, isn’t it?” I asked. The tilted picture was Carlo’s wedding photo, with his red-haired bride smiling and holding a delicate bouquet of white roses. According to Carlo’s story, Eleanor had been murdered around the age of twenty-five, not long after they got married.

“It is,” he said curtly.

“What would Natasha know about that? I thought it was vampires who...” Killed her, I wanted to say, but I couldn’t bring myself to say the word in front of Carlo.

“Let’s say I have a hunch she was connected to Eleanor’s death. I met Natasha one day after Eleanor’s funeral, and she offered me a job to work for her as a vampire hunter. Such a nice coincidence, don’t you think?”

I sank back into the couch, hoping the fleas were asleep during the day. “I don’t know what to say. Maybe. But it sounds unlikely.”

“I have a few reasons to believe she, or someone above her, was involved in Eleanor’s murder. They wanted me on their side; an insider in the police who would have access to useful information—things that are out of reach for ordinary citizens. They also knew I wouldn’t be weirded out when they told me about the nature of their supernatural-hunting business, since I come from a family of vampire hunters. But after all the horror stories I had heard from my grandfather, I never wanted to become one. All I ever wanted was to live a normal life, and Natasha took that away from me.”

His voice faltered, and I looked away, overwhelmed by Carlo’s sudden vulnerability. “I’m sorry, Carlo. I understand. Of course, you can come with me. But... I’m going to need to add a few stops to our route.”

“Okay. No problem. Where?”

“I was thinking Tuscany and Southern France.”

Carlo blinked, the protein bar falling off his hands onto the coffee table. “Sorry, what?”

“Yes,” I said firmly. “We are picking up Clarence in Italy first, and then I must drive to borrow a book in the Pyrenees, and well, he can’t board a plane...”

“Maybe I wasn’t the best student at school, but I don’t think you were paying much attention during geography class either, were you? Do you know how far Tuscany is from Paris? This is not like picking up your kids from soccer training and dropping them off at Grandma’s.”

I nodded. Yes, I knew. But as much as I wanted to find Julia and the others as soon as possible, I also needed to make sure Clarence was safe. If saving him from that deadly curse implied driving thousands of miles, I would do it, with or without Carlo. “I know it’s far, but I’m determined to do anything in my power to help Clarence. He’s my priority right now.”

“Why can’t he go to Paris on his own and meet us there? I thought he could grow wings or something?”

“Why? Oh wait. He can’t walk in daylight. And, oh yes! Your witch friends poisoned him and he’s too weak,” I growled, referring to the Italian coven Carlo had been collaborating with. The ones who had cursed Clarence with The Silver Cast. “He’s not well, and he needs me.”

“I don’t care. It’s too far, and I’m running out of vacation days. Also, nobody in their right mind...”

“Fine. Then I’ll go alone. You invited yourself anyway.”

Carlo grumbled under his breath and threw me a narrow glance. “Look. I like you and all, but I’m not going on a Eurotrip with a freaking vampire. That’s asking a bit too much from me.”

“No problem,” I said, crossing my arms. “Is that your last word? If it is, I’m going to pick up Clarence first on my own, and I will see you in Paris.”

“You are a stubborn little witch, did you know?”

I shrugged. I had heard that before.

“Okay.” He rolled his eyes, then pointed at his laptop. “See if you can find us plane tickets for this weekend, will you?”

Chapter 9

Alba

Never in my wildest fantasies had I imagined I would be sharing yet another transatlantic flight to Italy with Carlo Lombardi. And yet, here we were, sitting side by side and shooting through the clouds together as the vast ocean blue glimmered thousands of feet below us; all while I scratched the dozens of flea bites I had acquired during my brief stay in his apartment.

I had managed to book two last-minute tickets to Italy, and Carlo had found a spot for his dog back in Flea Hotel. This gave me enough time to re-read all the printed correspondence between Carlo, Natasha and the rest of people related to her, in hopes of finding more useful clues.

Even though Carlo had volunteered to come along, my request of doing a stopover in Italy had made him extremely grumpy. He kept mumbling things under his breath, which more or less could be summarized as, “What kind of idiot books a flight to Italy when their end destination is France? Are you aware those are two different countries?” Most of the time I ignored him or reminded him politely that I hadn’t asked for his company in the first place. If we were going to team up, he needed to accept that Clarence was coming too, whether he liked it or not. True, I had no idea how this was going to work―hopefully, they wouldn’t turn the trip into open warfare, but if they did, I knew for a fact who was going to leave our mismatched team first.

I hadn’t heard much from Clarence since my departure. Still, I knew the scarce messaging wasn’t a big deal for him, accustomed as he was to communicating through letters, or carrier pigeons, or whatever he had been using a couple of centuries ago. For me, on the other hand, the scarce dripping of news was a source of stress, particularly while he was away and sick. Hopefully, he would wait for us in Italy. I had sent a text informing him we were on our way, but I had no idea whether he had read it because, as usual, he was taking his sweet time to reply.

Carlo and I rented a car after landing and reached his ancestors’ residence just as early sunset was starting to paint the Tuscanian village a warm shade of apricot. The isolated, classic villa sat among hundreds of grapevines, now turned into a rental property for tourists with the help of a kind local lady who took care of all the housekeeping. The place was empty during the current low season, save for the hungry vampire hiding in the cellar... or so I hoped.

When Carlo unlocked the door of the villa, everything inside was dark, silent and overall, exactly as I had left it at my departure. All the shutters were down, and not even one chair stood out of place. Carlo opened the windows and turned on the lights, and I waited by the entrance, in the large farmhouse room which served as a kitchen, living room and entryway at the same time. He checked every single room from the basement to the upper floor and came back after a couple of minutes with a satisfied expression on his face.

“All clear,” he declared, heading to the kitchen to turn on the fridge.

I left my bags on the kitchen island and crossed my arms. “What do you mean, ‘all clear’? Where’s Clarence?”

Carlo shrugged, not one bit concerned. It was strange that Clarence wouldn’t come to greet us. He must have heard the car engine from miles away. Also, it wasn’t dark yet, so it was unlikely that he might have gone off hunting.

“I have no idea, but he’s not in the house,” Carlo said. “I can’t say I will miss him if he never comes back, but I doubt I’ll be all that lucky.” He whistled a tune as he took out an iron pan and covered it with a thick layer of olive oil. “I’m going to make some food. Are you hungry? How do you like your eggs?”

I squinted at him, annoyed by his indifference.

“Deviled,” I answered tautly.

“Bit grumpy, aren’t we?”

Ignoring his comment, I rushed upstairs and checked all the bedrooms, including the closets. A growing heaviness clutched my chest as I realized Clarence hadn’t touched a single thing: it was as if he hadn’t been there at all. A horror movie started to play in my head, regaling me with all the possible things which might have gone wrong in my absence. What if Carlo had sent a team of hunters the moment I had left? What if Natasha had found Clarence and taken him away? What if he had fallen unconscious in the forest, and the sun had burned him to ashes?

Okay. I needed to stop that train of thought right away before I went insane.

I headed to the storage room and the garage, which were vacant too, just like the rest of the ground floor. I was about to give up when I remembered I still hadn’t checked the wine cellar. Carlo had been there already, but what better place for a vampire to spend his days in blissful darkness?

I ambled under the red brick arcades that held the low, vaulted ceiling of the cellar. Dark wood shelves covered the walls, bent under the weight of hundreds of dusty wine bottles. Several barrels occupied one side of the room, and in a corner stood a large wooden chest with vintage forge ornaments. It was big enough to accommodate several blankets... or a human body.

My hands were shaking as I tried to lift the lid; but it was too heavy for me, and in the end, I had to give up.

“Clarence?” I said, knocking on the chest. “Are you in there?”

There was no answer, but I could feel his presence, nonetheless. We shared an uncanny connection which made both his presence and his absence clearly perceptible when he was nearby.

A throat-clearing sound echoed in the staircase, and I turned around to find Carlo leaning against a wall behind me. Judging by his bored expression, he must have been watching me for a while. I gave him a “what?” look, and he walked in, strolling around the basement with a careless grimace, pretending to search the room. Finally, he stopped by the closed trunk and puffed.

“So you found him?” he said, not looking pleased in the least.

“Can you open the trunk? It’s too heavy for me,” I asked, striving to sound nice.

Carlo glanced at his watch, then pointed at the slight glow coming from upstairs.

“He’s probably day-slumbering. Bloodsuckers do that. Just wait for a few minutes for the sun to set, and he will open the lid himself.”

“Clarence doesn’t usually slumber,” I said but then changed my mind. As far as I knew, most vampires slept seldom: to recover from injuries, survive famine or more rarely, just to pass the time. And all options sounded quite likely for a cursed vampire left alone for days in a remote Tuscanian villa, particularly while suffering from a nasty curse.

Carlo scoffed. “If he’s not slumbering, why did he lock himself in our largest wine crate? To play hide-and-seek with the bats?”

“Okay, maybe he is,” I said. “So, are you helping me open this or not?” I pushed the lid with all my weight, in a vain attempt to open it.

Carlo’s eye roll was so pronounced that I could almost hear his eyeballs rubbing against their sockets. He pushed me aside with a hip bump and flexed his knees in a sumo pose. After some grunting and plenty of complaining, the wooden plank gave way and moved aside, creaking under its own weight.

I peeked into the trunk, wringing my hands with uncertainty. Clarence lay inside it, with his eyes closed and a deathly pallor washing over his cheeks. He looked dead, but I could still feel his presence in the room. I caressed his forehead, cold and hard under my fingers, and wiped away a wisp of black and silver hair. It felt so much silkier to the touch than one would have thought just by looking at those unruly waves.

“Hi,” I whispered, nudging him softly. “I’m back.”

Carlo hovered over my shoulder, studying Clarence’s inert form with apathy. “I can’t believe I have a slumbering vampire in my house, and I’m not going to stake him,” he commented. “There must be something wrong with me because it’s actually the second time I’m missing a chance like this. My grandfather would be livid.”

“Come on. I know you wouldn’t do that. You didn’t kill him in Venice, so no reason to do it now,” I said, more to reassure myself than anything else. “He looks so... still, doesn’t he?”

“Give him three minutes,” he said grumpily. “I bet it won’t take him much longer. But sometimes they wake up hungry, so I would step back if I were you.”

Carlo stepped on a stool and started to unbolt one of the cellar windows, which were all shut and darkened with blinds.

“No!” I shouted, forcing him to step down. “What are you doing?”

“Just airing out the place?” he snapped at me. “There’s a dead man in my cellar! Can’t I open the windows to get rid of the stench? It’s dark enough outside. Stop being so protective of that corpse, will you?”

“That was rude,” I said, offended.

“No, it wasn’t rude. It’s a fact. The guy is dead, so he’s officially a corpse. How many stages of death can there be?”

“Seemingly, a few! Also, he doesn’t stink! You say you know vampires well, but it’s clear you don’t understand anything.”

“And you do?” His tone turned defiant; he leaned forward, bringing his face so close to mine that I could see the specks of brown in his blue irises. “I don’t think you do either. Because if you did, you would ditch the parasite and find yourself someone who could make your life―and your bed―warmer, not colder than it already is.”

“Someone like you, you mean?” I sneered. I was about to punch him when two icy, sturdy hands grabbed my waist from behind, lifted me off the floor and set me aside with utmost care. Neither Carlo nor I had heard Clarence rise. He must have taken one single, silent leap to reach the corner where we had been arguing.

Clarence pushed Carlo against the wall and held him by the neck, squinting at him with red-glowing eyes which didn’t foretell anything pleasant for my cheeky travel companion.

“Clarence!” I shouted, placing my hands on his shoulders. I flinched at the haze of madness marring his glowing maroon eyes but tried to keep my voice steady nevertheless. “Stop!”

Carlo was strong but no match for a demented vampire who had decided to make him his dinner. Clarence didn’t seem to hear me; I wasn’t even sure he was awake at all.

“Well done, Auberon,” Carlo spat, sinking his hand in a pocket. “Why don’t you bite me again? Bleed me dry and let her watch. Show her who you really are. Do both of us a favor.”

Clarence faltered for a second, as a fleeting flash of recognition passed over his face, then it vanished as quickly as it had appeared. Despite the precarious situation, Carlo remained calm.

“No!” I growled, throwing myself at Clarence in an attempt to come between both men. “Clarence. It’s me! Alba! Leave him alone; he’s our ally! He’s here to help! Clarence, please!”

Carlo remained calm. I thought it was odd until I realized he had been in control of the situation from the very beginning.

Carlo’s hand flew out of the pocket, holding a small silver gun. He shot Clarence from a distance of a few inches, and the projectile wheezed as it came out through Clarence’s back and left a dark notch in the wall behind him, its sound lost in my shocked scream. Clarence stumbled back and bent to press his hand against the wound, letting go of Carlo with a pained roar.

“I missed the heart on purpose,” Carlo gasped, regaining his breath. “Consider this a friendly, cautionary shot.”

“Alba...” Clarence said in a raspy voice, rubbing his eyes like a barely awake child. A dark red stain had started to flourish under his sleeve, and he exhaled, collapsing on the floor with his back against the wall. Carlo panted and watched him warily from a distance but clearly without fear.

“Please forgive me,” Clarence said to me, staring at his ruined shirt with sadness. “I tend to wake up moody when I sleep for too long.”

I knelt to hug him, squinting angrily at Carlo, but the latter just shrugged, rubbing his neck where Clarence had almost bit him―again.

“Don’t worry, darling,” Carlo spat, putting the gun back into his pocket. “He will be fine before you know it. The devil takes care of his own.”

After that he left, slamming the door behind him, and we remained alone in the cellar in a reunion that was far from what I had imagined.

Chapter 10

Clarence

The half-Italian scoundrel had left the premises with the excuse of having a drink in the nearby village, as if the cellar of the villa was not full to the brim with all sorts of alcoholic beverages. Even so, it was perfectly fine by me if he wished to drown to death in a spirits barrel, perish on his way there, or at the very least, lay inebriated on the floor of a seedy countryside tavern for the rest of the night... or for all eternity.

But it was obvious none of that was going to happen.

Shame.

I stared at the night, pleasant and silent on the other side of the basement windows. An onyx umbrella sheltered us, burrowed in the bowels of the remote Tuscany villa which had been my home during the past weeks.

“It’s a nice place, isn’t it?” Alba said, her voice drowsy after the long trip. I was sitting on a wooden bench, and she lay on it on her back, her head resting on my lap as I drew butterfly shapes on her forehead.

“It is,” I agreed, unwilling to break the flawless silence with trivial conversation. It was a perfect moment just as it was, and I told myself that as long as we remained still, we could avoid the reality surrounding us, the steep slopes looming over the house, covered in deceivingly dead vineyards, now invisible to her eyes in the moonless night―but not to mine―reminding us that one day, very soon, we would be forced to face reality once again.

My senses captured even the smallest details. I barely remembered being human, unable to hear the dormouse snoring under a floorboard, or the cobwebs swinging on the ceiling, or seeing that minute beginning of a teardrop, threatening to seep out of the corner of Alba’s eye as she held it back with all her will. No, nowadays nothing escaped me. A blessing most of the time but a curse too.

I cradled her head in one arm, leaning down and inching toward her face, holding her gaze. She smiled, expectant, but I kissed the side of her nose instead, chuckling softly against her cheek. The tears dissolved as her heartbeat quickened, and a rush of desire overcame me as I devised every little thing I would like to do to her next. She squirmed in my arms in protest, clearly disapproving of my chaste kiss. She fought my grip, her lips seeking mine, but I kept teasing her, kissing her hair, her cheek and the tip of her nose, until her heartbeat was racing so fast that it became deafening.

“Clarence!” she scolded me, propping up against the bench. She grabbed the front of my shirt, impatient, and pushed me against her.

“What?” I said, laughing and kissing her at the same time.

She glanced away for a second, “You know what.”

Feigning innocence, I nuzzled her nose, smelling her delicious excitement as it clouded the air.

“What about that bullet wound?” she asked all of a sudden, inspecting my torn, bloodied shirt with apprehension.

“I will be fine,” I whispered, biting her earlobe playfully. “But your obnoxious friend might come back any minute.”

“Then we should make the most of our time alone...”

“Should we, now...?” I smiled. Her pulse sped up even more as my fingers drew a path down the side of her neck, and she nodded knowingly. “Fine,” I said, fighting back my grin, “I’ll see what I can do.”

***

WE SAT SNUGGLED IN each other’s arms, drowsy and blissfully drained. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, mumbling into my hair.

“So, is it true?” she whispered, still breathless.

“What?” I asked, enthralled by her warmth radiating through my arms, an illusion of life creeping back for a second.

“The curse. What Jean-Pierre said.” Her voice was calm, but I knew better.

I shrugged. I had seen a few of our kind meet their end that way. Some weathered the curse for decades, while others were gone in a matter of weeks. When I contemplated my options, the first one sounded perfect: being granted a human lifespan to spend by her side, to be ultimately gone together, erased forever into eternal silence and darkness, just like all earthly creatures were meant to be. I found the idea oddly appeasing. Immortality was meaningless if you were to spend it alone, watching all your loved ones die before you.

“He might be right,” I conceded, “but it’s hard to guess how long it might take. Hopefully, years. It could be one month, in theory,” I said, but seeing her despairing expression I added quickly, “Although most probably a century. This might come as a surprise, but I used to be a doctor... I suppose I would know if I were on the verge of death.”

“You, a doctor?” She raised her eyebrows. “Why haven’t I heard that before?”

“Maybe because I was a terrible one.”

She puffed, and I could almost hear the hundreds of questions bubbling in her mind.

“Also,” I continued, “we cannot know whether she cast the Silver Cast curse on me.” The poisonous cold inside my chest left little doubt as to what else it could have been, but I decided not to tell her that. “Those texts were lost and forgotten centuries ago.”

“No.” She sat up, burrowing herself into my chest like a mouse. “They weren’t lost nor forgotten. Jean-Pierre knows about a grimoire in the French Pyrenees, and that’s one of the reasons I traveled all the way back here.”

“But... Francesca? Julia...?” I protested. I was skeptical of Alba being able to retrieve a secret grimoire, let alone put it to use on her own. As much as I believed in her dormant abilities, I knew that a curse cast by someone else was virtually impossible to reverse. Meanwhile, there were people we might be able to save, if only we could find them soon enough.

“Oh, yes,” she said, standing up and squeezing my hand before walking away and up the stairs. “Wait here. I almost forgot.”

When she came back, there was a small object inside her tightly closed fist. I could see it twinkle between her fingers, covering the darkened walls of the cellar in kaleidoscopic sparkles.

“Jean-Pierre asked me to give you this,” she said, her eyes narrowing in a silent question. She opened her hand, and I drowned a gasp.

Francesca’s ring.

My ring.

I hadn’t seen it for a very long time. Once, many moons ago, I had sworn to protect Francesca from any harm which might come her way. Her brother was gone, and I was infatuated with her, as I often was with most beautiful creatures and particularly her. Ours was a whirlwind romance that kept going on and off throughout the decades, and neither of us dared take it too seriously. She had brushed off my chivalry when I presented her with the jewel, as she always did. She never needed me. Or anyone.

I slid the ring Alba had brought onto my little finger, knowing exactly why Jean-Pierre had sent it my way: he knew I might be beyond saving, but there was still hope for Francesca and the others. It was his genteel reminder of life’s priorities.

“Thank you,” I said. “You were talking about that grimoire...”

“Yes,” Alba agreed, “we must get it as soon as possible. It’s in a place called Alcazar. I know it’s a bit of a detour, but I think it’s worth the effort if we can get hold of the counterspell.”

“Forgive my saying so, but I think we should go to Paris first and try to track Natasha’s steps with the clues you and Lombardi found. For once, I see eye to eye with that half-witted friend of yours. This curse is not going anywhere. We will be able to tackle it later, when everyone is safe.”

“Will we?” She crossed her arms, standing in front of me with a challenging expression.

“Of course. With a mighty sorceress like you by my side, what have I to fear?”

Her eyes narrowed into thin, dark lines. “You aren’t mocking me, are you, Clarence? This is not funny at all.”

“I would never do such a thing!”

“Sure.”

She was cross, but I did not want her reservations to ruin what still had the potential to become a perfect evening.

“Did you know I have magic powers too?” I teased her.

She rolled her eyes. “You do?”

“Allow me to show you...” I pulled her closer and extended both hands toward her stiff figure. “It is called―” I waved my hands in S-patterns along her sides, wiggling my fingers in the air over her body. She squirmed. “―The Magic Tickling Touch.”

She giggled, wriggling and ticklish even though I wasn’t touching her. “See?” I said, nodding as I enjoyed her cheery misery. “Magic!”

“That was silly,” she puffed, pushing me away, but her mood had improved.

“Do you think so? Then, please, show me a better example of magic,” I defied her. “Could you, perhaps...” I looked around, searching for a suitable subject. Finally, I picked a random wine bottle from a shelf and two glasses. “...open this bottle for me?” She shrugged and tried to take it from my hands, but I hid the bottle behind my back and lifted a finger. “Uh-uh. No touching.”

“You know I can’t do that,” she protested.

“Well, you could at least try. Why deprive me of a deserved, though brief, goodbye party?” I told her with a wink.

“What are you talking about? I know for a fact you despise wine.”

“The time I have spent in this cellar has been so memorable... I shall be saddened to bid farewell to all the lovely mice and cockroaches who kept me company in your absence. Why not indulge me with a toast, if nothing else? If only Lombardi did not keep his corkscrews so well hidden...”

She let out a sigh, but a soft glow swirled around her, unbeknownst to her: a clear sign that she had accepted the challenge.

“Please. Humor me,” I said, stealing a brief kiss on her forehead. “Just try. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Okay.” A sudden glow illuminated her eyes with mischief. “But on one condition.”

“Do tell,” I encouraged her, intrigued. I placed the bottle on a table in front of us, then sat with an ankle on my knee and waited.

“If I manage to open that bottle, we go to Alcazar first. No whining. And above all, no trying to make me change my mind.”

“And if you don’t?”

She dismissed the thought with a curt hand wave, perhaps a little bit too confident. “I don’t know―” Her mind must have been somewhere else, her eyes fixed on a distant point in the empty space before us. “―just pick whatever you want.”

“Whatever I want?” I repeated, blinking back a smirk as I crept closer, just enough to feel her sunny warmth. I had not expected our game to turn into such a pleasing enterprise so quickly.

She dismissed my mischievous question with a huff and concentrated on the dark, sleek bottle on the table. Her eyes were closed; her eyelashes trembling like feeble butterfly wings. A bright radiance grew around her and turned from a faint lilac into a rich, velvety purple.

The little witch didn’t seem so small anymore.

Plop.

The muffled sound of the cork flying out of the neck of the bottle and hitting the ceiling startled me. I clapped my hands quietly, nodding at her in amazement.

“Very nice, my dear...” I congratulated her. I started to pour some wine into the glasses, but another loud plop interrupted me. And then another. And another.

The entire cellar room shook, and in a matter of seconds, all the bottles started to tremble. With a loud bang, they all exploded at once, in a violent display of wine fireworks. A shard of glass cut my eyebrow, and I brushed it off with oblivion, my eyes stuck on Alba, who had wine dripping all over her damp hair and shirt.

Silence ensued, only broken by the tiny scarlet rivers flowing down the shelves and down our faces, pooling in crimson puddles around us.

Drip, drip, drip.

I threw her a sideways glance and grimaced. She stared back, and we snorted simultaneously, taking in the ridiculous scene surrounding us.

“You wanted a party,” she grunted. “Here’s your party.” Her words were smothered by hardly contained amusement.

“Looks more like a murder scene,” I pointed out.

“That’s because it’s a vampire party,” she said.

I burst into laughter, and my chuckles swept away the tightness which had lived inside me for weeks. Her eyes were teary as she, too, gave in to a cascade of roaring laughter, bracing her middle with abandon.

She leaned against one of the red-stained walls to catch her breath, and her arms clutched me, as if to avoid toppling over.

Even drenched in wine, she was absolutely beautiful, and I had to use all my self-control to avoid pinning her against that very wall once again and kissing her senseless. Biting her senseless.

“I am the worst witch ever,” she panted, still breathing heavily after the laughing fit.

I silenced her with a finger over her lips and shook my head. “That’s not true,” I whispered. “One day, you will unveil the true wonders you are capable of and surprise everyone around you... and yourself. But not me, because I believed in you from the very first moment I met you.” And hopefully, I shall live to see that day.

She smiled weakly, and I showered her in an unhurried rain of tiny kisses. I explored the narrow, delicious space behind her ears, burying myself in her hair, which was soaked in expensive red chianti. The scent of old smoke still lingered underneath, even though she had escaped that fire many weeks ago. I traveled down her shoulder, following the invisible path which led down to her wrist, where her veins pulsated with deafening expectation. Glass shards had scratched her forearms, and a single pearl of blood was forming on her pale skin, almost indistinguishable from the hundreds of wine drops which covered both of us like liquefied confetti. Indistinguishable... for a human. But not for me. Elated, I licked off the pearls of blood, relishing her surrendering moans. Her eyes were oddly glassy, and I put it down at first to exhilaration. But then I noticed the sudden weakness of her stance, barely holding herself on the bench. I let go of her hand and leaned back to look at her.

“Is anything wrong?” I asked.

“Just a bit tired,” she mumbled, the words garbled. “Don’t worry.”

She tried to bring me closer, but she seemed unwell and about to pass out.

“Let me take you to bed,” I offered instead, holding her hand.

She shook her head, dismissing my help, and tried to get up from the bench, but she fainted and collapsed. I caught her right before she hit the floor, her eyes still open and staring into the emptiness.

We stayed there for the rest of the night, and I held her unconscious body in my arms until I heard a car parking in the driveway, announcing the return of the owner of the villa.

Chapter 11

Alba

My roaring stomach announced it must be past lunchtime, and the bright slits of sunlight filtering through the embroidered curtains of the bedroom confirmed it. I didn’t remember getting into bed, and the last thing in my memory was kissing Clarence before everything had started to spin and faded to black. The night had been long and dreamless, and I was sore all over; I felt as if someone had stolen a few days of my life.

I got up and followed the enticing smell of melted cheese that pervaded the whole house and led me to the large country kitchen, where Carlo was chopping tomatoes with an irked expression and much more verve than strictly necessary.

“Good morning?” I said, trying to sample his humor and the time of day in one single greeting. If he didn’t stop slaughtering those poor vegetables, his salad was soon going to turn into marinara sauce.

“What makes you think it’s a good one?” he answered. The knife left a deep cleave on the cutting board, but he kept beating it. “Not my business, but I’ve seen sloths that sleep less than you two. Also, who is going to pay for all those bottles in my cellar?”

“Ah, yes, about those bottles... look, Carlo, I’m sorry, I...” I rubbed my eyes and held onto the edge of the table, still feeling like I had spent the night weightlifting. How on earth had I managed to break a thousand bottles in one single second?

Clarence’s voice interrupted us, booming from the depths of the staircase. “You said you would take her to see a doctor when she woke up,” he said. “What are you waiting for?”

“What?” Carlo said, pretending he didn’t hear him. “I don’t remember saying that. Why don’t you come up here and talk, like normal people do? Or, even better, why don’t you take your... girlfriend to a doctor yourself?”

Sunlight was bathing the whole kitchen, and it was obvious why Clarence would be yelling from the cellar instead of coming up to discuss the issue or simply driving me wherever he wanted to.

“I don’t need a doctor,” I said, although I wasn’t entirely sure. I felt dizzy, and my stomach was in knots, but perhaps a plate of Carlo’s lasagna would help with that. I peeked into the oven; the lasagna looked and smelled heavenly, with a layer of golden cheese on top and tomato sauce bubbling nicely around the corners.

Carlo wiped his hands on a kitchen towel and poured some beer into a glass, spilling half of it over the counter. Then he shoved it in my direction brusquely, avoiding my eyes.

“Thanks,” I said, taking the beer with hesitation. It was cold and bitter, and I didn’t particularly like beer, especially not on an empty stomach. “I’m sorry about yesterday. We’ll pay for all the damage.”

“Make yourself useful and chop these carrots,” Carlo grumbled, passing me a board and a knife.

I took the knife and started to trim off the tops of the carrots, then focused on grounding myself in the present moment so I could cut them into even slices without having an accident. As I was working, my thoughts drifted to Francesca, who had been emaciated when I last saw her in Natasha’s prison in Venice. I shook my head and concentrated again on the task, but the carrots turned to fingers on the board, and when I lifted my eyes, I found Julia’s gazing at me, purple and terrified, her hand on the wooden plank, her fingers bleeding and partially chopped under my knife.

“I will never tell you where they are,” Julia growled. “Never.”

I screamed and let the knife fall to the floor with a loud clunk, missing my foot by an inch.

Julia disappeared, her fingers turning back into innocent carrots.

Carlo huffed and pushed me away with impatience. “Maybe it’s better if you go and wait on the couch. I’ll do it. Just take your beer and go.”

“Could you perhaps come down here for a minute, Alba?” called Clarence from the basement.

I set the beer back on the counter. I didn’t feel like drinking anymore. I headed downstairs where I found Clarence standing among piles of glass shards from the previous night. His shirt―the one he had borrowed from Carlo’s closet―was completely ruined and covered in stains.

“You look so poorly, my dear,” he said, squeezing me into a firm, comforting hug. “What you did yesterday must have been too much for you. You need to rest more. I don't think you should travel anywhere without seeing a doctor first.”

He was paler than usual too, his lips nearly blue. It was hard to guess whether it was due to the curse or insufficient feeding, but he certainly wasn’t his usual self. “Says who? Have you looked at yourself?”

Clarence raised an eyebrow, reminding me he had no way of checking himself in a mirror. Then he leaned down, his head tilted sideways as he stared at his reflection in my eyes. “No, but I’m sure I look absolutely dashing, as always,” he stated with a smirk, running his fingers through his raven black hair with visible delight.

I puffed. “I’m fine. I don’t need anything but food. If someone is sick here and needs urgent care, it’s not me. Also, didn’t you say you used to be a doctor? Feel free to examine me.”

Clarence’s eyes glinted with mischief, but Carlo’s annoyed voice rumbled from upstairs. “Look, both of you are sick and annoying as hell, and if I’m forced to listen to your cooing for much longer, I might throw up and ruin lunch. Just tell me whether I should go pack the car while the lasagna is in the oven.”

“Yes, I think we should leave as soon as possible,” I said pensively as Carlo’s head peeked into the cellar, frowning with disgust at the sight of his ruined wine collection and Clarence’s hands around my waist.

“Okay,” Carlo agreed. “Then we can leave in an hour. We eat and go.”

I stared at the weak gleam coming from upstairs. It was too early for Clarence to travel by car. Too sunny. “No, we’ll have to wait till dusk,” I said, pointing at the darkened windows of the cellar.

“No. I have a better idea.” Carlo retrieved a small, rusty rabbit cage stowed in a corner, then set it on the floor with a triumphant grin. “Your carriage, sir,” he sneered, bowing to Clarence as he imitated his accent.

Clarence eyed the cage with incredulity: the bottom was filthy and covered in dry rabbit droppings. “Excuse me?” he said, looming menacingly over Carlo.

“No, no, no,” I said, trying to put some distance between both men. “Don’t start again, you two. Of course he isn’t going to get in that cage. Are you crazy, Carlo?”

“I don’t see why he can’t just turn into a bird and travel comfortably in the cage,” Carlo said. “I’m not going to drive only at night. That would slow us down too much. Also, does he even have a passport? I bet he doesn’t, and that’s going to cause trouble at the border.”

“As a matter of fact, I do,” Clarence answered, straightening his back with dignity. “It’s just unfortunate that I didn’t bring it with me, as I flew all the way here with my own wings.”

“Sorry, man, but that’s the same as having none,” Carlo pointed out. “You walk into that cage now, or you are not riding in my car. End of story.”

“He does have a passport,” I said, lifting a finger to stop Carlo’s cocky discourse. “I have it upstairs.” I could feel Clarence fuming silently at the other man’s arrogant tone, but I ignored the tension in the air and hoped they didn’t kill each other in my absence. “Wait a minute.”

I went to my room and found the envelope containing Clarence’s passport in my suitcase, then rushed back to where both men were waiting, engaged in a stare duel of sorts... but alive.

“See?” I said, waving the brown booklet triumphantly. “Here it is.”

Carlo snatched the passport and opened it to the first page. After a couple of seconds, he started to laugh hysterically.

“Who the hell is this?” he asked, giving it back. “Tristan?” He was holding his belly, his whole body shaking with laughter.

I took it, confused. Was that Clarence’s passport at all? I hadn’t even checked it out when Elizabeth gave it to me, just thrown it into my baggage without opening the envelope. When I opened the small booklet under Clarence’s apologetical gaze, I quickly understood what Carlo was talking about.

The photograph showed a thirty-something man with dark hair and brown eyes, and a nicely defined jaw which offered a vague resemblance to Clarence’s. But the similarities ended there; that was not Clarence, and there was no doubt about that.

“Who is this?” I asked, handing Clarence his alleged documents. “Tristan? Really?”

“Well...” He shrugged. “I thought you would appreciate my name choice. Besides, you know how it is with mirrors... photographs are no different.”

“Oh, no.” I held my forehead on my hands to process the situation. That passport was useless for travel.

“It’s the best match we could find,” he apologized. “Nobody has ever noticed anywhere. And those who did... usually forgot it quickly.”

I blinked with disbelief. “So, you coaxed a random man to have his picture taken, then stole it from him and impersonated him?”

“Well... it’s a complex matter...” Clarence stared at his shoes with innocence.

I sighed. I had been filing plenty of paperwork for Elizabeth but never came across Clarence’s current passport before. “Maybe you should really consider the cage... we don’t want to attract more attention than necessary.”

“I’m really sorry, but that will not be possible,” Clarence said brusquely, crossing his arms.

“I’ll clean it well. There’s a hose in the garden. We can fix it to the back seat with the seat belt, and you will be fine. It’s just a few hours until dark.”

“No, you do not understand,” he replied, rubbing his temples.

“So what’s the problem then?”

“I thought I had told you...” He lowered his voice, watching Carlo warily. It was obvious from his tone that whatever it was, he hadn’t told me. “I can’t shift anymore. I haven’t been able to since we returned from Venice.”

***

“HE CAN TRAVEL IN THE trunk then,” Carlo said. “It’s a big car.”

“No, I don’t like that,” I protested. “We will leave after sunset.”

Clarence stood silent behind me, feigning disinterest, but the fiery glint in his eyes served as a small reminder that he could just decide to dismember Carlo if he got on his nerves. Such a long silence, especially coming from a vampire, could either mean that his mind was elsewhere or that he was deciding which side of Carlo’s throat might be easier to access from his position.

“It’s a very long drive, and we are supposed to travel in the Pyrenees,” Carlo said, staring at the route on his phone. “The GPS is showing snow, roadblocks, and who knows what else we’ll find on the way. I have two weeks to solve this mess if I don’t want to lose my job, and I already lost a few days coming all the way here to pick up―” He nodded toward Clarence, avoiding looking at him directly. “―your boyfriend.”

“He’s not my...” I started to say, but Clarence placed his hands softly on my shoulders and interrupted me.

“It’s fine. I will travel in the boot until sunset. I’m very tired anyway. Just help me find a thick blanket to block sunlight.”

***

AFTER EATING CARLO’S lasagna under Clarence’s bored gaze, we packed our bags and left the keys with Maria, the housekeeper, who promised to clean everything and get it ready for the first tourists of the season.

I was distressed after hearing Clarence’s confession. Not only wasn’t he able to turn into a raven anymore, but also, he mentioned he was having lots of trouble staying awake during the day, instead surrendering to the pull of slumber. All those difficulties could only mean one thing: he wasn’t getting better, and the curse was stronger than he had cared to admit the previous day.

Carlo brought the car into the garage, and I kissed Clarence goodnight, or whatever one was supposed to tell a vampire who was about to have a nap in the trunk of a car. I felt bad for him but couldn’t think of a better solution. We agreed to take the fastest route and stop after dark so he could at least stretch his legs for a while.

“It’s a twelve-hour drive,” Carlo announced, “possibly more, given the weather forecast. I suggest we try to reach the French border today, and then we can decide whether we find a place to sleep or keep going.”

I sat next to Carlo, watching the anodyne landscape through the passenger window and thinking about Alcazar and whether we would find the grimoire there. Meanwhile, I texted Minnie, who had barely woken up five thousand miles away in Emberbury, and we were chatting about the girls and whether they had eaten and slept enough. Eventually, Minnie had to log off, and I kept myself busy counting the trucks coming from the opposite direction, a lingering habit after many years of entertaining kids during car rides. The highway wasn’t particularly busy, and evening was closing in on the road to the Italian-French border. It was odd because almost all the cars on the opposite lanes were red. I had been thinking about Carlo’s anger while he chopped those tomatoes for lunch, so I smiled at the coincidence. The radio kept blabbering in Italian, but I had long ago tuned it out because it required too much effort to follow whatever they were saying. Seemingly, Carlo had been listening because he lowered the volume and said, “See? It’s going to snow.”

“When?” I asked, wondering what I had been thinking when I packed only a pair of ballet flats.

“Probably tomorrow.”

I nodded, now worried about my feet freezing on top of all my other concerns. The cars around us were all white, and I stared at them in disbelief. Another coincidence? Or was I attracting cars of a certain color somehow? I tried to think of a ridiculous color as a test. Purple, I told myself. There were hardly any purple cars. I pictured Miss Jilly’s eyes, or better said, Julia’s eyes when she had followed me around as a black cat, before I knew about The Cloister and the otherworldly creatures its vaults guarded.

A dozen purple trucks appeared in the distance, some of them covered in a dusty layer of thin snow.

“Carlo, look!” I shouted with excitement, shaking his shoulder. “Look what I can do!”

Carlo twisted his lip and blinked at the crazed woman sitting next to him. “What? I can’t see anything.”

“Look at those trucks! I... made them appear!”

“No, you didn’t. Those are just ordinary fruit trucks. That brand uses only purple trucks.”

“I swear it was me! Let me show you! Pick a color, and you’ll see!” I needed to share my excitement with someone, and Carlo happened to be the only available candidate.

“Yeah, okay,” he said with disinterest. “Blue.”

I took a deep inhale and thought about the ocean; about those lazy summer afternoons on Revere Beach with my student friends, building castles in the sand and dreaming about a future which had turned out to be completely different from my wildest youth fantasies. Sure enough, a dozen cerulean blue vans materialized behind us and started to overtake us like an eerie tide.

“Hah! I told you!” I started to laugh and clap my hands like a child, delighted with my newfound skill.

But Carlo just puffed and rolled his eyes. “That’s the most stupidly useless ability a witch could have,” he declared, sliding right to avoid one of the demented blue vans, which breezed by at a dangerously short distance from our car.

I slumped in my seat, angry at his lack of enthusiasm. “Thanks for the encouragement,” I grunted, squinting at the speeding blue dots as they disappeared in the distance. The beach in my mind turned into a raging sea storm, and I shook my head to dispel it as quickly as I could.

“Do you enjoy reading?” I asked Carlo without much hope, trying to start a conversation.

“Nah,” he answered.

“So, what’s the last book you read?”

“No idea. I think I read Moby Dick in high school. And that one where they burned all books so people couldn’t read anything. Smart move, if you ask me.”

I rolled my eyes at his joke―had it been a joke?―and remained quiet, once again haunted by visions of rampant sea tempests at the mention of Moby Dick. I couldn’t wait for night to fall so Clarence could finally get out of that trunk and free me from the frustration of sitting for hours on end next to someone who considered the events in Fahrenheit 451 a perfectly valid social measure.

The traffic in front of us started to slow down, emergency flashers staining the darkening horizon with blood red sparks.

“Seems something happened further down the road,” Carlo commented, stating the obvious as we slowly joined a trudging queue of cars turtling their way down the highway.

I nodded, glancing at the clock with sadness. Hopefully, this wouldn’t slow us down too much. Our destination was far enough as it was, and I really wanted Clarence to get out of the trunk already.

We came to a halt and saw a man walking on the emergency lane while he talked on his mobile phone. Carlo waved at him and asked him what was going on. The man answered something in quick, garbled Italian and waved toward a highway exit to our right.

“He says there has been a really bad accident. A heap of snow fell off the roof of a truck and blinded the driver behind it. There was a chain crash. He’s suggesting we get out of here while we can and take the state road instead. The exit is right there.” Carlo steered the car toward the emergency lane to escape the traffic jam. “Can you see anything?” he asked, his eyes fixed on the road as we made our sneaky escape.

I caught a brief glimpse of several blue vans squeezed into a battered metal mess, lying like toy cars forgotten by a toddler and blocking all the lanes from one side to the other of the highway. Sirens wailed behind us, and horror clutched my stomach as I remembered my previous visions of ocean gales and sinking ships, when Carlo had angered me. “No. I can’t see anything,” I lied.

“Oh well. Shit happens,” he said dismissively, concentrating on the road signs to exit the highway. “We’ll take the local roads for a few miles. I need a bathroom anyways.”

Chapter 12

Alba

“Wait here,” Carlo said, pulling over in the middle of a very questionable-looking and narrow mountain road. For the past fifteen minutes after leaving the last village behind, I had suspected we were lost; the fact that we were now climbing up a very steep and holey path overlooking a sleepy valley was a betraying sign that we were definitely not where we should have been on our quest to get back on the highway.

While Carlo disappeared into the trees, I got out of the car and pondered whether to wake Clarence up or not. The sky was indigo blue, but there were still broad stripes of pink and purple in the horizon. How much sunlight was too much for a vampire? I sighed and decided to let him sleep a little longer, just to be on the safe side.

“Hello,” a female voice whispered in the trees. It came from the opposite side from the one Carlo had disappeared into, and it startled me. I wrapped my woolen cardigan tighter around myself and hesitated between trying to find out who was there or locking myself in the car until Carlo returned.

“Alba,” the voice said, and this time, there was no doubt it was calling me.

I stepped back, terrified that this stranger hidden in the trees knew my name. That couldn’t be a good sign when lost in a remote place south of Modena. I fumbled with the door handle and realized the door had been locked from the inside. Carlo had taken the key with him, and I didn’t have any.

“Please, come here, we need your help,” the woman said. We? So there was more than one? Her voice was but a hiss, almost like the trees themselves whispering into my ear.

“Who’s there?” I asked, wondering why Carlo was taking so long.

“Help us, Alba. We need you.”

I couldn’t see anyone, and despite the sharp, cold air, a wave of heat washed over me. I took a few steps toward the trees, unwilling to leave the relative safety of the car.

“Please...” the voice pleaded. “Someone has to fix this. We cannot.”

“I can’t see you,” I said with a trembling voice. “Who are you and what do you want from me? Show yourself!”

“My name is Laura... my daughter and I need help... if you help us, we can help you in exchange.”

“Where are you?” I asked out of desperation.

“We have been following you... turn around,” she whispered softly, “I am right behind you. But please, do not scream.”

Taking a deep breath, I braced myself and did as told.

Behind me stood a middle-aged lady holding a grimy little girl’s hand, and all would have been well and good had she not been carrying her own head in the other one. It was dangling by a long tuft of matted, bloodied hair.

“Maman, is that the Angel of Death looming over this lady?” the little girl asked sweetly, bending over to talk to her mom’s head and glowing against the tree trunks like a firefly.

My shriek was probably heard beyond the French border, wherever it was.

Carlo’s steps crushed the frosty leaves in the darkness, and he appeared behind the lady and her child, then proceeded to walk right through them and throw his hands in the air with annoyance.

“Woman! Why the hell did you have to yelp like that? I thought you were being murdered!”

The ghostly lady frowned, and the little girl combed her mother’s hair with her fingers. “Should we show ourselves to this gentleman, Maman?”

“Not now, darling,” the mother said with a sad smile, “perhaps some other day.”

Both vanished into the ground, leaving thin tendrils of white steam behind them.

“Carlo...” I said, my voice unsteady. “I just saw a... a...” I took a deep breath. “A ghost.” He rolled his eyes, but I insisted, “No, seriously. Actually, two. You walked right through them. I swear.”

“You keep seeing weird things. Antennae, hordes of blue cars and now ghosts? Isn’t there a way to get that witchy side of yours under control? Because it doesn’t seem healthy to me.”

I shrugged and waited for him to unlock the car. Just as I was about to get in, a set of blue lights flashed behind the last bend of the road, and a police car parked right behind us.

“Shit!” Carlo groaned.

I wondered which god or goddess it would be more suitable to pray to in such a situation. Perhaps Shiva, protector of outcasts?

“Buona sera,” the policemen greeted us, shining their flashlights on us. “Why is your vehicle blocking the road?”

I pretended not to understand, but they repeated their question in English.

“I needed to find a bathroom,” Carlo said abruptly.

“I see,” the officer said. “Also, we heard screams. Was it you, madam? Everything alright?”

“Oh, there was a―” I scratched my head. A what? “―a spider. A really big one.”

They stared at each other, their faces revealing they didn’t believe my story. “Can we have a look at your documents, please?”

Carlo handed them his passport, and I rummaged into my bag for mine, just to realize with concern that I must have left it in my travel bag. Which was in the trunk. Being used by Clarence as a makeshift pillow.

“I don’t know where it is,” I mumbled. I glanced at Carlo with sheer desperation, hoping he would know what to do. Should I say I had lost it? Or should I open the trunk and risk the policemen seeing Clarence?

“What do you mean you don’t know where it is?” Carlo growled, oblivious to my hints. “You had it at the airport. Things don’t just vanish. Search for it.”

“Yes, but...” I nodded toward the back of the car, hoping he would get the message. He didn’t, but the policemen did notice my strange behavior.

“Can you please open the trunk, sir?” one of them asked, his fingers tapping with impatience on the hilt of his gun.

I leaned against the car, desperate to come up with some sort of spell to make them go away and leave us alone before something horrible happened.

“Of course,” Carlo said, and his throat bobbed as he started to open the lid very slowly.

The small side lights inside the trunk revealed a dark, daunting fabric bundle, which greatly resembled a dead body wrapped in a blanket.

“What are you transporting here, sir?” The policeman leaned down but avoided touching the blanket. “Can you please open the parcel?”

I swore under my breath and waited for disaster. From where I was, leaning against the driver’s door, I didn’t have a great view of the scene, but the faces of the policemen were clearly visible, and their expressions were enough to unveil the exact moment when Carlo uncovered what he was transporting, as they had put it.

“Che cazzo...?” one of them muttered. I took a couple of steps toward them, hoping for my erratic magic to solve the situation on its own. “Nobody moves!” the policeman shouted, pointing his gun at me.

I raised my hands, feigning innocence.

“Hands against the car,” the other one said. “You too,” he added, pushing Carlo to the other side. Carlo obliged, raising his eyebrows at me, a mute question in his eyes. Is the vampire going to wake up or what?

“Is this man dead?” the policeman asked, to no one in particular. They seemed convinced he was, so the question was superfluous.

“He’s just having a nap,” I answered with a tight, all-teeth grin.

“A nap, huh? In the trunk? And his lips are blue. Must have been a really long nap. Paolo, call a medical examiner.”

Paolo eyed the contents of the trunk with a weary grimace, then turned on his radio monitor and muttered something into it while the other one handcuffed us.

“They’ll be here soon,” he reassured his companion. Both men stood side to side, watching us warily while they waited for reinforcements to arrive.

The other one hmphed with frustration. “And to think, tonight Isabella is making pizza. It’s going to get cold before I get home... I hate being late for dinner.”

An arm sprouted out of the trunk, followed by a pair of long legs in a pair of borrowed, ill-fitting jeans.

Clarence stood up and bowed politely to the policemen, who stared at him with wide-eyed bewilderment. “Good evening, sirs. Did someone say dinner?”

***

“THIS IS bad,” Carlo grunted, crouching over the unconscious officers and turning his back toward them to search their belts. It had taken Clarence two-and-a-half seconds to knock both of them out in one single, almost lazy blow. Despite his mention of dinner, he had spared us the uncomfortable sight of a vampire doing what vampires usually did and left the agents untouched right where they had fallen.

“Where the hell are the keys to these handcuffs?” Carlo grumbled, fumbling in the darkness with his hands tied to his back.

“I could help you with that,” Clarence offered, pointing quietly at Carlo’s tied hands, but the other man scowled at him and kept contorting, trying―quite unsuccessfully―to fit the key he had just found into the tiny lock. Clarence had set me free as soon as he had knocked out the poor agents, but Carlo had refused any assistance from him and insisted on doing everything himself.

“What are we going to do when they wake up?” I asked, rubbing my wrists to restore the blood circulation. I stifled a yawn, exhausted after causing car accidents, meeting headless people, and all the other crazy things which seemed to follow me wherever I went.

Clarence glanced at me with worry, ignoring my question. “It’s been a long day for you. You must be tired,” he said, rubbing my back.

I smiled at him with affection. It was cute he thought he could help me warm up with his ice-cold touch. I nudged him away and knelt in front of the policemen, who were immersed in a peaceful sleep, faint smiles on their lips. “I am. But we can’t just leave them here. It’s too risky.”

Carlo kept twisting and trying to get rid of the cuffs. “What do you mean?” he asked. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t usually kill people, particularly not unconscious people,” he muttered.

“Neither do I,” Clarence said, offended, but after a brief pause, he quietly added, “most of the time.”

“I wasn’t talking about killing anyone!” I whisper-shouted, appalled at their interpretation of my words. “I just meant it’s cold, and they’ll freeze to death here, or they could be eaten by wild animals. But yes, we don’t want them to follow us either. I agree on that. It’s risky for all of us.”

“We leave now as fast as we can, and we hope they don’t catch us again?” Carlo suggested. His cheeks were cherry red due to his struggles to free himself, but his hands remained tied behind his back.

“In my opinion, that’s not a very clever plan,” Clarence said, then took a stride toward Carlo, grabbed the handcuffs and broke the chain without even flinching. Looking at his effortless moves, one would have thought the handcuffs were made of play dough. “There. Stop torturing yourself,” he said, ignoring Carlo’s fierce look of hatred. “I have a better idea,” he continued impassively. “Allow me to take care of this mess. Lombardi, please drive yourself and Alba to the nearest hotel along this road and get a room. In fact, no. Get two, please,” he warned him, holding the man’s gaze. “I shall join you in a minute, when I am done with the cleaning up.”

Chapter 13

Alba

Carlo threw the broken handcuffs at Clarence’s feet and got into the car with a puff. “Good luck getting rid of all the evidence,” he sneered. “Because they also called reinforcements, and they must be on their way.”

I kissed Clarence hurriedly and followed Carlo to the car. My pinky toes were numb with cold. “Please be careful,” I told Clarence, watching in awe as he folded the discarded cuffs like fresh clay and rolled them into a shiny, silver ball. “Will you be okay on your own? Are you sure you don’t want us to wait here?”

“Don’t worry,” he answered, handing me the metal ball he had modelled out of the broken handcuffs. “You are tired, and I could benefit from a brisk walk. I don’t mind. And it’s safer if you leave.”

Taking a seat in the warm vehicle, I nodded; he was right. I held the metal ball he had given me, mute proof that, sick or not, he still had the upper hand when dealing with ordinary humans. Sometimes it was easy to forget the things he was able to do.

Carlo turned on the engine, and we drove in silence. The road became steep and narrow in front of us, with no villages in sight, let alone hotels. I couldn’t stop thinking about the cop whose wife had promised to make a pizza, and I finally voiced the question which had been lingering like static electricity in the air. “What do you think he’s going to do?”

Carlo put an arm around the passenger seat and turned to look into my eyes with disgust. “What do you think, love?” he spat, “What do you think?”

I sighed, turning the metal ball in my hands and allowing the dim light of the moon to reflect on it. Of course. What was a hungry vampire supposed to do with two unconscious victims?

“I guess you are right,” I said and kept silent the rest of the way.

***

A PINK NEON SIGN WITH the words “Camere, rooms, Zimmer” greeted us from a distance, a couple of letters flickering in a near-death last cry. The whole place seemed to have been scrapped from a 1966 photo album, with a grey cement façade that must have been screaming for new paint for at least half a century.

We parked in front of the main entrance and rang the bell. To my surprise, a lady came to open it and showed us two humble―but clean―rooms on the first floor. Carlo booked both of them, honoring Clarence’s request. Thanking him for the ride, I rushed to my room and left the window ajar in case Clarence didn’t feel like bothering the receptionist.

I found some cookies, an energy bar and an apple in my bag and decided they would be enough to survive until morning. After a brief, mismatched picnic on the bed, I went to brush my teeth. Even in the badly lit bathroom, I could distinguish the many wrinkles spidering over my forehead and around my eyes like eerie cobwebs. Some were more like mountain ridges. Most hadn’t been there a couple of months ago, and a wave of panic took hold of me when I tried and failed to smooth them out with some cream. The stress and jet lag definitely weren’t helping. Moody, I searched in my toiletries bag and pulled out a moisturizing mask. I spread a thick layer of white paste over my whole face and checked the text on the box, which promised to “return youth and freshness to tired, mature skin”.

Excellent. Just what I needed.

“I think you overdid your vampire make-up a little,” Clarence greeted me, stepping over the windowsill and sitting on the bedspread. He nodded smugly as he admired the white and greasy paste which covered my whole face, except my eyes.

I ran to the bathroom to wash my face, as quick as if chased by ghosts. Wouldn’t have been the first time anyway.

“Very funny,” I growled, wiping my face dry with a towel as soft as a saguaro cactus. “Vampire make-up, huh?”

“You are beautiful either way. But I think your normal shade suits you better. Unless you are practicing for the future?”

“The future?” I asked. “What future exactly?”

“Well, I know you said you weren’t interested, but...” he smirked, letting his fangs show. “You know, in case you change your mind.”

“Oh, stop that, Clarence. I’m serious. This is depressing. I’m starting to look like a raisin,” I whined, but he just chuckled at my words. The color had returned to his lips and cheeks, a clear clue of what he had done with the two policemen after we left. “A wrinkled, old raisin.”

“Don’t be silly,” he said, brushing damp wisps of hair away from my forehead with fondness. “Wrinkles are maps of memories. Just make sure yours are happy ones.”

I sighed with exhaustion and let myself slump on the bed next to him. “You don’t understand,” I said quietly, handing him the metal ball he had given me by the car.

He let the ball roll to the other side of the bed, and it dropped on the carpet with a soft thud as he took my hands in his. They were cold as snow. Then he sought my eyes before saying, “Believe me, I do.”

***

“YOU’RE FREEZING,” I said, shrinking into a tight knot of arms and legs as the chill traveled from his hands to mine. It didn’t help that the room was damp and had no heating whatsoever.

“Breaking news,” he answered, then his smile faded, and he recoiled with a worried expression. “Oh, I’m sorry, does it bother you? Please forgive me. I tend to forget.”

“No, I mean... you are colder than usual. Are you okay?”

He seemed to be colder with each day that passed, colder even than the air around us, and that had started to worry me.

“Oh, yes, I’m perfectly fine. I’ll take a shower to warm up a little. Give me a second.”

He skipped gracefully and disappeared into the bathroom. Once I heard the water running, I decided to go have a little peek through the shower door.

“Do you need a towel?” I shouted from the door, knowing that it was pointless to tiptoe around him. He would hear me no matter what.

“I have everything I need,” he answered, his voice more mischievous than usual. “Particularly now that you have come.”

I wiped the steam off the screen, only to see him standing under the shower fully dressed, still wearing Carlo’s borrowed clothes, which were filthy through and through with mud and blood.

“What are you doing?” I asked, hardly containing my laughter. “Why are you dressed?”

He grinned. “I needed to wash them anyway. I’m saving water, I suppose?” The water had soaked the fabric, making the white t-shirt completely see-through and offering a magnificent glimpse of his perfectly shaped torso. “Care to join me?” he asked, his smile growing wider and wider.

Glossy charcoal strands of wet hair fell down his neck, and steam flooded the tiny bathroom, giving him, and the whole space, an ethereal, mysterious aura: like a place out of this world. I took off my watch and left it on the shelf by the mirror. The mirror showed my reflection, but not his: a reminder that any inkling of normalcy in our lives was but an illusion. An illusion I was eager to keep, at least for the night.

“I hope the water is warm,” I warned him. I was skeptical of Clarence’s judgment regarding normal, human temperatures. After all, he could sit on a block of ice without flinching.

“I don’t know what you would consider warm enough,” he said, confirming my suspicions. He turned the tap left a few times and shrugged. “Perhaps try it first?” He wiggled his fingers and smirked. “Do you need help undressing?”

“I’m fine, thanks,” I answered with a defiant glance. Fully dressed, I stepped boldly under the abundant cascade of water, but a shriek escaped my lips as soon as the scalding stream hit my shoulders. “Gosh, Clarence, are you trying to boil yourself alive like a lobster?”

I glued myself to the damp, cold tiles in the corner, dodging the steaming hell of a shower he was still standing under, unfazed.

Clarence shook his head with amusement and turned the tap towards the other side, chuckling at my dismay as he rubbed my scalded back softly. “Sorry, Isolde.” He was chuckling, but I wasn’t. I wouldn’t be surprised to find a third-degree burn by next morning. “My bones are so cold. I miss the warmth of being alive. Let me remedy this awful mistake.”

“No living creature on this planet would survive such molten lava of a shower,” I grunted, still cranky. He raised an eyebrow, leaving it clear that he wasn’t included in that statement. “Yes, I know, I know. But if you were trying to burn this witch, you almost succeeded.”

“Never. You are my favorite witch.” He pushed me gently back under the gushing water, which was―finally―warm and pleasant.

“That’s better,” I groaned, closing my eyes and letting the water massage my nape and upper arms under the thin fabric of my shirt.

“You look so beautiful right now that it hurts,” Clarence whispered in a raspy voice, his touch over my backside becoming needier, stronger. “If I could freeze this feeling, I would, so I would have you forever like this, in my arms.” He sighed. “If you ever forget how to go back home, remember this feeling, and call it back. The memories will take you to the place where you belong, and that is... with me.”

I shuddered as his fingers ran through my soaked hair behind me, and his lips found that perfect spot behind my earlobes. His breath, usually inaudible, was rushed and heavy, echoing in my ear as he licked the reddened skin, turning the aching into bliss. I swiveled to meet him, and he bit the side of my neck gently; just a soft nibble, but enough to melt any rational thoughts I might have had.

His body poured over mine like a waterfall, washing over me like a warm, wet, unstoppable surge of energy. Droplets got into my eyes, blocking my view of him, and I wiped them out with a wave of my hand. Following the direction of my gesture, the stream started to swirl around us, spiraling in circles of silver and azure that started to glisten and sparkle like a coiling blue rainbow.

“Queen of Water,” Clarence murmured, echoing a name I had already been called before.

“Kiss me,” I commanded, indifferent to the magical water show around us.

Kissing him was like breathing.

Just more urgent.

More essential.

The only thing necessary to keep me alive in that moment.

Our soaked clothes had become a maddening barrier, preventing me from touching him. I waved my hand, repeating what I had done with the bothersome water stream getting into my eyes, and willed our clothes to dissolve and disappear.

And so, they did.

“Finally,” he sighed, kneeling in front of me to kiss the long scar under my navel. The one I loathed so much. Then he stood up and lifted me in the air as I laced my bare legs around his back.

I didn’t know how long his energy would last—how long until the curse got the best of him—but I had this moment, and I was going to seize it before it slipped through my fingers like the streams of water washing our entangled bodies. As the water got colder and our bodies warmer, we kissed more passionately than ever before, with the urgency only known by those who might not live to see another day.

Chapter 14

Clarence

I carried her to the bed and covered her with a coarse linen sheet. Her hair was still dripping, and she was shivering, wrapped in the only dry towel I had been able to find after the rainbow swirls of water had languished and plunged onto the floor with a magnificent last splash. However, she seemed oblivious to the cold and dampness. She kept smiling, a wistful expression clouding her drowsy eyes, perhaps on the brim of the land of dreams as she recalled her last magical feat.

I stood by the window, framing her soft, small shape in the middle of the rundown room, reminiscent of Goya’s Nude Maja reclining on a pile of pillows. I wanted to imprint her forever in my mind’s eye, with her messy, damp hair and misty, alluring eyes. I wished I had oil and canvas to paint her, for how many more times would I have her like that? How many joyful moments did we have left, before one of us was gone forever?

She smiled and patted the bed, silently inviting me to sit by her side.

“Come here, Doctor,” she cooed, but her eyelids were visibly drooping with weariness. I complied and took a seat, ignoring the naughty nuances in her tone.

“Go to sleep, my dear,” I told her, kissing her forehead. “It has been a long day.” There was a foreign bible in the nightstand drawer, and I pulled it out without much enthusiasm. “I’ll read while you rest.”

She shook her head and snuggled next to me. “I could do with some cuddling. I can’t turn off my thoughts.”

“I understand,” I said. My mind was racing too. So many uncertainties and so few answers.

“Why are you so moody all of a sudden?” she asked, the mischievous smile still shining. She pulled at the sheet over her bare legs and lifted a foot, wiggling her toes in the air. “You weren’t like that five minutes ago.”

Her boldness made me grin. “That’s because I was too astonished to think clearly. I didn’t know witches had such a peculiar way of... washing,” I answered, tickling her sides and causing her to twist with delight. “Forgive me if I need a minute to process this fascinating, new information.”

A sparkle of glee danced in her eyes. “That thing with the water swirling around was crazy, wasn’t it? I have no idea how I did it!”

“You never seem to,” I observed. Her hair had started to drip over the pillows, so I handed her the towel.

“It actually worries me,” she confessed with a sigh. “I’m afraid I’ll end up harming someone. It’s getting out of control.”

“I don’t think you will. But you might harm yourself if you are not a bit more sparing with your magic. It’s a basic law of the universe: you cannot create energy; just transform it. So, it’s wise to ponder carefully what you are going to use yours for.”

She started to braid her dark, still damp locks over her naked shoulder, covering and uncovering the twin scars on the side of her neck with distracted abandonment as she went down. Bite marks. My bite marks. The scar had been there for weeks, but the sight was always unnerving. Alluring too.

“It just keeps happening,” she whispered with a tinge of sadness. “It’s beyond my control... I don’t know what to do. But I’m not worried about myself. I think I’ll be fine. The people around me though...”

“Well, you should be,” I insisted, pushing her loosely braided hair aside. The floor wobbled as soon as my eyes fell once again on those tempting dots on her neck. “You could even...”

“Die?” she finished the sentence for me, swaying gently; oblivious to the annihilating effect the curve of her shoulder had on my logical thinking.

“Yes.” I closed my eyes and inhaled her scent, tracing the crook of her neck with the tip of my nose.

“Would you take me with you if I did?”

Her words startled me, bringing me back to the present like a strike of lightning. I jumped back, holding her small shoulders with shock. “What do you mean?”

“If that happened. Would you... make me like you?”

I stared at her, trying to decipher her expression.

“Would you want me to?”

She exhaled. “I don’t know. Maybe?”

We held each other in silence for a long time, until I noticed she was quivering like a leaf in my arms, and I wrapped her tighter in the blanket.

“Does it hurt?” she whispered with innocence. “I mean... did it hurt for you? How was it... dying... coming back?”

I closed my eyes and sighed. “I cannot remember.”

“You really can’t?” She sounded surprised. She caressed my temples, a look of wonder lighting her eyes as she gazed into mine. “Maybe it’s better like this.”

“I am certain it is,” I said, kissing her cheek.

She got up, and the towel fell at her feet. Her hair was still dripping, and the drops hit the worn hardwood floors.

Drip.

Drip.

Just like that cursed night in 1834, when a clock of raindrops had counted down my last seconds of life.

And how could I forget?

***

LONDON, SEPTEMBER 1834

A dreary autumn rain was drumming outside Anne’s house on the night I finished her portrait. I should not have been there that day, but there was nowhere better to be. Mother had been coughing blood since morning, and Father had determined bloodletting was imperative. I had always abhorred the practice, since it never seemed to produce any results apart from terrifying most patients. Still, Father rejected new discoveries, and my opinion was of no concern to him. Mama had fallen mercifully unconscious after endless hours of misery and a copious dose of laudanum, and even though Mary, her maid, had begged me to stay by her side, I had refused.

Oh, Mary. How could she know what I suffered in not being by Mother’s side at the darkest of moments, how I loathed myself for my weakness? But despite her pleas, I could not bring myself to stay. I loved Rose Auberon too much to watch helplessly as life escaped her lungs like rainwater seeping into the earth, like the drops washing down my fingers when I knocked on Anne Zugrabescu’s door that evening.

Anne was pleased to see me and did not mention I was several days early to our weekly rendezvous. She received me in a draped black dress which enhanced her striking figure and also matched her luscious onyx hair, contrasting with lips so red that they did not seem to belong to this world.

Perhaps because they did not.

“Welcome,” she greeted me, offering me a drink and a seat by her side on the narrow velvet divan. I accepted both, sipping her exclusive brandy and exhaling gradually in the hopes that my troubles would dissolve into the air and vanish. When they did not, I refilled my glass, encouraged by Anne’s usual half-smirk. She enjoyed our game and was always eager to help me go astray. She found it exceedingly entertaining, and I did not care anymore.

“Shall we start?” she asked, unpinning her hair so it fell loosely beyond her shoulders, just like in the nearly-finished canvas.

I nodded and dipped the thinnest paintbrush into the darkest carmine of my palette, then slithered it around the delicate silhouette of her lips on the canvas.

I lost count of the minutes. All I knew was that we were halfway through the second bottle when I added the very last touch: that maddening, rounded black mole by the side of her mouth.

It felt so final.

Like the period at the end of the very last sentence of a book.

Like a wax seal on a death sentence.

“Your commission is done,” I whispered, sorrow oozing off my words. “I hope it is to your taste.”

Anne shrugged, a devilish smirk adorning her perfect countenance. “It is just as I expected it to be. But posing for it was highly entertaining. I think this calls for a celebration... of our last night together.”

Last. I could not bear the sound of that word.

“Please, tell me I will see you again,” I pleaded, reluctant to accept her final farewell. “Tell me this is not our last night. Otherwise, I do not know what I shall do with myself. I would miss you too much.”

“Very true, my dear, I daresay you would.” She laughed, pulling at my lapels with her accustomed boldness and dragging me toward her. This sudden closeness was new and almost painful. She had always held her distance, and I had thought that was the way she wanted things to remain. “Did you think I had not noticed the way you look at me?” Her smile was dazzling; sinful. “I know just the perfect way to put an end to your sorrows,” she whispered into my ear, casually undoing the clasp of her pearl necklace and watching it slide down her cleavage; it crept down her dress and emerged under her skirt, right at her feet. “But you must say the right word.”

“The right... word?” I repeated in confusion, my mind blurry with a mixture of brandy and desire as my eyes retraced the invisible path followed by the pearls as they had slid down her svelte figure, “What word?”

“Just say yes.”

I inhaled slowly, trying to clear my mind. At that point I, just like any mortal man on earth, would have said yes to virtually anything she would have asked of me. And so, I did. “Yes,” I gasped, kissing her tomb-cold lips, “yes.”

“Your wish is my command,” she sneered, stepping out of her dress like a snake shedding her skin. I let out a ragged breath, taking in her magnificent naked figure, but I could not relish the sight for too long because Anne started to tear off my clothes with ferocious abandonment, leaving a trail of shredded fabric in her wake. She did not bother to undo any buttons or laces, and I did not care, for she was finally mine. Or was I hers? I did not think the distinction mattered, although it ultimately did. She perched on my chest like a gargoyle and clawed at my bare skin with nails of iron, pleasure and agony intermingling in an inextricable blend as she rode me with a delicious recklessness I had never experienced before.

I surrendered to the pleasure of being one with the woman I had craved for weeks on end. Only three words: Anne. Mine. Finally. When I thought I was about to shatter into a million pieces, she leaned down, never letting go, and a sharp pain gripped the crook of my neck, piercing an artery as her crystal laugh filled the air, an air already brimming with the scent of alcohol, paint solvents and blood.

She rose to face me, and the frail, delicate traits I had known up to that day twisted into a grotesque, horrific grimace. Bloody traces stained the corners of her mouth, leaving a thin trail down the sides of her chin.

“Now the most enjoyable part begins,” she said, cackling, and a bloody set of fangs glinted in the dim lights of the room.

“Anne, what are you doing?” I tried to escape her grip, but it was too strong, and I could not move. I felt the wound pulsating and my blood spilling over the upholstery. “That hurt. Stop, please. I do not want this. Not like this.”

“But you said yes,” she said sweetly, licking the blood on her chin with an unnaturally long and rosy tongue. “It is too late now.”

I screamed as she bit my neck again and crippled me into a pulsing ball of agony.

Pain was all I remembered from that night.

Even though I had grown up listening to the screams of Father’s patients, my screams were probably louder than any of theirs ever were.

“Let me go,” I begged, feeling limp and weak as life started to leave my body.

She paused, a faint glint of humanity flickering in her eyes for a split second. But she shook her head. “No. That would be a shame now,” she decided, suddenly pensive as her nail carved bloody trails on my chest, “to allow a worthy young man like you to be lost to the ruthlessness of time and fleshly decay. You deserve greater things.” She let out a moan and kissed me, allowing me to taste my own blood on her lips. My eyes rolled back as I lost control of my body, and I subsided to the pleasant softness of feeling nothing. “I have come to esteem you too much, my dear. You are to stay with me, and you shall be immune to the fickleness of mortal life. You chose well when you said yes. I am so pleased with your decision.”

I passed out, still inside her, wishing for death to take hold of me quickly.

But as much as I wished death upon myself, it never came. Or if it did, it did not last long.

***

I WOKE UP CONTORTING in pain and dying of thirst. Anne was sipping port wine on the settee, wearing the same dress and the same condescending smile, as if time had ceased to exist; as a matter of fact, it had not existed for her for a very long time.

“Welcome to Hell,” she murmured as she helped me stand up for the first time, and the room started to spin. “I am certain you will enjoy your stay.”

Chapter 15

Alba

The next morning, I found Carlo having breakfast in the restaurant of our motel, surrounded by enough cups of coffee to conduct a very long and exciting stuffed animal tea party. Clarence must have gone hunting or roamed back to the trunk of the car while I was sleeping because I had woken up to an empty room and the sun shining brightly through the curtains.

“What did you do with the leech?” Carlo asked, stirring sugar into his fifth espresso with the help of a long grissini. “You sent him to sleep on the couch? Lovers’ quarrel?” he added with a twinkle of hope in his eye.

“No, I think he’s in the car,” I groaned, not in the mood to engage in an argument before coffee.

“Yeah.” He nodded, eating the mushy grissini. “I don’t blame you. Vampire morning breath must be something else.”

I rolled my eyes and went to the bar to find something to eat while he tried to figure out the next stops along our route.

When I came back with a tray full of fruit and pastries, he was staring at a map on his phone and frowning.

“We have deviated too much from the original route, which isn’t great,” he explained, pointing at the thin blue lines depicting the possible roads. “Maybe it makes no sense to try and go back to the highway anymore. I think we should continue along the smaller, local roads. What do you think?”

I studied the available options, not sure I wanted to cross the Provence-Alps in the middle of winter with high chances of being caught in a snow storm. “I don’t know. You said it was going to snow?”

“But not today.”

“These things aren’t always super accurate, you know...”

“Nah, I think it should be fine,” he said, and I shrugged.

We left the motel after breakfast, and sure enough, the first flurries started to form a gentle dusting over the windshield somewhere in the vicinity of the French border. But it stopped at that, and in the afternoon, I was surprised to note that we had almost reached France after a fairly uneventful drive. Once it got dark enough, we pulled over, and I went to check on the poor, long-legged vampire crumpled in the trunk.

“Good evening,” Clarence said, popping out of the car and stretching himself in a delightful s-motion, “thanks for letting me out. I was looking forward to sitting next to you. I don’t have many opportunities to ride in a car as it is, and it does get a tiny bit uncomfortable in the trunk after a while.”

Carlo was smoking by the side of the road, just a couple of steps away, and he muttered a string of curses in two languages as he put out the cigarette and trudged toward us.

“What now?” I asked, crossing my arms.

“Nothing,” he snapped, “but that was not our deal. I agreed to drive a caged bird. Nobody said anything about a dangerous bloodsucker sitting behind me for hours.”

“I could drive.” Clarence regaled the other man with a wide and wicked smile. I was already familiar with his driving expertise, so I silenced him with a stern glance before Carlo gave him the chance to kill us all on those steep and narrow mountain roads. “Alright, alright. You can chain me if it makes you feel better,” Clarence offered his wrists solemnly, standing tall against the empty road. “I am certain you own vampire hunters’ chains, do you not?”

“Yeah, sure, I’m gonna drive a handcuffed guy in my back seat,” Carlo scoffed. “That will definitely not look weird if we are stopped again. I’m sure the border control agents will have no questions at all.”

“Just chill a bit, Carlo, will you?” I said, trying to make peace between the two men.

“I can’t chill with a murderer in my car. I won’t allow that,” he growled.

“I cannot recall at which point you became the leader of this expedition, Lombardi,” Clarence said calmly, wrapping his arms around me with possessiveness, “I am trying to be gracious, but you make it exceedingly hard.”

“Okay, okay, guys,” I said, rolling my eyes and pushing them apart from each other. “Carlo, I think there’s no harm if he rides in the back for a couple of hours. I’ll take the wheel if you get sleepy, and with some luck, we’ll reach Alcazar tonight. The weather is behaving, and everything should go as planned. Just stop fussing about every little detail, okay?”

We kept to local, low-traffic roads and met barely any other vehicles on the way. I considered that an advantage because it gave me fewer chances to cause accidents with my new-found magical skill. It also made it easier to stop and rest when necessary.

Both men avoided talking to each other, save for the few essential things we needed to agree on the trip. Clarence held my hand the whole time and stared out the window with endearing fascination. I stared at him in exchange, finding his reactions to the landscape much more entertaining than the monotone succession of nondescript villages and closed petrol stations I could barely see through the glass.

“I’m going to grab a coffee, and we can keep going for a couple of hours more,” Carlo declared as he slowed down in front of a derelict village café. “Do you want one too?” he asked, and I shook my head no. Then he added in a mocking tone, “What about you, Mr. Auberon? Should I check if they have something... someone... for you to nibble on?”

“Thank you. That will not be necessary,” Clarence replied curtly.

“Oh, of course. You brought a take-away!” Carlo continued, ostensibly committed to pushing all of the vampire’s buttons. “Who will it be tonight, sir? Ms. Lumin? Or me, again?”

Clarence’s eyes blazed red, but thankfully he didn’t rise to the bait. Still, Carlo’s provocations didn’t get any better as the hours passed and he got sleepier and therefore grumpier.

We crossed to France through a small, local border, which ended up being vacant: nobody even looked at us, let alone asked for any documents. After that, we kept driving until dawn started to creep over the horizon and a road sign informed us that we needed to take a detour in order to reach our destination.

“Turn left!” I shouted at Carlo, who was starting to get sluggish and had almost missed it. “If all goes well, we will be there in less than an hour!”

“Really... so soon...” mumbled Clarence, seeming distracted as he eyed the orange morning glow beyond the mountains with worry.

“Yes,” I said, hugging him. “And then we can reverse that curse of yours.”

Chapter 16

Alba

Even though there were just a few miles left until Alcazar, the roads were winding and difficult, and soon it became obvious that we wouldn’t win our race against the sunrise.

Clarence looked out the window, the sky turning purple and orange beyond the treetops. “I should retire to my―” he said and hesitated, letting out a brief sigh as he pointed toward the back of the moving car, “―sleeping quarters.” He had turned extremely pale again, and a dark purple tinge had stained his lips and the circles under his eyes. I could also see a fuzzy halo around him, like his edges were turning blurry, but I wasn’t sure whether it was actually there or my witchy senses were playing games again.

“You don’t look very good,” I said, squeezing his hand and feeling my chest constrict when I confirmed it was colder than it should have been. “And it must be so cold in that trunk. I’m sure that’s not good for you.”

“I will be fine. I can’t feel the cold at all.”

“Maybe you two should share the trunk tonight?” Carlo suggested, turning down the volume of the horrid music he had been playing for revenge. “Wrap yourselves in that blanket like a burrito and enjoy some cuddly bites?”

I blinked, and for a second, I actually considered his suggestion. After all, I had been dozing on and off on Clarence’s shoulder for the last couple of hours. It couldn’t be that different to do the same in the trunk.

“Just find a place to stop at your earliest convenience, please,” Clarence told Carlo.

I closed my eyes and listened to the monotonous sound of the engine. It was still dark outside, though not for long, and the last time I had seen the headlights of another vehicle must have been at least half an hour ago. We seemed to be the only ones interested in driving along narrow Pyrenees roads on that chilly February night. So narrow, in fact, that Carlo couldn’t even find a place to pull over for many miles.

I was starting to doze off when the sound of screeching brakes startled me, and a heavy jolt nearly sent me flying through the windshield. I screamed, holding onto the seat belt. Clarence kept me safe in my seat with an iron arm until a loud thump on the roof shook the vehicle and the engine stopped abruptly.

Carlo cursed and kicked the door open, while I rubbed my sleepy eyes and tried to understand what had happened.

“A deer,” Carlo said, slumping back into the driver’s seat and hitting the dashboard with rage. “It’s gone, but the front is completely smashed.”

“What now?” I asked, straightening in my seat.

“Well, we didn’t kill it, so I guess we are free to continue. That is, if I manage to start this thing up again.” Carlo turned the key and the engine let out a whine, then started to hum nicely. “Okay. It still works.”

Clarence crept back into the trunk, accepting his fate with stoicism. As I was helping him get wrapped into the blanket, I noticed a faint glow illuminating his face in the darkness, like a saint’s halo. It disappeared after a few seconds, so I dismissed it as yet another of my hallucinations and gave him a quick kiss before closing the lid. When I got back into the car, I could only think about him, forced to hide in that narrow, asphyxiating space, with his legs tucked against his chin. I was furious at Natasha and the witches who had caused all of us in The Cloister so much pain, particularly Clarence.

We kept going, and the car kept overheating. Only one of the headlights was still working, which made it hard to see the bends in the road. The town of Alcazar couldn’t be too far anymore, but it was becoming apparent that our wretched car might not make it to our destination, and calling roadside assistance was probably out of the question until Clarence woke up.

“The radiator is dying,” Carlo muttered, and the car chuffed awkwardly, agreeing with him.

“The what? What does that mean for us?” I asked in confusion.

“It means we are going to need a tow truck, and the only question is when.”

By some miracle, after countless stops to allow the engine to cool off, we made it to the sign announcing the proximity of Alcazar, the small mountain town at the foot of the Abbey. That was exactly when our car decided to let out a loud screech signaling its dying breath, right by a small picnic area in a copse of fir trees.

“Well, it could have been worse!” I said, getting out of the car in order to help Carlo push the vehicle under the trees and out of the road.

It was early morning; too late to go find a hotel, but still too cold for leisurely touristic strolls.

“Let’s go find a café or something,” Carlo suggested, stifling a yawn. “Before we get frostbite out here.”

“Yes, but... what about Clarence?” I asked nervously, tapping on the lid of the trunk.

“Would he walk into a café in plain daylight?” Carlo asked, rolling his eyes because he already knew the answer. “Also, can you wake him up at all?”

He had a point. Even if I could wake Clarence up, he wasn’t able to shift anymore. The only viable option was to leave him where he was, tightly wrapped in his blanket until sunset.

“Maybe I should stay here with him,” I suggested without much conviction. The ground was frozen under my feet, and I was hungry. Carlo watched me with an arched eyebrow while I weighed up twelve hours outdoors versus a cup of coffee in a café, with proper heating. “Yes, you are probably right,” I said, giving up. “The car is locked, so I guess he’ll be fine. Let’s go find something warm to drink, and we can come back to check on him in a couple of hours.”

***

WE LUGGED OUR WORN-out selves toward the first row of houses in the village, a thin mist lifting off the ground around them as the sun started to thaw the frosty mulch. The lonely, small town had started to wake up, getting ready for an ordinary Friday morning. Alcazar was a long ride away from most large ski stations and therefore not very appealing to tourists during the winter; this was probably the reason why we could only find two open establishments: a bakery and a grimy-looking café. The only store I saw was selling everything from cutlery to boots and parkas―I eyed the latter with longing and decided to come back when it opened because I was freezing in my ridiculously chic trench coat.

“So, do we get something from the nice-smelling bakery and eat it on an ice-cold bench, or should we brace ourselves and enter that dragon’s lair of a café?” I pointed at the rundown sign over the door and the tables visible through the window. I was sure one could lay a banknote on them and expect it to stay stuck there for centuries. “It looks warm... but a bit filthy...”

“Warm and filthy sounds like my kind of place,” Carlo said, nodding in approval as he grabbed the door handle and disappeared into the dark stickiness of the building.

Soon we were defrosting our limbs next to a radiator with large macchiatos in front of us, and I took out the neat piece of paper where Jean-Pierre had written down for me all he knew about the Alcazar grimoire.

“So, what now?” Carlo asked, eyeing Jean-Pierre’s gothic calligraphy with skepticism. “We start with a romantic walk around this charming village while Mr. Thirdwheel is asleep?”

“I thought you were Mr. Thirdwheel,” I mumbled, but seeing his irritated reaction I decided not to go that route and stick to business. “Never mind. Let’s go to the abbey. I’m hoping they keep the grimoire in the library. It would be great if we could take some photos of the spells and continue our trip this evening.”

Carlo sneered. “Why do I doubt that?”

The waiter, a big, healthy-looking man with round, red cheeks, appeared from behind me carrying an assortment of homemade jams and baguettes sliced in half. “Try this! My wife made them with fruits from our orchard. Are you enjoying your breakfast? It’s so nice to see tourists around here in winter. We don’t get many until t-shirt weather arrives.” I smiled at him, marveling at the nicely arranged jars. They looked quite clean too. “I overheard you came to see the abbey; is that right? Or are you here because of the fair?”

“The abbey, yes,” I said, leaning toward him with interest. “Can you tell us how to get there?”

“Of course!” he said proudly. “You will love it. It’s wonderfully preserved, and the wedding venue is beautiful!” he paused for a second, watching us with new eyes, then nodded. “You are getting married in the abbey, aren’t you? So wise to come check it out before the spring crowds arrive. It’s usually booked out by March. After that, they come in droves!”

“Oh, no, no...” I started to say, but Carlo smiled with delight and cut me off, placing a hand over mine.

“No need to pretend, honey,” he said, enjoying my suffering. He should have become an actor. It suited him better than being a corrupt cop. “Nobody knows us here. It’s okay.”

The man winked knowingly. “Ah, still a secret, is it? Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me. You make a lovely couple, if I may say so. Oh, to be young and in love again! My wife and I got married up there too, in the seventies. It was late May. It’s the best season, when everything is in bloom, and you can get pictures with the cows.”

Carlo nodded, like a wedding surrounded by cows was a very normal wish to have. “That’s exactly what we were looking for, isn’t it, honey bunny?” He elbowed me, and I smiled through my teeth, making a mental note to strangle him as soon as we stepped out of the café.

The café owner dragged a chair from an empty table and parked himself beside me, armed with an herb-smelling shot glass.

“So...” I said, leaning toward him, “I’ve heard there’s a library in the abbey. Do you think it would be possible for us to visit it?”

“Ah, a library?” He shrugged. “Who knows? Monks used to live there, yes. Or maybe they were nuns? I guess monks had books... Bibles, for sure. I’m not much of a bookworm, to be honest.” He leafed through a newspaper, twisting his lip with revulsion at the tiny text. “People usually come because of the views from the top. Look.” He pulled out his cell phone and started to show us photos of his grandkids surrounded by gardens and antique buildings. The sight made me miss my own daughters, and I tried to guess what time it was back home. I wished I could call Minnie, but they were probably asleep in a different time zone.

“What time do they open?” I asked the barman, hoping he would stop torturing us with photos of his grandchildren.

“I’d say around ten or so?” he answered, checking his watch. “I haven’t been there for a while, but I think it’s still a bit early. You can walk to the main square and ask at the tourist office; they will also tell you how to book a taxi to drive you to the top. And while you wait, there’s a medieval Carnival fair going on in Alcazar this weekend. There will be jugglers, magicians, archers... and traditional food, of course!”

Food. I really liked the idea of sampling French country cuisine. Although magicians sounded interesting too.

“Yes, maybe we should get going, honey,” Carlo said, throwing his arm around my shoulders with a smirk. I pinched his back in exchange, and the smirk vanished.

“I agree... honey,” I said, squinting at him. “Let’s have a look at the fair... and the abbey.”

***

THE MOUNTAIN VILLAGE of Alcazar was much prettier than I had initially expected. Most houses were built with rustic, brown stone, all furnished with wooden shutters and steep black roofs, surrounded by greenery. The streets were narrow and winding, paved with stones so worn that they shone like silver pearls, slippery under a thin layer of melting ice.

Carlo marched silently by my side, the smug smile from the café back on.

“If you ever call me honey bunny again, I’ll turn you into a toad,” I said softly.

“I don’t know why you’re so pissed.” He shrugged. “I thought you would find it funny.”

I sighed, and I could have sworn he uttered the words bitter sourpuss under his breath, but I made an effort to ignore them. Instead, I followed the soft lute music coming from the main square, where a bunch of wooden stalls with curtains and flags were lined up and getting ready for the Carnival fair.

“Look, roasted potatoes,” Carlo said, pointing at a food truck disguised as a medieval tent, “and crystals!” He chuckled evilly. “Maybe we should get you an engagement ring, honey?”

“Give me a break,” I growled, then added quietly, “frog.”

***

FIVE MINUTES LATER, I was holding a paper bag full of warm and crispy potatoes sprinkled with yoghurt sauce and parsley. Carlo had found a cozy bench in the sun and was content checking his phone, so I left him alone and strolled around the stalls on my own. Most sellers were dressed in medieval attire, complete with linen gowns, flared sleeves, and woolen capes. Seeing the women’s long skirts and fitted waistlines made me miss The Cloister and the careless days drilling holes and laying cables with Clarence and Jean-Pierre. I sighed. And I thought I had problems then. Fascinating how things could always get worse.

The crystal stall was small, but its contents twinkled like a magical rainbow in the shy morning sun. I knew at least one sparkle-loving raven who would have lost his mind in its vicinity... but what was wrong with me? Everything reminded me of him. Get a grip, Alba. He’s in the car; you’ll see him this evening!

“See anything you like?” the seller asked, her long earrings tinkling like tiny bells. “All these are my own creations,” she added proudly, allowing her flared sleeves to sweep over colorful stones and tiny works of art in silver, detailed and luxuriant with occult-related motives. I recognized jade and amethyst from the years spent living with Grandma, but there were many other crystals I had never seen before. “Perhaps rose quartz, for love,” the seller suggested in a soft French accent, offering me a tiny pink pyramid as she glanced at Carlo, who was texting merrily on his bench. She studied him with half-closed eyes, then turned back to me, clicking her tongue, and set the pink crystal back on the table, handing me a black, rounded stone instead. “No. Black tourmaline. For protection.”

“Oh, you think?” I said, taking the stone she was offering. It was extremely smooth and shiny and felt warm in my hands. “How much is it?”

“How much do you think it’s worth?” Her voice was warm and sultry but slightly defiant too.

I shrugged and returned the stone. I had never enjoyed bargaining. When I asked for a price, I just wanted to be told. “Uh, I really don’t know. It’s very beautiful, but I was just looking anyway, thank you.”

The woman shuddered, as if feeling chilly all of a sudden, then clutched the pendant around her neck so hard that her knuckles turned white. I looked at the pendant; it seemed very familiar. It reminded me of the Egyptian symbol Jean-Pierre had sketched for me before I had left Emberbury.

“Have we met before?” the lady asked, and a faint aura enveloped her. Perhaps not an aura: more like a shield. Not only could I see it; I could also feel it, like a magnetic field around her.

There was something familiar about her, and my intuition told me she could sense exactly the same about me―thus her question. “No, I don’t think we have met before. It’s my first time here,” I answered cautiously.

“Oh, is it?” She kept ogling me with a mixture of fascination and suspicion. “Well, I’m sure you will love Alcazar. How long are you staying?”

“Just for today. Maybe a couple of days, we’ll see. I’m here to visit the abbey.”

“Really? What a shame,” she said, her voice more and more tense. “The abbey is closed for visitors until late March.”

Her words felt like a hammer blow.

No. That couldn’t be true.

“Are you okay?” she asked, noticing my distress. “I sell herbal teas. This one is good for anxiety, and that one helps with insomnia.”

She showed me a black iron cauldron under the table, and a row of paper bags full of herbs, but after my experience with the Italian witches, I had learned not to drink tea brewed by strangers under any circumstances.

“No, I’m okay, thanks. Just a bit disappointed because I really wanted to see the abbey... now this whole trip feels kind of pointless.”

“Well...” she whispered, leaning toward me with a mysterious smile, “there’s another way to get in. Follow me... I will show you.”

Chapter 17

Alba

“There’s a Carnival ball in the abbey tomorrow evening,” the bejeweled lady explained, “and that might be your only chance to get in before they reopen in March. Not only that, but they will also open several areas which are not accessible for visitors on a regular basis. You can get tickets at the tourist office, but you better hurry. We are expecting a horde of weekenders after lunch. Do you have a costume, perhaps? It’s an entry requirement.”

Of course not. Who traveled around carrying Halloween costumes in their suitcase? “No, I don’t. Although I could go as a haggard-looking mom?”

The lady smiled as she came out from behind her table and walked toward a small, white van parked behind her stall. “I can help with that too. Have a look at my humble selection of second-hand gowns.”

I followed her to the van, ignoring my mom’s childhood teachings and mostly hoping I wasn’t about to be kidnapped again. I found the seller rummaging in an old cardboard box, and after a few grunts, she produced two tacky dresses and several carnival masks covered in glitter and feathers. “I think these two should fit you.”

I stared at both dresses, each gaudier than the other. They were made of ragged and shiny synthetic fabric, and neither was particularly clean or new.

“I’m not sure...” I trailed off, inspecting the dark and worn-out rim of the skirts, which must have swept the dirty floors of one too many dens of iniquity.

“You don’t like them?” she asked, offended.

“Oh, no, no, I just think I’m too old for a princess costume,” I clarified.

She held one of the dresses against my shoulders. “That’s nonsense. You are gorgeous, and you are going to look so pretty in it! We women are the embodiment of the Goddess, never forget that. We are all beautiful. These dresses are very versatile... you can be a princess, a fairy, whatever you desire. Perhaps a witch would suit you better?” Her eyes glinted, and I wondered if something in my expression had given away my shock at the mention of the word witch. I studied her face, but the funny glance had vanished. Yes, I must have imagined it. We were discussing Carnival costumes after all; what was she supposed to say? “This one,” she declared with complete confidence, thrusting a pink satin bundle into my chest. “It’s like it was made for you. I’ll give you a special price.”

***

“WHAT TOOK YOU SO LONG?” Carlo complained when he saw me trotting out of the tourist info office, waving at him with the tickets I had just bought. I had followed the seller’s advice and gone there straight after getting the dress, in case they were really sold out by lunch. Meanwhile, Carlo was still sunbathing on the same park bench, his arms extended over the backrest with careless confidence.

“You’re going to love the news. Surprise!” I said, throwing a ticket at him. “Did you bring a formal suit by any chance?”

He caught the small piece of paper in the air and read it with growing interest, his face shifting from cynical skepticism to a smug and perplexed smile. “You are taking me to a masquerade ball? Cool!”

“Before you get your hopes up, I bought three tickets, not two. It’s the only way to get in. Otherwise, the abbey is closed until March.”

“So... are you attending in that awful sweater? Because it says here ‘formal attire required,’ and you have an oil stain over your left boob.” He pointed at the location of the dark blotch, and I grabbed the tip of his finger, feeling tempted to twist it.

“That’s none of your business, but no. I got myself a―” I sighed, waiting for the inevitable mockery. “―princess costume, and Clarence is going as a―” I paused for a second. “―well, as a vampire, I guess. Here, I bought a bird mask for you.” I let the cheap mask fall on Carlo’s lap, sprinkling pink glitter all over his clothes.

“Come on, Lumin, you got me a pink mask?” He lifted it with his little finger, like it was disgusting. “With butterflies?” He shook his head and tossed it on the bench, as far from himself as he could. “This is for girls. I’m not wearing it. But you can give it to Schmaltzy Bloodsucker. I think it suits him better.”

“Sorry, Big Boy, they didn’t have any with trucks and tractors,” I said, snorting. “Do you want me to return it? I can go to the ball just with Clarence. You don’t have to join us. I didn’t want you to feel excluded after lending us your villa and all that.”

He grunted something about not giving a damn and retrieved the mask without much enthusiasm. “Whatever,” he said, hanging the mask around his arm like an elbow pad as he stood up. “I’ll go. Maybe I’ll get to kiss a nice... nicer girl. Let’s go now and see that old pile of rocks from the outside. Maybe you could make something explode and get us in?”

“So funny,” I said, rolling my eyes as I started to follow the rustic wooden arrows marking the path.

The signs led us out of the quaint little village and onto a steep and muddy road called Chemin du Calvaire, which was supposed to end at the old abbey. Private cars were forbidden on the path, but there were 4x4 taxis available for those whose legs wouldn’t have stood the hike up. Carlo decreed we had time to spare and a healthy walk uphill would benefit both of us after so many hours sitting on planes and cars.

Initially I agreed, but after almost an hour of climbing in unsuitable footwear, my feet were freezing and achy. The occupants of a taxi waved happily at us as they overtook us and sprayed us with mud. I forced myself to smile back at them, resentment and grumpiness growing inside me like rising bread dough.

The walk was worth the effort though―it offered breathtaking views of the scenic Romanesque abbey which had been built on the edge of a mountain ridge. Stout and massive, it gave me the impression that the slightest gush of wind would send it rolling down the cliff. It seemed a miracle it had managed to withstand so many centuries of wind and snow.

“Look what I found on the internet,” Carlo said, reading from his phone, “Alcazar Abbey is a Romanesque construction built on an abrupt mountain range of the Pyrenees, right on the border between France and Spain. A former monastery, legend has it that the Knights Templar were its first owners. In present times, it has been turned into a museum, and thanks to the dramatic views, it has also become a tourist hotspot and a very popular destination for celebrities to get married.” He grinned. “Are we celebrities yet?”

I took a couple of strides away from Carlo, tired of his ongoing joke. We must be less than half a mile away from the abbey, which was already visible beyond a peaceful meadow by the road. Under the shadow of the abbey’s timeworn stone walls stood an abandoned graveyard with ancient tombstones in various states of decay scattered randomly over it. A sign informed us this was the Sinners’ Cemetery of Alcazar: the place where locals buried those who weren’t allowed to rest in sacred ground, such as unbaptized children, excommunicates, and of course, witches.

The abbey was closed, as we already suspected, save for the little café by the entrance and an uninspiring museum gift shop plagued with useless jumble such as key chains, toy swords and postcards. I considered buying one for Elizabeth but changed my mind at the last minute.

We strolled around the colossal walls, admiring the square and sturdy bell tower. A heavy iron gate prevented passersby from going further, but we got a glimpse of a large courtyard, where some workers were setting up a stage and several spotlights and loudspeakers for the coming party.

“I doubt there’s much more we can do here today, apart from freezing to death,” I said to Carlo, rubbing my numb ankles. “We should find a place to stay, unless we intend to sleep in the car.”

Carlo approved, and we started the hike back to the village. On the way there, a piercing pain in my chest paralyzed me, forcing me to stop and hold onto a tree trunk for a second.

“Everything okay?” Carlo asked, a tinge of apprehension in his voice.

I stretched my neck left and right, trying to shrug off the sudden chill that had raced down my spine like a stream of icy water. It went away, but I still felt cold and uneasy afterwards. “Yeah, I’m fine. I don’t know what got me. I think I’m just tired. So many things have been going on lately.”

“Hmm, I can imagine,” Carlo said, shrugging. “Can’t wait to put my feet up for an hour or two.”

We found two decently-priced rooms in a small B&B near the medieval market at the central square of Alcazar. After that, we grabbed a quick lunch at one of the stalls and took a couple of hours to relax in our respective rooms. Once it was dark outside, we strolled back to the small picnic area where our car―and Clarence―must be waiting, in order to retrieve our bags and say hi to my favorite vampire.

As we got closer to the edge of the village, following the yellow glow of the forged iron streetlamps, I was crippled by the same sinking, cold feeling I had felt earlier, only this time, it was radiating off the left side of my chest. I had to stop and take a few deep breaths, clutching my chest. Meanwhile, Carlo plodded lazily a few steps ahead, and I wasn’t even surprised when I heard his angry shouts coming from under the fir trees.

The car was still there, but the trunk lid hung broken and wide open, its contents clearly visible from where I stood.

There was a blanket, a few bags, and nothing else.

Nothing.

Nobody.

There were footprints all over the clearing, plainly visible all over the trampled frosty grass and mud. My stomach turned as I followed them frantically, clutching my purse against my chest in the cold evening.

I called Clarence, my voice broken with worry, but the only thing I could hear were my own panicked steps crushing the mulch. I found the blanket I had covered him with, torn and laying near the car in a soiled bundle.

Carlo leaned against the car and lit a cigarette, watching me in silence with a mixture of worry and scorn.

“He’s gone,” I said, choking on my words.

“And?” He closed his eyes, inhaling the smoke with visible pleasure. “He might be a bit clingy, but he has legs, you know? I think you are overreacting... big time.”

“Something must have gone wrong. He wouldn’t have left without telling me.”

Carlo puffed, leaving behind a gray cloud and stroking the bent lid of the trunk. “Whatever. You know what he is. You know what they do at night. Stop running around like the world is ending, will you?”

“Someone was here, Carlo, can’t you see the footprints? What if Natasha followed us? What if something horrible happened to him? I have a feeling something is very wrong.”

Carlo snorted. He obviously couldn’t care less if something had happened to Clarence. “The only thing that worries me right now is that he broke the lock of the trunk to get out, and now I have to add one more repair to my long list of expenses. We must find a mechanic, by the way.”

“You don’t understand,” I grunted with frustration, but all I got back was a fed-up glance. “He wasn’t feeling well.” Carlo kept staring, unfazed. “Fine. Stay there. I will search the woods on my own until I find out what happened to him. You can smoke until your lungs turn black, as far as I’m concerned.”

I combed the woods the best I could in the darkness, helping myself with the flashlight on my phone. All the footprints ended abruptly at the edge of the asphalted road, leading nowhere. Finally, I gave up and dragged myself back to the car, where Carlo was still waiting, his features softer now.

“Lumin,” he said quietly, offering me a hand. “Stop it. It’s dark. And cold. And you are wearing some stupid office shoes which are going to give you hypothermia. If we don’t leave soon, you are going to get sick. Let’s go to the hotel, and we can come back tomorrow morning, okay?”

I growled and slapped his hand away, walking in large, stubborn strides. Yes, I should have bought a pair of winter boots in Emberbury. No, I didn’t care that my feet had turned into icicles, because I had more important concerns. Like, for example, what might have happened to my vampire lover... boyfriend... whatever. It was not like him to leave like that. I knew it. And the cold inside my chest confirmed it.

Once we reached the hotel, Carlo invited me to watch a movie in his room, but I declined with a stifled sob and locked myself in my room to worry about Clarence for the rest of the night. I could not sleep, so I flipped through pictures of my daughters on my phone and wrote a brief message to Minnie.

“We have a surprise for you!” flew in her answer as I was dozing off, scrolling the news. “You’ll find out very soon!”

Chapter 18

Clarence

The taste of blood woke me up. It was dense and bitter; richer than usual. Two female voices whispered anxiously in the background, but only one was familiar. Too familiar. It belonged to someone I had given up for dead. Darkness had fallen, and I was still in the boot of that car; the blinding rays of the moon bathing the clearing with their silver glimmer.

“He is awake,” the voice said, addressing me sweetly. The stranger, who perhaps wasn’t so, brought a bleeding wrist closer to my lips. “Drink.”

I took her hand with trembling hands and licked the thick, dark liquid, feeling its strength running through my veins and rekindling my dormant limbs.

“Can you move?” she asked, helping me stand up.

I stirred, and a shiver shook me violently. “I am so cold,” I mumbled. “I don’t feel well. But yes. I can move if I must.”

“No wonder he’s cold,” said the other woman. Her voice was eerie as she chanted the words of a spell, and she smelled like a witch. “It’s in the curse. Gelid like silver, silver death; I curse thee now...”

“Stop. Those are dangerous words.”

The other one giggled. “I only know the beginning. You are completely safe.”

A sigh came from the other side.

“He already has the glow...” the younger one continued, “you know what that means.”

The glow. Yes, I knew about it too. The final stages of the curse. A faint glow first, slowly vanishing into nothing after that.

“You need to come with us, Clarence.”

“I am not going anywhere. I must wait for Alba,” I protested, trying to straighten my back to look at both women face to face.

“No. You must come now. You have no choice: either you come with us, or she will just find a heap of old dust by the time she’s back. You can leave a message for her. She will be fine on her own, but you won’t.”

I knew they were right. I could feel it. I did not understand why it had happened so fast, but there was truth in their words. “How did you find me?”

The petite one licked the wound on her wrist and watched it close magically, without leaving any traces. She sat by my side in the trunk, rubbing the butterfly ring Alba had brought me all the way from Emberbury. “What do you think?”

“I see,” I leaned back, too weary to sit straight. “It took half a century, but now we know those witches are no con artists.”

“Yes. Scrying helped too. But the ring made it easier.” She nodded. “I know you are concerned about Alba, but now you need us more than she needs you.” She kissed my cheek, her caress bearing more memories than one could care to count. The other woman squinted at us, a nervous look overshadowing her features.

“So, are you alive?” I blinked, framing her face with my hands, her silky locks tickling my knuckles. “Or... am I dead?”

She laughed. “Such a tough question. We can discuss it on the way there.”

“There, where?”

“Somewhere safer and more discreet.”

She waited as the taller woman scribbled a brief note and placed it sloppily under the windscreen wipers, drying her damp hands on her trousers. The piece of paper flapped furiously, fighting the evening breeze.

“I had missed you,” she said, hugging me, and I returned the hug, swaying under the weight of so many fond memories, come and gone but never lost. “But now is not the time for that,” she added, pulling away. “Come. We must try a spell... before it’s too late.”

Chapter 19

Alba

Carlo was nice enough to come with me and help me comb the area where Clarence had disappeared. We spent the whole morning there, until we were both frozen, cranky and muddy beyond recognition.

After so many hours of searching, his patience ran out, and he declared he wasn’t spending a minute longer searching for someone he didn’t even want to find in the first place.

“The vampire can remain lost forever. I don’t care,” he grunted, lighting what must have been the fifteenth cigarette of the day. “Just tell me whether we’re still going to that ball or not.”

I sighed. “I don’t know? I guess?”

Hopefully, Clarence would be back sooner or later, and it only made sense to try to get hold of the counterspell while I had a chance. The curse wasn’t going to disappear on its own, and the abbey would be closed for weeks after the ball.

“Okay then,” Carlo said, emptying his pockets of old receipts and letting them fall carelessly on the ground, together with a cigarette stub. “Time to go back to the hotel and get ready for the party.”

A reddish glow caught my attention. Carlo’s cigarette had set a bunch of dry leaves on fire, causing the flames to spread. I stomped on them repeatedly, cursing as the heat scorched the tips of my shoes.

“Look what you almost did! You could have caused a fire!”

Carlo rolled his eyes and crouched to pick up the cigarette. “Come on. You are exaggerating so much. It was just a tiny spark.”

“I can’t believe you’re saying this, particularly after we almost burned alive in Italy last Christmas. So irresponsible of you.”

“Yeah, whatever. I’ll pick up my stuff. No big deal.” Carlo groaned. He started to collect his litter, then paused, lifting a half-burnt piece of paper off the ground. “What’s this?” he said, handing it to me. “This one is not mine.”

I studied the remains of what looked like a handwritten note, trying to find a proper place to dispose of it. “No idea. People are disgusting. There’s a trashcan six feet away from this spot, why can’t they just use it? It’s disgraceful.”

“Okay, spare me the lecture, please,” Carlo said, raising his hands. “That’s not what I meant. The name of your bloodsucker boyfriend is written on it, if you haven’t noticed.”

“What?” I yelled, looking at the note with new eyes. Most of it had burned to ashes, and the only remaining words I could still read were “Clarence is with us.”

“With us... with whom?” I yelled in frustration, flipping the charred piece of paper back and forth. It was one of those extremely thin and useless napkins one got in most cafés around Alcazar, and I couldn’t recognize the rushed, spidery handwriting.

“You should thank me for smoking. If it wasn’t for me and my nasty habits, you would have never found that note. So I think I deserve an apology and maybe a hug too,” Carlo said.

“Damn. I have no idea what we should do now,” I said with a grunt of desperation, fighting the urge to punch him. So many unanswered questions drifted recklessly through my mind. And the last thing I wished to do was to attend a stupid carnival ball while Clarence might be in danger.

“The only thing we know for sure is that he’s not here, and there’s no point in searching for him, because he’s with... someone else,” Carlo declared, and I grumbled in reluctant agreement. “Someone else who bothered to leave a note and knew him by name. So I suggest we stick to the original plan. He might come back. Or not. Hard to tell right now. If nothing else, we get to attend a party. Maybe get laid, with some luck.”

“Okay,” I said, ignoring his last statement, “You have a point. Let’s go.”

***

CARLO TOOK THE WRECKED rental car to a local mechanic while I showered and got ready for the party. It took me a while to figure out how to tie the atrocious princess dress I had bought at the market without revealing half of my sad-looking and extremely unflattering underwear. The pink satin skirt was wrinkled, and I did my best to steam iron it, hanging it in the bathroom as I took a long, toe-thawing shower. When I came out of my room, wearing the dress under my coat and a loose side braid, Carlo started to snigger so hard that I thought he would die on the spot from asphyxiation.

This time―lesson learned―we booked a 4x4 taxi to drive us to the abbey. The day spent combing the forest in the cold had left me exhausted once again, and I would have paid cash in exchange for a good nap; but sleeping wasn’t in the cards for me, as usual, so I took out my phone and dialed Minnie’s number during the car ride.

“Minnie, can you get me Iris or Katie on the phone?” I asked, watching the trees pass by in the darkness behind Carlo’s tall profile.

“Sure,” she answered, “wait a second.”

“Mommy!” I heard Katie squealing from the other side. “Where are you?”

“Oh, I’m...” I hesitated. “I was about to go to a little party.”

“A birthday party?” There was clear excitement in her voice. She was probably picturing cakes and presents, and not a cold stone building full of strangers holding champagne flutes.

“Well, no... more like a costume party.”

More squealing ensued. “You have a costume? Minnie got us costumes, too!”

Minnie was always so cool. Sigh.

“Actually yes, I do. I’m going as a...” I hesitated, smoothing the sloppily embroidered bodice, which in turn caused a few plastic gemstones to detach and disappear among the folds of my skirts. “A princess. It’s a pink princess dress.” There was a silence on the other side, so long that I thought I might have lost the connection. “Katie? Are you still there?”

“Yes, mommy.” She sounded... worried? Upset?

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t think old witches like you should wear pink princess dresses,” she whispered with concern.

“Katie! Minnie could hear you!”

Old witches? What the...

“Sorry, mommy. But it’s true.”

“I think witches can wear whatever dresses they want,” I whispered, trying to conceal my dismay.

She wavered for a second. “Well, not in the books Minnie reads us at night... they always wear black. And they are evil.”

“Give me Minnie back,” I growled. “I have a thing or two to discuss with her.”

I needed all my self-control to refrain from scolding Minnie. She wouldn’t have understood the problem anyway. I ended the conversation in a bad mood and turned to Carlo, who had been watching me with an amused expression on his face.

“So, Rapunzel,” he said, “I have been googling the program. It seems the dance will take place in the monastery’s cloister, but most rooms are open to visitors, including the library. Everything except for some service areas and the crypt. Where do you think that book of yours might be?”

“I’d like to think it’s in the library, but with my luck, it’s probably in the crypt,” I grunted.

“I was thinking the same,” he agreed as the taxi stopped at the end of a long queue of identical cabs.

“We can check the library first, and if there’s nothing there, we’ll have to find a way to get into the crypt,” I whispered so the driver wouldn’t hear me. “Do you think one of us could sneak into the gatehouse and borrow a set of keys somehow?”

Carlo smiled smugly. “If the concierge is a she, I see no problem at all,” he said after a brief consideration.

I rolled my eyes, but I admitted to myself he was probably right. Carlo was tall and good-looking; it was just a shame he had been born with fully-working vocal cords.

“Okay,” I said, opening the door and hopping out of the car. “You see to the keys and the crypt, and I will check out the rest of the rooms. The first one who finds something sends a message to the other. Deal?” Carlo gave me a mock military salute in agreement. “Good. Try to be discreet and keep your phone close.”

***

AN ARMY OF FLORISTS must have been at work since dawn, spreading fresh ivy leaves and white rose petals all over the cobblestone path which led to the abbey. A pageboy took our tickets and reminded us this was a masquerade party and masks were compulsory until midnight. Carlo protested; but the pageboy would not yield, and he had to oblige and put on his butterfly-bird mask. It covered his nose and forehead, and it was actually quite flattering, at least in my opinion. Once we were properly attired, the pageboy bowed and allowed us to cross the red rope barrier in front of the ancient building.

A path of candles and evergreen pine branches led us to the old monastery cloister, where we were greeted by an ample square outdoor space surrounded by arcades. Long, lavish tables awaited us under the arcades, all dressed in white bows and roses and covered in platters with tiny pieces of bread and delicious-looking toppings. At the furthest end of the courtyard, an orchestra played a lively version of Liszt’s Hungarian Rhapsody as guests sauntered in and talked casually to each other, all dressed in costumes which looked definitely better than ours. Despite the strategically spread outdoor patio heaters, I wasn’t thrilled to give my coat away to the cloakroom attendant, but I did it anyway to look less out of place among the rest of the bare-shouldered guests. The amount of skin on display despite the frosty night made me wonder whether the whole event was just an excuse for a covert vampire dance.

Carlo made a ladylike curtsy and took my hand. “Dance with me?” he asked, wiggling an eyebrow. “Before we get down to business?”

I hesitated. The setting was lovely and the music enthralling. Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves, and it would have been so easy to let go, have a drink or two and forget about everything that needed to be done.

“We will raise fewer suspicions if we behave like we came here to have fun, just like everyone else,” Carlo encouraged me.

“Okay,” I conceded, taking his hand with two fingers. “But just one dance. We have lots of things to do.”

Carlo’s expert hands made my long skirt spin among the ancient arcades, and one dance led to the next, and the next. Even though I didn’t want to admit it, I was enjoying myself, so I purposely forgot about my one-dance-only request.

Lost in the music, at first I didn’t notice Carlo was getting bolder with each subsequent piece the orchestra played. But as his hands started to move down my back and his confidence built up, I decided it was time to get to work before I had to slap him. As soon as the waltz ended, I detached from him and headed for the tables under the gallery, which were covered in trays and champagne glasses.

“Thirsty,” I said, waving at him without looking back. “And busy. I’m going to find the library. I’ll text you when I’m done.”

When I turned around once again, Carlo was gone, hopefully in pursuit of a gullible female janitor to steal a set of keys from.

I grabbed a glass of champagne and leaned in to look at a wall bedecked with an enormous glass blueprint of the abbey. Starting at the “you are here” dot, I traced with my fingertips a few possible routes to search the whole complex as quickly as possible.

I was trying to decide whether to head upstairs first or scour the ground floor instead, when the clamor of applause took me out of my elucubrations, forcing me to check whatever was happening on the dance floor.

Two masked women were twirling in the middle of the cloister with such expertise that the whole party had grown quiet in order to stare at them in awe. The tallest one was wearing a gothic sheet dress with an open back made out of dozens of straps, which mimicked a spiderweb and exposed her heavily tattooed skin. The other one was smaller and clad in a sumptuous black velvet gown, sunflower golden ringlets flowing behind her. The tallest dancer hurled the smaller one in the air and caught her like a dove in her arms, right as the song ended. Both moved with the dexterity of professional dancing contestants.

For a second, silence fell over the abbey’s patio; even the orchestra had stopped playing to admire the best dancers in the party. A shy bystander started to clap her hands, and soon, everyone joined her in impressed cheers and hoots. The two expert dancers bowed at their unexpected audience, seeming surprised and pleased at the same time. They held their skirts with gracility, looked at each other, and finally joined in a passionate kiss.

Only then I noticed the thick tuft of white and green hair sprouting over the taller woman’s black and gold mask, and I knew exactly where I had seen green hair like that before; this was the last place I had expected to encounter it again.

I elbowed my way through the crowd that had resumed their previous activities and weren’t interested in the dancers anymore. Swallowing my shyness, I approached the two women, who weren’t kissing anymore and had started to swing softly to the new piece chosen by the orchestra.

Taking a deep breath, I tapped on the shoulder of the green-haired girl, and she turned to look at me, a soft smile emerging as she lifted the mask off her eyes and allowed me to see her whole face.

“Alba,” she said, releasing her partner in order to hug me, “finally.”

“Alice?” I muttered, my brain cells doing somersaults as I tried to comprehend how on earth I could have accidentally run into one of the few witches who didn’t hate me and in a secluded abbey atop the Pyrenees of all places. Then I turned to the petite blonde next to her, my lungs emptying of air as I recognized her delicate features under the mask.

“Francesca,” I gasped, throwing myself into her arms. “I thought I would never see you again.”

Chapter 20

Alba

I sniffed Francesca’s hair, relishing her familiar scent of rusty blood and roses. Her body tensed when I tried to hug her, deceivingly small and birdlike in my arms. She was wearing a spiked bracelet that contrasted with her otherwise elegant attire―a gift from Alice, perhaps―and the spikes dug into my back, but I was too glad to see her to care. “Oh, Francesca...” I said, my voice trailing off and dissolving into a teary gurgle.

“It’s all right,” she said, grabbing my wrists and pushing me away, then studying me from head to toe, “I am fine. And I’m happy to see you too.”

“How did you find me?” I stammered. “This makes no sense.”

Francesca was safe. Elizabeth wasn’t going to kill me. My head was spinning with relief, and I thanked the Universe for this welcome and unexpected lucky streak.

“It’s a long story,” Alice said, looking around nervously. “I used a pendulum to pinpoint your exact location. It wasn’t that hard, thanks to that magical trinket you had...”

I shook my head, too overwhelmed to think. “But... that house in Venice... it collapsed on you... we feared you might have died in the canals... disappeared forever under the sun...” I sobbed, and Francesca caressed my hair softly, wiping off my tears with tenderness.

“It’s fine. Vampires can’t drown, and Alice saved me from sunrise. If it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t be here now,” Francesca whispered softly.

“But... how...?” Words didn’t come easy. I kept touching her arms and shoulders, reluctant to believe she was real, in front of me, and not just a product of my imagination.

“Alice found me the night of the explosion, unconscious and floating in the canals. She took me to shelter and nursed me back to health,” Francesca explained, threading her delicate fingers through the many straps on the back of the other woman’s dress. “Magicked me back to health, to be precise.” She winked at the stout witch beside her, and a look of fondness and complicity traveled from one woman to the other, hinting at the deep bond created between them by the time spent together in Venice.

Both women looked at each other with such longing that I considered lending them the keys of my hotel room. “I still can’t believe you are here. This is all so... unexpected.”

“I feel responsible for what happened in Venice,” Alice said, frowning her lips. “It was my coven that caused this, so it’s also my fault in a way.”

“It was not your fault,” Francesca assured her, standing on her toes to kiss Alice’s cheek. “We are not our past.”

Alice leaned against the deceivingly small vampire. “Ah, Frannie... we better discuss all this somewhere else. There are prying ears everywhere.”

“Yes, I agree,” Francesca said, assessing my choice of attire. The expression on her face revealed clear dissatisfaction. “So, what exactly are you dressed up as?”

“Uh... princess?” I ventured with a nervous grin, opening my arms so she could admire the kitschy gown in all its synthetic glory. Noticing her displeasure, I squinted with malevolence―or at least, I tried―and offered an alternative. “Witch?”

“It’s hideous,” she declared, shaking her locks. “I have never seen anything this bad.”

“Why, thank you,” I said. “Still, I didn’t come here to boast about my luxurious wardrobe. I have more important things to do... to find, actually.”

“The grimoire, I suppose,” Alice murmured. “We know about it, and we have a plan.”

“But perhaps...” Francesca said, coiling a slight arm around Alice’s firm waist, “you might want to have a look at something else first. Something even more important.”

“Really? I doubt there’s such a thing, but...”

I couldn’t think of one single thing I desired more than finding the spell to break Clarence’s curse.

Except, perhaps...

Francesca tilted her head sideways, toward the furthest end of the patio, where a dashing man in a black mask and a light silver tuxedo was leaning against a pillar, his legs crossed casually and a pale hand half-hidden in a pocket.

“He was dying to see you,” Alice drawled with a wink, and I let out a girlish cry of happiness as I ran across the dancefloor and into the arms of the only man I wanted to dance with at that or any party, wrapping my arms around him with a squeal.

Clarence returned the embrace with his eyes closed and a relieved smile, letting out an oddly human sigh. We melted into a hungry, desperate kiss, full of questions, desire and relief.

“Where were you? What happened?” I mumbled into his soothingly familiar chest, catching my breath.

“Shh... not here. Later.” He dragged me gently toward the center of the dimly lit courtyard and bowed formally. “May I have this dance?” he asked, leaving a butterfly kiss on the back of my hand. “Unless your dance card is full already...”

I watched him through half-closed eyes.

“Not sure. I’ll see if I can make room for a truant vampire.”

I let myself go in his steady arms, shaking off the stress of the last twenty-four hours. Dancing with him was like traveling back to bygone, olden times of grand balls and banquets. Times he had lived in, when I didn’t even exist. As we cruised around the dance floor, drawing perfect figure eights on the centuries-old stone slabs, I imagined us standing on a boat, sailing from island to island at the sound of a whimsical waltz. Alcazar Abbey had become our very own Titanic, as we swayed with abandonment, surrounded by shallow luxury and oblivious to the many unresolved problems looming over us, about to sink us... just not yet.

I shut my eyes.

Problems could wait.

Just one more dance.

When I opened them again, Clarence was staring fondly into mine, a faint reddish glow shining behind his black mask.

“I hope you found the note Alice left for you,” he said, kissing my hair in passing as he made me twirl once again.

“Carlo burned it,” I answered. His eyes flared with hardly-contained anger, so I added hastily. “By accident.” I was starting to feel dizzy, what with the plentiful whirling, the champagne, and all those missing people showing up all of a sudden.

Clarence rolled his eyes, and I was almost sure he swore under his breath, the name of a certain corrupt policeman standing out among the rest of garbled words. “I must confess, I watched you dance with him for a while, and his behavior was starting to... irritate me.”

We passed close to Alice and Francesca, who were so enraptured with each other that neither of them bothered to glance at us. They made a sweet, though contrasting, couple.

“Really? Well next time, instead of vanishing without a trace, then stalking me from a dark corner, why not come and scare the competition off with those claws of yours?”

Clarence stared down at his nails, now blunt and neat while he held my hand in a waltzing pose. His jaw tensed, making me regret my silly remark. I was aware that Carlo and his claws were already well-acquainted, and neither of them was very proud of that moment.

“Who am I to tell you what you can and can’t do?” he said sullenly. “He kissed you once in front of my very eyes, and it’s evident he wouldn’t mind doing it again.”

“You know I’m not interested,” I assured him, adjusting my steps to the brisk rhythm of the music. “I only care about you. I barely slept worrying about you.”

“I am so sorry,” he said. “An urgent matter came up, but hopefully the problem is dealt with... for a while, if nothing else.”

I tripped over his feet, but he lifted me off the floor and kept moving, his back straight and slightly bent backwards with impeccable dancing etiquette. I wondered about the many dancing cards his name must have been penciled on during his unusually long existence, and my lungs constricted for a second. How many gorgeous ladies had he stolen a kiss from? How many had ended up in his bed after two centuries of extravagant parties?

But no. I wasn’t going there. Not tonight.

“What kind of urgent matter?” I asked as the music trailed off, and I caught my breath, waiting for the next one to start. He glanced away, and I frowned. “Seems like nobody wants to tell me anything today.”

He smirked mischievously and stroked the small of my back, staring at the ridiculous plastic gems on my frock. “I shall explain everything at the right time, but only if you first confess the name of the poor child you stole that costume from.”

I winced. “Not funny, Clarence. Excuse me if I didn’t bring a ballgown to our impromptu mountain trip. Also, I was wondering the same about yours. A silver tux? Really? So not your style.”

“It was not easy to find a last-minute donator as tall and alluring as yours truly, as you can imagine.” He smirked. “However, it’s significantly better than yours... but worry not, Isolde. You would look stunning even in a darned burlap sack. Not that this is far from it...” His fangs flashed for an instant, and he whispered into my ear, “And even better without it. But it’s safer for you this way.”

I sought Alice and Francesca across the room to hide my blushing. “We need to talk.”

“Yes. But outside. There are... others,” he said, silently mouthing the word “witches”.

“Oh, I see.” I nodded, reluctantly disentangling myself from his embrace as I studied the rest of the attendants with new eyes. “Okay. You know I’d love to spend the rest of the night dancing with you, but we are here to fulfill a mission.”

“I know,” he said, his voice suddenly raspy. “Just one more dance, and I’ll set you free,” he pleaded, nuzzling my cheek and tugging gently at my arm as the first notes filled the air once again. “This is the Vienna Blood waltz. One of my favorites.”

“It had to be,” I concurred, stepping on my own toes as I struggled to follow his proficient rise and fall.

“Once, many moons ago, I danced to it in Vienna,” he explained, a dreamy haze marring his maroon irises. “It would have been the perfect place to take you to see your first opera, as I promised I would...” he slowed down the pace, a sudden gloom darkening his well-chiseled features under the mask. “But I might be compelled to break my promise, after all...”

“What do you mean?”

My question lingered in the air for a couple of seconds, until he shook his head, as if to dispel a bad omen, and swiveled to face the orchestra.

“Never mind,” he whispered, holding me tighter. “Let’s dance now. While we still can.”

Chapter 21

Clarence

Vienna, Austria, Carnival 1957

Francesca giggled as we ran past the large lobby mirror of the lusciously Baroque opera house, unnoticed by the rest of guests at the most exclusive Faschingsball in the city. Luckily for us, they were all too busy complimenting each other on their attire and doing the typical small talk common among wealthy socialites, preventing them from noticing us: the beautiful, young and flawless couple who blended impeccably with their surroundings―except for the fact that they had no reflections.

“Francesca! I thought you had checked for mirrors this morning, when you flew by,” I scolded her as we reached the ballroom, which was as ornate as the rest of the rooms but blissfully mirrorless.

“I was wrong,” she admitted with a grin, planting a brief kiss on my neck, “which is delightfully unusual.”

I returned her kiss with nervousness, still concerned we might have been noticed by someone. Nobody was looking at us, and I took a deep breath before answering. “Do not do this to me ever again. What we just did was reckless.”

“So... what if I do it again?” she asked, a daring glint in her azure eyes. “What will you do?”

Holding her gaze, I ran the tips of my fingers over her spine, starting at the base of her neck and feeling each backbone under her spotless white dress until she shuddered, just as I wanted, when I reached the small of her back. “You know what,” I said quietly, and she regaled me with a pretend scandalized glance.

We retreated to a corner, admiring the majestic crystal chandeliers and gilded decorations. The loges over us were starting to fill with high society guests, and I studied their occupants, trying to catch a glimpse of the very familiar profile of the man we were hunting that evening.

“Perhaps we should part ways here,” I suggested. “You search the left wing, and I will have a look at the right one.” When she didn’t answer, I turned around and looked at her. Her knuckles had turned white and were crumpling her skirt, and a red rim had taken over the perfect whites of her eyes. “Francesca.” I pressed her tiny figure against my chest, taken aback by her sudden―and rare―change of humor. “What’s the matter?”

She shook her head and composed herself but remained cradled in my arms for a minute longer than she would have in normal circumstances. “I thought I had seen Ludovic,” she whispered, rearranging her dress around her shoulders. She might have sobbed, but if she did, she hid it well and fast. “But it wasn’t him. Just the same hair... the same height...”

I nodded, knowing how family, and moreover Ludovic, were Francesca’s only weakness. She was far from weak. But her heart broke a little each time she remembered her missing brother and daughter. Both lost. Both out of reach. A pain she concealed flawlessly from the world, save for the few select ones she opened up to on occasion. Like me, now and then.

“He would not come here,” I said, stroking her cheek. “Particularly not today, when Vlad might be nearby. Too dangerous.”

“Vlad doesn’t want Ludovic,” she pointed out, straightening herself. No traces of her passing episode of grief were left by then. “He wants you.”

“And thus, here I am tonight,” I said.

Francesca tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, and the ring on her middle finger shone under the bright chandeliers, making me smile. “I’m glad you decided to wear my present, despite your initial qualms.”

“Solely because it matches my tiara,” she replied with a squint. “I don’t need your protection, Clarence, nor anyone else’s.”

“I almost had to sell my soul to a witch so she would charm that ring for me,” I said, and she laughed.

“I still don’t know how you got a witch to charm anything for you.”

“I can be charming as well, if needed,” I simpered. “But perhaps my pilfering talents helped a little too... you know I’m an honest man, but I’d do anything for the sake of a lovely Italian lady of my acquaintance.”

She snuggled against my chest once again. Even though she denied it, there was contained fear in her demeanor. “Honest...? I’m not sure... you were always so adept at petty theft...”

“Anything for you, my dear Francesca.”

The débutants made their appearance in the ballroom, ready for the opening dance, and Francesca brought a finger to her lips as she studied the pristine-looking couples, paying special attention to the lovely young ladies draped in floor-length dove-white gowns.

“Which one do you think he will settle on this year?” she asked in a thin whisper.

Scanning the dancers, my eyes fell on a pale, blue-eyed angel who reminded me of someone I had known a long time ago. “Who is that?” I asked, certain Francesca must have memorized the list of guests before our arrival.

“Klara Steiner. A jeweller’s daughter.”

I nodded, considering the rest of the candidates. Many were blonde with blue eyes, but Klara, unlike the others, had a certain frailness and inhibition to her. That was the trait Vlad relished the most: I knew him well enough to know his predilection for fragile creatures, and I had known him for longer than anyone still living. Vlad would always abduct the one who carried a stronger resemblance to his long-lost love. Not that he ever understood the meaning of that word, but he seemed to be fond of his lovely, sweet pets, and kept them alive while they were docile and scared, just the way he fancied them the most. Once they turned sour and broken, it was time for a new toy, and what better place to enjoy window-shopping than a flashy Vienna ball?

“Let us split up,” I suggested, and Francesca nodded in agreement. “I’ll keep an eye on Klara, and you watch the others... and my back. As soon as she leaves the ballroom, one of us must follow. We should never leave her unattended.”

“That we should not,” she agreed, straightening my tie.

“It will probably be easier if I do it. Less conspicuous. With some luck, we’ll get hold of him tonight... it’s about time we did.”

“Are you going to kiss her?” Francesca asked in a mocking tone, though there might have been a darker tinge to her voice under the surface.

“Only if necessary,” I teased her. She shrugged. Good. She did not mind. Better this way, because there was always a chance.

“If you need assistance, call me,” she said, eyeing the frail blonde dancer with thirst and... wariness?

“Please be careful,” I said, kissing Francesca’s rose-scented hair one more time before leaving her side, “and I beg you, don’t take off the ring. The witch said it would help me find you if you ever got lost. I would do anything to keep you safe. You know that.”

“I can keep myself safe, thank you, and I don’t believe in amulets.”

“Neither do I,” I said, struggling not to kiss her once again. “But sometimes things do work, whether we believe in them or not.”

Chapter 22

Alba

The music died down, and the orchestra left the stage for a break, turning on soft, recorded ambient music to entertain the attendees in their absence. Dancers flocked to the food tables, while Clarence and I headed to a secluded corner where Alice and Francesca were drinking champagne and whispering into each other’s ears.

“Who was that fine-looking gentleman dancing with you earlier?” Francesca asked, grinning sympathetically in Clarence’s direction over the rim of her empty glass. “You seemed... quite close.”

“Oh, that was just Carlo. Didn’t you meet in Italy?” I said with a dismissive wave, ignoring Clarence’s soft growl behind me. “Which reminds me... I should check what he’s been up to.”

I opened my purse, just to learn the signal at the abbey was virtually nonexistent, at least in the courtyard. Maybe Carlo had sent a text, but I had no way to check. There was a message from Minnie, received an hour earlier or so. It showed a photo of Iris and Katie wearing fairytale gowns, not unlike mine―just more age-appropriate―and below a brief caption:

“Surprise, Mommy! Daddy and Auntie Minnie are taking us somewhere special for Mid-Winter Break. Can you guess where? We are on our way to the airport!”

Mid-Winter Break? When was that? And why hadn’t they mentioned a vacation during our phone call? Was that the surprise Minnie had mentioned as I was falling asleep last night? A plane ride seemed pretty much mention-worthy, and not something to surprise me with. Also, Auntie Minnie? What the...? Okay, at least she wasn’t Stepmommy Minnie, so that was a good thing... wasn’t it?

“So, what’s going on with Carlo?” Alice asked, glancing at me with impatience and interrupting my endless worry loop. Minnie’s unexpected text had thrown me off completely.

“He’s trying to get into the crypt,” I explained, shaking off the many questions I had for Minnie, which, sadly, would have to wait until I got the signal back. “We think the grimoire might be there. I should go downstairs and try to find him, by the way. My phone is not working well here, and he might have called me.”

Alice started to laugh hysterically, tears and all. “There’s no way he’ll break into the crypt on his own,” she snorted, wiping her eyes. “It’s guarded by magic, night and day. Nobody but the Daughters of Isis can enter.”

“What do you know about the Daughters of Isis?” I asked as I turned my phone in all possible directions, in the hopes of catching the faintest signal.

“Oh, they’re just some old, eclectic Isis-worshipping coven who appropriated the Alcazar Grimoire after the French Revolution,” Alice explained, rolling her eyes. “It’s the most sought-after witchcraft treaty of the Renaissance, and they are so full of themselves for keeping it safe. Keeping it safe, yes... but only after stealing it, I may add. Always boasting about their importance in the Warty Toad Newsletter. Just because some drunk monk happened to drop a copy on the lap of a slutty sister two-hundred years ago, they have been bragging about their superiority for the last couple of centuries.” She huffed. “It’s not like they wrote the spells themselves, those bit...”

“Alice!” Francesca chided her with her steeliest governess glance.

“Yes, okay. Whatever,” Alice mumbled, frowning. “We aren’t on the best terms, to be honest. How could we be, when they have always been such competitive, thieving b...” She squinted at Francesca, huffed, and closed her mouth again. “Anyway. Our High Priestess, Valentina, and theirs pretty much hate each other and have some passive aggressive shit going on non-stop. But the only way to get into that crypt is to get an invitation from The Daughters of Isis, and only witches can get one. Carlo has no chance in hell of getting in there on his own. Like... ever.”

“But what about me?” I said. “They don’t know me. I’m a witch, and I don’t belong to your coven, so they might be willing to talk to me.”

“You?” Alice cackled again. “I seriously doubt it. A real witch would have to vouch for you first.”

“What do you mean, a real witch?” I blinked, offended. “Everyone has been going on about me being a witch for months, and now suddenly I’m not witch enough?”

“Oh, well, yes, I suppose you are...” Alice explained. “But I meant a recognized witch. The Daughters of Isis have the oldest roots, and they also happen to be the most secretive of all. They are a powerful, secretive coven, which guards one of the most dangerous magical treatises on Earth. You, on the other hand...”

I, on the other hand, was just a chaotic stray who sneezed and caused a traffic accident but couldn’t cast a simple spell even if my life depended on it.

“Okay,” I said, raising my hands in surrender, “cut it short. I suck. I get it.”

Alice lifted her hands in apology. “No, no, don’t get me wrong... I just mean you can’t come uninvited. But I might be able to help.”

In the meantime, Clarence had walked away and was analyzing the label of a tall bottle of Chardonnay with the devotion of an experienced sommelier. For someone who refused to try a single drop of wine, he seemed very much immersed in his reading. A string of golden lampions was shining above him, and it was almost as if the glow was coming from him, instead of the candles inside the lanterns.

“Clarence,” I said, shaking his arm with excitement. “Why are you here alone? Would you come discuss the plan with us? If we manage to get into the crypt tonight, you could be rid of the curse very soon!”

He stared at me, something akin to sadness in his eyes. “Ah, isn’t that brilliant?” he said without much enthusiasm.

I blinked, unable to understand his sudden change of heart. “What’s wrong? Aren’t you excited things are working out?”

“Oh, yes, of course I am...” he trailed off. “But maybe we should leave. Why take such risks, my dear...? I wouldn’t want you to endanger yourself just for my sake.”

I exhaled with frustration. “You are behaving very weirdly, Clarence. Why would you say something like that, when we have made it this far?” He gazed down, concentrating once again on the wine label. “Also, is it me, or do you have like a... halo?” I added, waving my hand through the faint aura around him.

“A halo?” He let out a joyless chuckle. “Of course not. I’m not a shooting star. Or a saint.”

“That you are not,” I agreed with a naughty wink, but he didn’t even smile back.

Upset by his taciturn mood, I turned around to leave, and the change of position brought my phone back to life. The device started to beep with a dozen messages from Carlo. I called him back, wondering what kind of trouble he had run into.

“Lumin,” he gurgled on the other side, sounding like his head was underwater. “I have a bit of a situation here downstairs.”

“I’ll be right there,” I said, ending the call and rushing to check out the blueprint of the abbey. I took a quick photo to keep just in case and located the closest staircase.

“Carlo is in the basement,” I told the others, who had trailed after me without a single question. “And yes, he’s in trouble.”

Alice exhaled with amusement. “Of course he is.”

“Follow me,” I said, ushering everyone away from the courtyard and toward the lower floor, “let’s go find him before he does something stupid. Something... else.”

We hurried downstairs, Alice and Francesca skipping beside me, the three of us gathering our ridiculous skirts like medieval princesses. Clarence walked a few steps behind, though his deep disinterest in Carlo’s fate was more than evident on his face.

As I was walking down the stairs, I lost a shoe in the most Cinderella way. Just less elegant, and with shoes which, by then, resembled stable clogs more than crystal slippers.

“Go on, I’ll catch you!” I told the others, sitting on the steps to put my shoe back on while they disappeared from my sight. I flinched with pain and rubbed my poor feet, both covered in sores after too much hiking in improper footwear.

“Madam, please.” A spectral whisper filled the air. I hesitated before raising my head, chiefly because I had heard that voice before, and I knew exactly what unpleasant sight awaited me.

“Laura, wasn’t it...” I said, gulping slowly and still reluctant to look at the source of the voice.

“Yes, madam. Laura. We have been following you for a long time, but tonight the Angel of Death is looming over you quite low. I can see him clearly, but I can help, I promise. Just send me to where my husband and parents are waiting, and I’ll do anything you need. Anything. Please, Madam.”

I swallowed for courage and raised my head. Just as expected, the headless ghost from the forest and her daughter were hovering in the middle of the staircase, both see-through and luminescent.

“I’m...” I glanced away, too stressed to hold a severed head’s gaze. I didn’t even know whether I was supposed to talk to the head or the body. “I’m not able to do that. I’m sorry.”

“There is a spell in that book you are searching for. It can send us to the other side. Please, Madam, consider my request. I shall pay you back. I will shoo the Dark Angel away in exchange or do anything you need. I swear by my daughter’s life.”

The daughter seemed as dead as the mother; I wasn’t sure that was a trustworthy thing to swear by.

“Okay,” I nodded, exhausted. “I’ll see what I can do once I find the grimoire. But I can’t promise you anything.”

The little ghost girl flew down, still holding her mother’s head, and dropped a gooey kiss on my forehead. “Thank you, madam. I love you for trying.”

And then, they vanished.

I took a few deep breaths and waited for the slimy feeling on my forehead to pass. Those Angel of Death threats reminded me of the stories about shady psychics trying to fish for clueless clients. But the child-ghost’s kiss had seemed sincere.

Damn. Dealing with the undead was always so puzzling.

I rubbed my forehead and started to walk, following the footsteps of Alice and the vampires.

The stairs ended at the beginning of a dark and narrow corridor, with many closed doors on both sides. According to the visitor maps of the abbey, the corridor must be U-shaped, but said maps stopped at one end of the U, as if the hallway led nowhere, which was odd.

I turned the first corner and found the other three standing in the darkness and waiting for me.

“Where were you?” Alice asked.

“Sorry. I keep seeing strange things,” I excused myself.

“At least you can see something,” Alice complained. “It’s too dark for me here, and I didn’t bring a flashlight. I almost broke my head against those low beams at the end of the stairs.”

“We can use my phone,” I offered. “Or maybe Clarence and Francesca can go and check what’s at the other end. They can see in the dark, unlike us.”

Actually, Clarence himself was still glowing a little, just like in the courtyard. Only now there were no lamps and no candles to blame.

“No. That could be dangerous,” Alice said. “We don’t know who or what is waiting for us there, and how they might react to our presence. Witches are never too friendly to vampires found wandering around their property. It’s best if I go first. We witches get each other. Well... kind of.”

Alice took the lead, and the vampires and I tiptoed after her till the next bend of the passage. After a few seconds, the green-haired witch dissolved into the darkness before us.

A burst of laughter emerged from the other side, and I clung to the sleeve of Clarence’s tux. He shrugged and took my hand.

“Come here!” Alice called between chuckles. “You have to see this!”

As we turned the last bend of the hallway, we were presented with an image of Carlo hanging by his belt from the lintel of a robust and antique coffered door. His underwear―and the surprisingly hairy crack of his butt―were half exposed, and his cheeks were entirely red, probably because of the prolonged upside-down position and the exposure to an unexpected audience.

“I don’t see what’s so funny,” he grunted.

Two suits of armor flanked the door, and upon closer inspection, I observed that Carlo was hanging from two long iron halberds held by said―empty―armor while a bunch of keys lay on the floor, together with the contents of his pockets―namely money, chewing gum and an embarrassingly long strip of strawberry flavored condoms. Somehow, he had managed to keep his phone in his hand, and he was holding onto it like a lifeline.

“Strawberry? Really?” Alice was practically rolling on the floor with laughter, and I nudged her softly with the tip of my shoe so she would chill out before someone else appeared.

“Haunted armored guards,” Francesca said matter-of-factly, like it was the most normal thing in the world. “A very old trick. Even I would have recognized them.”

“That’s no trick,” Alice corrected her, her tone turning stern, “The Knights Templar were the founders of this abbey and the original lords of these lands. After they were slaughtered, their ghosts remained here to guard their possessions and make sure only worthy people enjoyed them. The Daughters of Isis were entrusted with custody of this abbey barely a few decades ago, but they are not its true owners.” She rolled her eyes. “Despite their entitled attitude.”

“Thanks for the history lesson,” Carlo groaned. “Now can anyone help me down?”

“May I ask how exactly you got yourself up there, Carlo?” I said, kneeling to retrieve the bunch of keys off the floor, but Clarence grasped the back of my dress to stop me.

“Don’t,” he said, pressing me against his chest with protectiveness. “Do not touch anything. It might be hexed.”

“I must agree with the bloodsucker here,” Carlo said. “Better not touch the keys. None of them fit anyway, and look what happened when I tried them.”

“That’s why they call you a stray witch,” Alice pointed out, tsking. “Everybody knows you don’t just barge into a haunted crypt. That is, everyone except you... and Carlo.” She waved at the poor man, who had propped his legs against the door in a vain attempt to keep his dignity. “Ciao bello! Do you remember me from Como?” she asked casually, then turned back toward us. “There are certain kinds of locks one can’t just pick without a minimal knowledge of witchcraft.”

“Yes, yes, awesome,” Carlo groaned. “Are we going to discuss history and metaphysics for the rest of the evening, or are you helping me down? I’m worried all my blood will go to my head, and I’ll die.” He twisted his neck in a weird angle so he could look at Clarence. “By the way, it’s nice to see you back from the dead again, Auberon,” he scoffed.

“How very gracious of you to say that,” Clarence offered a brief but polite bow, and oddly enough, he tripped on one of the irregular flagstones which paved the floor. A fleeting flinch of pain crossed his face, and I made a mental note to ask him about his health as soon as we had a moment of privacy. He was starting to worry me.

Meanwhile, Alice was studying Carlo’s situation and scratching her white and green hair like a child with head lice. “I could try to break the spell, but I’m not sure it would work,” she muttered. “I’m not good at this, and I’m worried the knights could turn against us. I think we should get help,” she declared, and after a brief deliberation, started to walk back to where we had come from.

“Hello?” Carlo yelled, sounding desperate. “Don’t leave me here! Who are you going to call? Hopefully not the boys in blue?” He pointed at the incriminating bunch of keys, which still lay on the floor because nobody dared to touch them. “I don’t want to get into trouble.”

“Not the police, silly,” Alice laughed. “The witches, of course.”

Chapter 23

Alba

“I suggest Clarence and Francesca go back upstairs while we find the Daughters of Isis,” Alice said. “I think I know where they might be, but they aren’t going to be thrilled to find two vampires roaming so close to their secret quarters. So, you two go back to the ball and make an effort to blend in. Try to dance the worst you can, please―no lifts or tricks. We don’t want you to attract more attention than necessary. Do you think you could do that?”

The vampires nodded, accepting Alice’s orders with deceptive docility; we were deep in witch territory after all. Clarence clasped Francesca’s delicate arm, and they headed back to the patio upstairs, whispering to each other with the complicity of those who have known each other for the best part of their existence.

Watching them stroll away together, I couldn’t help but shudder. They made a movie-perfect couple, both so graceful and effortlessly elegant. Not only that, even though both had assured me they weren’t romantically interested in each other, their shared memories from days past were always brimming close to the surface. It wasn’t hard to sense the sea of unspoken recollections from a time when they had been each other’s support during the long, dull nights spent enclosed in a catacomb with scarce entertainment and very few of their kind.

“You come with me,” Alice said, beckoning to me as the vampires disappeared into the narrow corridor. “As for you...” She turned to Carlo, who grunted and showed us the whites of his eyes in exasperation. He was still hanging upside-down from the halberds, none of us brave enough to touch him for fear of waking up the enchanted armor. “We’ll be back to rescue you soon―or at least, I hope so. Try to enjoy the benefits of inverted asanas in the meantime!”

“Inverted what?” he growled.

“I think she means yoga poses,” I clarified. “Just relax and try not to panic. I think some extra irrigation won’t damage your brain cells. The whole four of them.” He growled even louder this time, a menacing quality in his voice. “Just breathe, okay? It will make the wait shorter.”

Alice and I returned to the upper floor. When we reached the monastery’s cloister, I tried to spot Clarence and Francesca among the crowd of dancing couples, but they must have followed Alice’s advice to lie low because I didn’t see either of them. As we passed the decorated banquet tables, I snatched a canapé covered in Camembert cheese and popped it into my mouth, wincing at the pungent smell and taste. I had to hurry up to catch Alice, who seemed to know the place slightly too well for a first-time visitor. After a few twists and turns, she stopped in front of a small, green door in a deserted wing of the abbey, where there was no food, no music and no decorations, and therefore no guests nosing around either.

Alice knocked on the door three times, paused, then repeated the same process twice.

“Remember,” she murmured, throwing me a meaningful glance, “always three times three.”

Soon, a voice rumbled a greeting from the other side.

“Quo vadis, Soror?” the voice said, in what I guessed might be Latin.

“Strega Alice, ego tibi,” Alice answered without flinching.

The door unlocked ceremoniously with a haunting screech, and a familiar-looking lady peeked out of the small crack, her eyes narrow with distrust. She was the same from the crystal stall, the one who had sold me the hideous Rapunzel costume I was currently wearing.

Alice took off her mask and gestured for me to do the same. The woman studied our faces and waved her hand around us. A blistering draft swirled with dusty orange light, whistling in my ears and threatening to get inside my head through my eyes and nose. I covered my face, trying to keep out the psychically stripping energy. Thankfully, after a few seconds, the draft abated, and the woman nodded, opening the door.

“Sisters,” she hailed us with a bow, but there was suspicion in her voice, “you arrive at a very delicate moment for this coven. But you are welcome, nonetheless. Do you come in peace?”

“In peace we come,” Alice said, elbowing me lightly and throwing me an expectant glance.

“Yes, of course,” I confirmed, but both women stared at me with cocked eyebrows. That mustn’t be the right password. “I... come in peace?” I said tentatively. They remained still. Expectant. “In peace we come?” I uttered in desperation.

It was a relief when the woman guarding the door finally nodded and said, “Very well. Enter, sisters.”

She moved aside and allowed us to pass, and we entered a cozy room with stone floors, hidden under blood-red rugs and an ancient hearth with a crackling fire in a corner and a cauldron bubbling over it. Eleven women, young and old, were standing around the cauldron, all dressed in lavish witch costumes which made me want to crawl into a hole and wait for my horrid gown to turn into compost, which would have taken a while, as it was probably made of 100% polyester. On a round table rested a huge crystal ball, nested in a clawed bronze pedestal among a sea of candles and papers. There was also a golden plate, covered with precious gems arranged in a pentacle shape.

If the Witches of the Lake during my last misadventure in Italy had confused me with their excessive mellow attitude towards magic, these ones had mastered the theatrical aspect of the craft; the setting, as much as their attire, was worthy of a Halloween movie.

“Salve, Sisters,” Alice said, curtsying and pulling at my skirt so I would emulate her. I did my best, though grudgingly. After a traumatic couple of weeks spent as a captive/apprentice in another coven, meeting other witches wasn’t one of my favorite activities.

“I am Sister Alice from the Witches of the Lake,” Alice introduced herself, “and this is my companion, Stray Alba.”

Stray Alba? My mouth slammed shut with a clatter of teeth. The other witches threw me concealed glances which were a mixture of curiosity, pity and disdain, making me feel like a dog just rescued from a shelter.

“My birth name is Gloria, but among my sisters, I am known as Isadora,” said the woman who had received us. She had bushy bangs and thick-rimmed glasses, similar to Alice’s. “I am the High Priestess of The Daughters of Isis.” She pointed at a space by the fireplace, and we found a free spot to stand near the cauldron. “What brings you here, sisters?” Isadora asked, pushing the glasses up her nose. “We rarely get any foreign visitors. Especially not unannounced. Unless they come looking for...”

Alice nodded. “I know what you are thinking,” she said as I snooped over the rim of the cauldron. The concoction smelled sweet and heady, like a blend of strong spirits and honey. “And you are probably right. We need your assistance.”

Isadora’s eyes turned into thin, tight lines. “You are here because of the grimoire, I suppose.” We didn’t even have to answer before she raised her arms and continued, “How courageous of you, that you would dare ask at all.”

Alice winced but composed herself quickly. The other witches, on the other hand, stirred on their feet. One of them huffed and left the room, slamming the door behind her. Isadora lifted her palm, allowing Alice to speak.

“Peace, sisters,” my friend said in a confident tone. “We need to have a look at the grimoire, that’s right. You are doing a mighty job safeguarding it, but it belongs to all witches, and we believe we have the right to consult it too.”

“Our task is to protect it from harm, prying eyes, and those who could use it for selfish ends. What do you expect to find in it, my dear sisters?”

“We are in need of a powerful healing spell.”

“I know of no healing spells in this grimoire,” Isadora said sternly. “Unless you mean those to raise the departed.”

“A counterspell,” Alice clarified, “to reverse a curse, cast unfairly on one of our allies.”

“I wonder what kind of allies you keep, Sister Alice, who could benefit from a spell originally designed to revive the undead. That’s the only one which would match your description.”

“I’m not allowed to disclose their identity, but I assure you they are trustworthy and walk the Goddess’s path faithfully.”

I tried not to raise my eyebrows too much. Clarence had surely traveled countless paths in his many decades of unlife, but I doubted that included worshipping goddesses. Still, I kept my mouth shut and hoped Alice knew what she was doing because I definitely didn’t.

“Our mission concerns all witches,” Alice said. “Vampire hunters have turned against our kind. They used our coven in Italy as a stepping stone after associating with dangerous outsiders. We don’t know much about these strangers or who they are working for, but they are involved with science, and we already know how derisive scientists have always been of our sacred arts.”

“They told my coven in Como that they were targeting vampires, and they sought our magical help to capture them. But it wasn’t just vampires they were interested in... Alba here was taken hostage, together with some of her loyal allies, including another witch, and we all know that such a grave offense can’t go unpunished. Stray or not, Alba is one of us. She deserves revenge, and her allies deserve our assistance.”

I stared at Alice in awe, surprised at her public speaking skills. All the witches had stopped whatever they were doing before our arrival and were listening to her story, enthralled, with only the crackling of the fire under the cauldron breaking the stillness. Alice assessed their reaction in silence.

“Why would a decent witch coven like yours aid people who associate with scientists?” Isadora asked, spouting the word scientists like it was a terrible insult. Funnily enough, it reminded me of Elizabeth. In the end, these ladies had more in common with their archenemies than they thought. “That’s unusual and unsafe. It goes against all the wisdom passed down from our ancestors.”

“What do you think?” Alice sighed, leaning against the wall with her eyes lost in the contents of the bubbling cauldron. “Same as always.”

“Money,” Isadora growled. “I always knew your priestess Valentina was easy to corrupt, and this just proves it. I’m glad the grimoire didn’t end up in her hands, or she would have already auctioned it to the highest bidder.”

“Perhaps,” Alice said. Her tone was polite, but her lower lip was trembling. “But remember, we need to eat, just like you. Not everybody has the luxury of a whole abbey at their disposal. We agreed to help them hunt vampires, so it seemed advantageous for all of us at the time, regardless of their background. Do you inquire into the origins of the funds from your donors?”

“I see.” Isadora ignored the last question and started to pace around the cauldron room. The other witches remained still like black velvet statues. “But still, what your High Priestess did was inexcusable.”

“I just know that we cannot support anyone who tries to damage our kind,” Alice insisted. “They betrayed us and cast a curse on one of our allies. We need to reverse it or face a hefty energetic debt. The only thing I’m asking of you is to give us access to the grimoire for one night, so we can deal with this problem on our own. You don’t have to do anything. In fact, the less you know, the safer it’ll be for all of us.”

“I sense half-truths in your story, sister,” Isadora said. “You can’t hide that from me.”

“That’s right,” I interrupted them, and Alice threw me a murderous glance, “but it’s not Alice. It’s me. I have personal reasons to do this, aside from the higher good of all witches.”

“Now, now. I knew there was something more.” Isadora leaned in our direction with heightened interest, her cleavage overflowing her low-cut dress. “And those reasons are...?”

“Private,” Alice answered, holding her gaze with bravery and grabbing my arm to stop me from saying anything else.

“Private is not good enough,” Isadora said. “Tell us the whole truth or walk away.”

“I nearly died at the hands of hunters,” I explained, “and not just me. There were members of my... family. Some died; some disappeared; another one is slowly dying from a lethal curse.”

I didn’t mention it had been Alice’s High Priestess, Valentina, who had cast said curse, nor the fact that the victim had been a vampire. Hopefully, Isadora wouldn’t ask that.

Isadora nodded. “That makes sense.” She clapped her hands, motioning us to stand up and follow her to the door. “My sisters and I need to discuss this in council. Wait outside.”

Alice bowed, appeased by the other witch’s answer. “Thank you, sister. We really appreciate your consideration.”

Chapter 24

Alba

After a tense wait, the green door of the coven reopened, and Isadora ushered us back into the cauldron room, where several pairs of eyes surveyed us―actually, me―with clear animosity.

“We reached an agreement,” she said, “and we decided we can trust you.” She pointed at Alice, then turned toward me and frowned. “But you, on the other hand, don’t seem trustworthy.”

I gasped. “What makes you think that?” I was affronted, but I tried to sound respectful for the sake of our quest. “I’m just here to help someone I care about. There’s nothing shady about that.”

“You’re a stray...” Isadora twisted her lip with disgust. “You strays are bad weeds with soiled roots, growing where you shouldn’t; always causing more harm than good... unpredictable, without a proper code of ethics!” She clicked her tongue. “A dangerous sort. Deceitful too. And no proper manners.”

Thanks for the kind words, I thought, biting my tongue to the point of bleeding.

“But Alba is different. She was trained by our High Priestess, Valentina,” Alice intervened, saving me from saying something completely inappropriate, which would have only proved Isadora’s affirmations. I hadn’t been exactly trained by Valentina, unless by trained she meant kidnapped and forced to meditate, but it was true that I had learned a couple of useful things during my forceful stay with the Witches of the Lake in Como.

“Hm.” Isadora’s eyes traveled from Alice to me several times. “The only solution would be to test her,” Isadora concluded, shaking her head. “Let’s go to the crypt. The grimoire shall decide.”

***

AS WE FOLLOWED THE stone corridor which led to the crypt, Alice jolted and grabbed Isadora’s forearm, forcing her to stop.

“There’s one little thing I forgot to tell you!” she exclaimed. “Please, don’t be cross, but we came with a friend, and somehow he... ended up dangling from a halberd... by the crypt... and we have to get him down. I’m really sorry. He was curious, nothing else...”

Isadora stared at us with dismay―seemingly, stealing a grimoire wasn’t the best way to win a witch’s heart―when an attractive, red-haired witch in the back huffed, her face crimson and her fists balled with rage.

“No freaking way!” she yelled. “Are you talking about a handsome, blond guy who never shuts up?”

“That would be him,” I agreed.

“The bastard,” she growled, “I danced with him, and he stole my purse. Right after kissing me! If I catch him, I...”

“Well...” Alice interrupted her, a faint grin on her lips, “he’s dangling upside down from his undies, so wait a minute, and you will be able to tell him whatever you want... in person.”

The red-haired witch ran down the stairs with a furious huff. When we reached the doors of the vault, we found her murmuring an incantation in front of a terrified Carlo. With a wave of her hand, she motioned for the invisible knights to let go of him, making the halberds turn like the hands of a clock. Carlo crashed to the floor with a loud thump and a groan, and the witch slapped him, not before retrieving a small pink purse which lay somewhere near the door of the crypt. Carlo glowered at me―after all, he had ended up there while trying to help me―but he was kind enough to remain silent about the particulars of his magical misadventure.

“I’m sorry,” I mouthed with a tight grin, then added in a normal tone, “Are you okay?”

Carlo pointed at the affronted red-haired witch. “She said she was going to turn me into a cockroach.”

The other women cackled in the most witchy way, pointed hats and all, and one said, “So you really believe we can do things like that?”

Carlo shrugged, and none of them clarified whether turning trespassers into cockroaches was an actual possibility or not.

“I will go in alone with the newcomers,” Isadora said. “The rest of you wait outside and guard the doors.”

The witches moved aside, and Carlo waved at us, sullen. “I’ll be upstairs grabbing a drink or two. See you later.”

Once he disappeared, Isadora knelt and saluted the invisible knights in Spanish. “Salve, fieles Caballeros de la Abadía,” she said, and Alice threw me a furtive glance of complicity.

The halberds, which had been crossed over the doors, pivoted to let us in with a rusty screech. Isadora reached for the pendant around her neck, the one that resembled Jean-Pierre’s drawing, and stuck it into the large iron keyhole.

Okay. So that was why none of the keys Carlo had found fit the lock.

“Come here,” Isadora beckoned, pushing the coffered door open.

We ducked our heads to cross the low doorway and entered a vaulted space. Isadora turned on the lights, which were dim and yellowish and barely offered enough brightness to see properly, and we were presented with a large, rectangular room, with a dirt floor and walls built out of rough-cut stone. The floor was damp and stained, and the smell of blood and smoke lingered in the air. Despite its large size, the low vaulted ceiling made the room claustrophobic.

The crypt was mostly empty, save for an ebony podium in the middle of the space, resembling a preacher’s pulpit.

I had expected to find the famous Alcazar grimoire in a magnificent library, similar to the one in The Cloister. Instead, the witches seemed to be keeping the powerful magical treaty in a humble medieval vault that stank of stale, decades-old air.

“This is our sacred place,” Isadora said with solemnity, and Alice bowed. I mimicked her, even though I couldn’t help thinking that I had seen prettier garages.

Isadora sauntered to the center of the room, her hands raised in prayer in front of the pulpit. “I brought you here to test your suitability,” she explained, opening the book that lay on the podium. It was a large, antique manuscript with leather covers, darkened by the passage of time.

Alice’s eyes widened. “The Alcazar Grimoire,” she gasped. “Can I have a look?”

“Of course not,” Isadora puffed and turned the aged pages with extreme care. She read a passage to herself, her lips moving in silence, then closed the book again. “At least not yet. Place your hand here,” she ordered, pointing at the leather cover. “You will go first.”

Alice obeyed. Soon, a faint pink glow started to radiate from her hand, or perhaps from the book. Isadora nodded in approval.

“Good. You are accepted by the ancestors and the spirits guarding the grimoire.”

“Thank you, sister,” Alice said, stepping back with a curtsy.

“Your turn,” Isadora said.

My hand was shaking when I placed it on the grimoire, but the grumpy old book ignored me.

No glow, nothing whatsoever.

Please, do the glow thing already, I screamed inside my head.

“Can you please keep your hand still?” Isadora requested, and her features tightened with irritation.

“I’m trying,” I muttered. My heart was pounding. I needed to calm down.

I took three deep, slow breaths, then imagined a beam of light radiating from my heart―one of the few useful things I had learned from The Witches of the Lake. The shaking improved, and I concentrated harder.

“That’s better,” Alice whispered. “Keep going. Think about something nice. You can do this.”

Something nice...

Katie and Iris chasing butterflies.

Clarence and I, dangling our feet over the roof of Saint Mary Magdalene church.

Kissing him in Italy, among the ruins of a fire-ravished inn, while hovering above the ground as an astral projection...

I was so lost in my sea of spinning memories that, at first, I didn’t notice the faint purple glow originating under the palm of my hand.

It started as a soft lavender light, not unlike Alice’s. But slowly, the sweet lilac turned into a deep shade of plum; just to flow into a dark shade of crimson. Alice and Isadora’s eyes were fixed on my hand, indecipherable expressions on their faces.

The glow turned into a ruby-red six-feet sphere, enveloping me, together with the book and the podium where it stood, up to the sooty ceiling. The large light orb started to turn into smoke, losing its initial shine and making it hard to breathe in the enclosed, windowless space. I kept my hand on the book, fearful that Isadora would declare me unsuitable. I had to finish what I had started.

I threw a sidelong glance toward the other two women, just to realize they had withdrawn to the furthest end of the crypt, their backs pressed against the wall in dismay.

Perhaps I should stop after all?

I tried to detach my hand from the grimoire, but it had gotten stuck to it with an invisible magnetic force.

The vermilion mist took over the whole crypt, and it started to gather on the ceiling and shrink, forming a thick, sticky red layer above our heads, which condensed into tiny wine-red droplets.

And then... it started raining.

Raining blood.

Not unlike the day I had blown up Carlo’s wine cellar, but this time, it was real blood. It smelled like blood. It tasted like blood as it sprinkled my lips and face. Because it was blood.

Isadora covered her mouth, and Alice gasped with horror.

“A blood oath,” Isadora shouted, revulsion clear in her voice. “Did you seal a blood contract with the Creatures of Darkness?”

My hand finally separated from the book, and I removed it swiftly, hoping that would stop the warm, iron-tasting rainfall.

“Maybe?” I uttered, shuddering at the gush of memories of the fatidic day when Elizabeth had sliced my wrist and drunk my blood to seal our lifelong agreement. I would never forgive the vampire queen for that, particularly because she hadn’t even bothered to warn me beforehand. But never in my life could I have imagined that said blood oath would have further consequences along the road.

Just as the blood rain receded, the healed scar on my wrist, proof of that old blood oath, started to burn and throb.

“What if I did?” I asked, pressing my forearm against the back of my skirt. The rain had stopped completely, and the dirt floor soaked up all the blood with thirsty slurps.

“Get. Out,” Isadora barked.

I stood frozen, glancing left and right, unsure what to do next. Isadora grabbed my sleeve, still damp with fresh blood, and pushed me out of the crypt with a furious yank. Alice ran after me, and both of us climbed the stairs as fast as we could, the echoes of screaming witches following us.

“How dare you bring this cursed woman into our sanctuary?” Isadora spat, chasing Alice with a fist in the air, “How dare you reveal our secrets to a traitor? She sold her soul to the Creatures of Darkness; she’s tainted forever! None of you is ever welcome in this house again. Go away and never return; otherwise I’ll pluck out your eyes with my own hands so you never find the way back again!”

When we reached the courtyard, her voice was still resounding in my head. My wrist was bleeding, so I tore a small strip of tulle off my tacky dress and bandaged the wound the best I could. Outside, people were still dancing, drinking and laughing, unaware of the blood rain and turmoil that had just taken place a few feet below.

“Shit,” Alice said, holding onto a buffet table and wiping the blood off her face with a napkin, “that didn’t go well at all. What now?”

Chapter 25

Clarence

Francesca threw me an intent glance and tossed a wavy lock of hair behind her shoulder. The golden glow of the party lanterns in the distance made her skin glimmer with a soft golden shine, giving her the appearance of a fallen angel.

After Alba and Alice had gone in search of the witches, Francesca and I had left the abbey, the ball too loud and full of human scents for two hungry vampires to loiter. The curse was creeping back faster this time. Alice’s sorcery had helped for a few hours, but the cold in my veins was returning with a vengeance, and the crippling nausea was making it hard to concentrate on anything but sheer survival.

“So, what are you going to tell her?” Francesca asked.

“I don’t understand your question,” I said as the music fizzed off behind us, the voices and notes turning into a humming medley in the crispy night air. “The truth, what else?”

Francesca dropped her eyelids in that slow, characteristic fashion of hers, and sniffed the air around us. We were alone. “Aren’t you concerned about her reaction?”

“She talked to Jean-Pierre. She knows what this curse can do.”

“But she is not aware of its advanced state.”

“That, she is not,” I agreed, exhaling loudly and trudging toward the nearby trees. Perhaps the wilderness would present us with a lost, wandering stranger to quench our thirst. Not that it would help against the freezing, paralyzing cold.

“The glow is returning... how long do you estimate?” Francesca asked. Even though her voice was steady, sorrow was apparent in her eyes.

“I don’t know. I wasn’t expecting this. Perhaps a few weeks. Days?” I stumbled and had to stop in the middle of the rough path. I took in her small, serene figure. Her impassive stance hid an ocean of sadness, a sadness others might not see but clear as day to me. She was sadder than she had been in decades. “You heard what Alice said, and I think she was right.”

I would already be dead for good if they had not found me. Francesca’s blood and a healing spell from Alice had achieved a semblance of normalcy, enough to weather the soirée with grace. But just a few hours later, I could feel its merciless, unflinching attack once again. A simple healing incantation was barely enough to cure a minor human ailment, let alone reverse a curse meant to kill the immortal.

“Perhaps Alba has good intentions, but Alice is much more experienced,” Francesca said quietly, embracing me and resting her head on my chest. “And even she couldn’t do much.”

“But Alba has done remarkable things when faced with adversity. I trust her.”

“You are placing all your faith in a woman who can barely light a match with her unsteady magic,” Francesca pointed out, “and you expect her to reverse a spell older than this abbey standing behind us?”

“At my age, I have learned not to have any expectations beyond the present day, and I will not resist fate because it is utterly pointless. I don’t expect anything from anyone anymore.”

“She’s not ready, and you know it. Healing magic comes at a price. A price she might not be able to afford.”

I closed my eyes and let out a ragged breath. That possibility had occurred to me during the ball too, when finding the grimoire had become an actual prospect and not just an irrational dream.

“So, I will repeat my question,” Francesca whispered softly. “What are you going to tell her?”

Tears pooled in my eyes, but I blinked them away. “I understand where you are coming from, and I don’t know. Yet.”

She released me and took my hand in both of hers. They were slight, but hard as iron. She fidgeted with the ring I was wearing, reminding me that it was still there. I took it off and handed it to her.

“It is yours,” I said.

“No,” she replied, placing it on the palm of my hand and closing my fist around it, “keep it. You need it more than I do now.”

I tried to refuse, but the cold had started to crawl down my limbs again, taking away the feeble determination I might have still had.

“Very well.” I slid it back on my little finger. “I shall keep it then.”

“Find it a new owner,” she suggested. “There are many things you can do with a ring like that. I hope you choose the right one.”

I raised my eyes, holding her daring gaze.

“I will weigh up my options, thank you.”

She gave me a weak smile, dragging me toward her. “Come here now, before everyone shows up and starts asking uncomfortable questions,” she whispered, sliding her dress down her shoulders. The luscious sight brought up memories from other balls and other nights, many years ago, and my breath caught in my chest. “Let me help you... the only way I can.”

Chapter 26

Alba

After leaving the crypt, Alice and I scanned the dance floor for signs of Carlo, Clarence and Francesca. None of them were there, but my phone was working again, so I dialed Carlo’s number. He told us he was waiting outside by the line of taxis on his own, but he knew nothing about the vampires’ whereabouts.

The blood oath scar had turned into a bleeding, open wound, and it was throbbing painfully by the time we reached the main gates of the abbey, the tulle bandaging soaked and useless. The pageboy by the door bowed, and I rushed past him with a tight smile, hoping he wouldn’t notice the dark red stain on the back of my skirt.

Once we were outside and away from the chatting, drinking and smoking crowd, Alice halted on the frosty grass and lay a hand over my shoulders with sympathy.

“I’m sorry things turned out like this,” she said. “I know how important this is to you.”

“Thank you,” I answered quietly, and I kicked a large stone, realizing too late how deeply rooted it was into the frozen ground. “We can’t just give up now. We’ve come so far...”

“But you should know...” Alice hesitated, walking away from the abbey and toward the area where cabs were waiting, “perhaps it’s for the best you didn’t get that spell. Yes, you can cast the Fulminatio, but in magic, we work with opposites. Yin and yang. Black and white. Darkness and light. You always need to learn to control both because you can’t have one without the other, without disturbing the overall energy balance of the universe. There’s no good or bad by themselves, just dangerous imbalances.”

She pointed at the taxis, and we started to walk toward them as she continued.

“Sometimes, one of the extremes is easier. But a proficient witch must master both before trying highly complex spells. Persuasion and dissuasion, chaos and order, healing and destruction...”

“I’m definitely good at destruction,” I commented.

“Of course you are.” She smiled apologetically. “Because that’s the easiest magic of all. Destroying things? No big deal. Some don’t even need magic for that, just brute force. But building, conjuring things that weren’t there before? Healing? Ah, that’s much, much harder. That’s where the difference between a good witch and a beginner lies.”

I grunted. “So, if I understand correctly, you think even if we get the grimoire, I won’t be able to reverse the curse.”

We strolled toward the parking area, trying to spot Carlo among the visitors waiting for a ride back to the village.

“I don’t know what to tell you.” Alice exhaled. “I just think you might cause an energy imbalance, and the power needed for the spell would have to be sourced from somewhere. If you don’t know how to channel it from the outside, you might end up draining your own.”

I sighed, nodding in silence.

“Look, there’s Carlo,” Alice pointed at a tall, suited figure holding a cigarette under a forged iron streetlight. “Maybe the other two flew back to the hotel. It’s getting late, I’m tired, and you look cold in that ridiculous gown, so I suggest we leave before you freeze. Clarence and Francesca are old enough to find their way back.”

I didn’t like the idea of leaving the abbey without the two vampires, but Alice was right; the cold mountain breeze was seeping into my bones through the sheer fabric of the dress, and the sleepless nights were starting to take their toll.

“Okay, but I need a bathroom first,” I said, remembering the long ride ahead. “Go with Carlo, and I’ll meet you by the taxis in a minute.”

I searched for the restrooms, but the queue in front of them was so long that I gave up and decided to venture into the bushes instead. I left the abbey behind, breathing the mountain air and relishing the growing calm and silence.

Blissful peace.

I was scanning the forested area for a discreet spot among the vegetation, when I noticed a metallic object peeking out of the muddy dirt. I picked it up: it was a spiked bracelet with a broken clasp, just like the one Francesca had been wearing at the party. It was hard to mistake because it had contrasted so starkly with her usual style.

The ground was damp and covered in sprinkles of dusty frost, and a trail of footprints was clearly visible in the mud. I tracked them down a steep slope which followed one of the side walls of the abbey, until the terrain started to turn steeper and became covered in slippery rocks and gravel; not particularly daunting for a vampire, but too dangerous for me to continue. I sighed and decided to give up.

As I was making my way back toward the taxis, a soft rustle of crushed leaves broke the silence, forcing me to stop and listen.

Two graceful silhouettes juxtaposed against the black, starlight sky: a tall man and a petite woman, blending into such a smoldering embrace that it could have melted all the snow in the Pyrenees. Clarence and Francesca.

I stumbled at the sight, bending to avoid being seen but falling on my knees. I remained crouched behind the shrubbery, struggling to get a better view, though not sure I wanted to see what was about to happen... or not.

Francesca sniffed the air, but thankfully for me, the wind was blowing in the opposite direction from them. She shook her head and turned to Clarence, who had knelt in front of her, holding her hand with reverence. She stood, petite but majestic, and her black, heavy skirt billowed in the breeze like the sails of a ghost ship, never tangling in the surrounding brambles, as if guided by an enchantment. She lowered the straps of her dress, revealing the perfect curves of her eternally young bust. Her head fell backwards, sandy ringlets cascading past her waist and shining white in the moonlight.

For a heartbeat, Clarence seemed to hesitate. But she tugged at his arm, waking him up from his reverie, and he started to kiss her wrist, all the way up to her shoulder, just like he had done with me so many times before. My stomach turned to knots, but I remained where I was, mesmerized by their sensual ballet. Watching them was the worst torture I had ever endured, but there was an eerie beauty to it—their motions so smooth they were clearly out of this world.

With a rough grunt, Clarence sank his fangs into Francesca’s marble-white skin. She winced and contorted for a second, while he alternately kissed her neck and drank from it. There was a deeply erotic, wild and visceral air to their interaction which kept me glued to the spot: a tormented voyeur, dying inside but unable to look away. A thin trickle of blood left a dark trail down Francesca’s arm, and Clarence licked it off with his eyes closed, then kept biting, until Francesca’s knees wobbled, and she pushed him away, turning her back to him to lean against a frosty fir tree.

Clarence stood up and hugged her with infinite tenderness, encompassing both her impossibly thin waist and the tree trunk with just one arm as she kissed his cheek.

Francesca wiped the blood off the corner of his lips with one finger, and they stood in silence, gazing into each other’s eyes, their familiarity screaming to the wind that this wasn’t the first time, nor the hundredth one, they had shared such a moment of closeness.

The spiked bracelet fell out of my hands, and its clinking sound against the frozen pine needles echoed my heart as it shattered into shards like a frail porcelain vase.

What the hell did I just watch, was my first coherent thought.

Stifling a gasp, I made an effort not to throw up all over the hawthorn and turned back to head up the slope I had come from. My dress got tangled in the spines, and I heard the cheap pink fabric tear as I tried to escape the sharp barbs.

“Alba, hold on!” I heard Clarence call from the shrubbery. They had heard me, but I was too shaken to stop or answer.

I ran until I reached the row of taxis, where Alice and Carlo were getting impatient and considering leaving without me.

“What took you so long, Lumin?” Carlo snapped, “How much champagne did you soak up to spend thirty minutes peeing?” Assessing the state of my dress, he stopped abruptly and reached out to study the remainders of my skirt and throw a tentative look at my torn stockings, an unexpected glimpse of empathy growing in his astonished eyes. “Are you okay? What happened?”

“It’s nothing,” I lied. “I got lost and fell. Just a few scratches, that’s it. Let’s go.”

He shrugged, satisfied with the answer, and he clambered into the first taxi of the row, while Alice helped herself and sat at the back of the vehicle.

“Did you find the others?” she asked before hopping in. “It’s okay if we don’t wait for them, isn’t it?”

“Eh, yeah, no clue where they might be. I’m sure they’ll find their way back,” I said.

A shadow wheezed by, opening the taxi door for me.

“Hey,” I mumbled, “Clarence.”

“Ah, look,” Alice said, “there they are. Hurry up, you two, we were about to leave.” She stretched her neck to wave at Francesca, who nodded sultrily and gazed away as soon as I turned around, scanning the ground as if searching for something―not sure if it was for her lost bracelet, or for her honesty. Was she too mortified to face me?

I let out a ragged exhale to calm down my nerves. Questions were burning my throat, but I didn’t feel like asking Clarence in front of everyone. Thorny conversations would have to wait. He tried to offer his hand and help me, but I just grabbed the door handle and pulled myself up into the monstrous 4x4 the best I could.

“It’s fine, thanks,” I said, closing the door. I couldn’t help but notice the red tinge on his lips―Francesca’s blood―and I had to avert my eyes. “I think you should hail another taxi,” I added pointing at the long row of cars waiting behind ours. “Not enough space in this one for all of us.”

Clarence tapped on the window, asking me to roll it down, but I stared at him blankly, unwilling to make a scene. If he kept insisting, I might start crying in front of everyone. The driver turned on the engine and asked Carlo for an address. Clarence finally understood I didn’t want to tackle the subject in public and pulled the door open just a tiny bit; just enough for me to hear him over the roar of the engine. “Francesca’s hotel is by the Romanesque chapel. Join me there; we should talk. Here is the address.” He slipped me a note, and I tucked it into my purse without reading it.

He tried to kiss me, but I retreated into the seat. With a sigh of resignation, Clarence caressed my hair before leaving, and his eyes widened with surprise as he retrieved a small, moving item from the tip of my braid.

“Look what you had in your hair. A caterpillar, isn’t that strange?”

I stared at the creature in disgust before he quietly released it onto the ground.

“Please, come to Francesca’s hotel,” Clarence repeated, his eyes dusky and bitter, faint red sparkles glistening in his troubled irises. “Please do. I can explain.”

Chapter 27

Alba

The sturdy Land Rover taxi breezed down the bumpy road, and I tuned out Carlo and Alice’s voices, evading the present in order to avoid revisiting the scene from the forest in my mind. In the meantime, I devised several absurd ways to go back to the crypt and get hold of the grimoire, none of them very reasonable. The only spell I knew was meant to blow things up in the air, and the last time I had tried it in a basement, a whole house had collapsed on my head. Attempting the Fulminatio in the crypt of a historical monument didn’t seem like a very good option.

“Don’t you agree, Alba?” Alice asked. She was sitting next to me in the car, but her voice sounded muffled and far, far away.

I turned to her, forcing myself to remember whatever she had said last. Despite my efforts, I had absolutely no idea.

“Yeah, sure,” I answered, to be safe.

“You weren’t listening, were you?” Alice rubbed my back with empathy. “I know you are nervous because of the grimoire, but try not to worry, okay? We will find a solution, I’m sure.”

I shook my head. “You are right. I wasn’t paying attention. But yes, I do worry. I can’t help it. And I don’t know how you can be so sure things are going to be okay.”

“What happened up there with those witches, by the way?” Carlo asked, propping himself between the two front seats in order to look at us. Noticing my look of horror, he glanced discreetly toward the chauffeur. “Don’t worry. He doesn’t understand a thing. Could barely make out the word ‘hotel’. So, did you manage to...” he paused, “to pull Excalibur from the stone? Have you been knighted... by the Knights of the Round Table?”

Alice and I grunted in unison.

“Uh-oh. They didn’t like you, did they?” We grunted some more, and Carlo nodded. “Yeah, they gave me such bad vibes. And that trick with the armor... creepy.”

“I enjoyed that part,” I pointed out, a smile escaping my lips for the first time since I had left the dance floor. “One of the highlights of the night, truth be told.”

Carlo arched an eyebrow. “I preferred the part where I kissed that French concierge girl. Although I did it purely out of duty, and she tasted a bit like... roach spray. Not my favorite flavor.”

“No, your favorite flavor is obviously strawberry,” Alice snorted.

“Shut up, kiwi-head.”

“Chill, you two,” I chided them, because Alice had bared her teeth, and I knew for a fact that angering a witch could never end well. “Where are we going first?”

“We’ll drop Carlo at your hotel, and then you can come with me, if you want,” she suggested as our lodgings appeared in the distance.

“Awesome, thanks. I’ll go get a few things from my room, if you can wait for a minute.”

The driver stopped by our B&B, and Carlo and I entered the deserted reception, shaking the frost off our shoes.

After his customary, not-entirely-mock offer to share my bed, Carlo disappeared to his room, and I remained in the hallway, taking deep breaths to process the latest events as much as I could before returning to Alice.

How was I going to get hold of that grimoire against the witches’ will?

What exactly were Clarence and Francesca doing, hidden behind those bushes?

I leaned against the door of my room, fumbling in my purse for the magnetic card to open it. The door gave way under my weight, and I had to hold onto the doorframe to avoid falling on my rear. Which in turn added a new question to my growing list: Why was the door of my room unlocked?

“Carlo?” I called in a whisper, rapping on the neighboring door.

It didn’t take him long to come out, dressed only in his boxers―I didn’t even flinch at the sight, as I had become well-acquainted with them while he was hanging from a halberd in the abbey.

“Yes?” he asked in his sexiest voice, and I covered my eyes to avoid looking at his underwear.

“Look, Lombardi, I really hate to ask, but would you come inside with me for a minute?”

He raised an eyebrow in a clear come-on gesture, and I took a deep sigh in desperation. “No, that’s not what I meant. I suspect someone broke into my room, and I’m not sure I want to go in there alone.”

“Oh, okay.” He sounded disappointed but recovered quickly. Raising his palm, he motioned for me to wait where I was and came back after a minute, this time wearing pants. There was also something metallic and heavy bulging in his back pocket.

“Is that a gun?” I asked, not sure I wanted to start a shooting in a remote mountain hotel.

“Yep. Can be useful to assist damsels in distress, don’t you think?” he declared proudly. “If I do a good job, maybe you’ll change your mind about our sleeping arrangements. Where is that boyfriend when you need him, huh?”

Punching him seemed tempting, but stepping into that room on my own was slightly less so, so I merely rolled my eyes and let him go first.

Carlo kicked the door banzai style, then entered the room sideways, holding his gun just like in action movies. I used him as a shield and remained behind him, all the while watching his solo martial arts show.

Without thinking, I turned on the lights. Carlo glanced at me in anger, muttering something about only idiots turning on the lights when trespassers might still be around. Oops. Too late to turn them off again.

The place was completely trashed, my laptop was gone, and the few clothes I had brought with me were lying all over the place.

“There’s nobody here anymore,” Carlo said, putting the gun back into his pocket. “It’s okay. You can come in.”

“Well, I’m not staying here longer than ten seconds, just in case.” I picked up my things as quickly as possible and threw them into the bag. Carlo eyed me with interest, perhaps hopeful I might accept his invitation after all. “Wait there,” I said, “you are escorting me back to the taxi.”

***

I GOT INTO THE TAXI with Alice, leaving a grumpy Carlo behind. Not that he was afraid to stay in his room alone, but he seemed offended he wasn’t allowed to join in the fun, as he put it. It took us less than ten minutes to cross the deserted mountain village and reach the rough stone building where she and the vampires were staying, and once we got there, we found the main door locked and the reception closed.

“Well, I wasn’t expecting this,” she said, puzzled, checking her keys to see whether any of them fit the lock. “I wonder how they got in?”

I glanced at the open window on the second floor, assessing whether a vampire might be able to leap to such height. It didn’t seem too far-fetched. Not only that; it was strange they hadn’t heard us coming, given their fine sense of hearing.

“Clarence,” I whispered, looking up toward the wooden shutters which swung in the chilly breeze, hitting the brown façade with low, intermittent thumps.

To my surprise, Clarence wasn’t the one to show up at the window, but rather a very distressed-looking―and even more naked than earlier―Francesca.

“Can anyone come down to open the door? It’s cold outside,” I asked, trying to ignore the silver threads embedded in the straps of her see-through lingerie as they glistened shamelessly in the moonlight.

“Wait,” she said and disappeared inside.

It took her a long while to return, but she finally did and dropped a key at our feet without further pleasantries, vanishing again without a word.

“What’s wrong with her?” I muttered, retrieving the key from the paved ground. “Could have said hello at least.”

Alice shrugged, and we went inside, climbing the stairs of the hotel as we rubbed our hands to return the blood flow to our numb fingertips.

Alice disappeared into her room after pointing at Clarence’s door, which was marked with an ominous number 13. I knocked, still wondering who might have stolen my laptop and why, and mulling over Francesca’s silhouette, standing by the window with scarcely any clothing on and an expression that revealed she wasn’t happy to see me.

There were noises coming from the inside of the room, but Clarence didn’t come to open the door. I knocked harder. What was taking him so long? He was expecting me, wasn’t he? He had invited me, after all.

“Clarence, are you there?” I whispered.

A loud thump ensued, followed by the sound of a glass object crashing to the floor. Someone was there for sure.

I called his name several times more, but there was no answer. Finally, I gave up and went to check on Alice, who burst out of her room with a puzzled expression.

“Francesca is not here,” she announced.

Our eyes met and simultaneously fell on room number thirteen―I imagined Alice’s mind was swirling with similar ominous thoughts to mine.

“Have you tried knocking?” she asked.

“He won’t open the door,” I whined.

“So strange.” She tested the doorknob and frowned, trying to peek through the keyhole. “Frannie, amore, are you there?”

Again, no answer.

“Frannie! Open the door!” shouted Alice, her patience waning.

“No!” came Francesca’s voice from inside.

“Why not?” I asked, perplexed.

What the hell were those two doing in that room?

“Stay outside!” Francesca replied, sounding breathless. “Or go to the other room!”

“We aren’t going anywhere!” I said, grabbing a chair from the hallway and trying to charge against the door with it. “What are you hiding?”

Alice motioned for me to wait with the chair and started to move her hands above the lock in a soft, circular motion, in what seemed like the beginning of a spell. A lockpicking spell, perhaps.

“I can’t explain now,” Francesca roared back. “Please, don’t insist.”

“What do you think they are doing?” Alice whispered, still working on the lock.

I shrugged, although I had a few theories.

“Those two have a history, don’t they?” Alice blurted, a glint of jealousy in her eyes.

“Yes...”

Before I could finish the sentence, Alice muttered a few foreign words, and the door unlocked with a soft click. She strode into the room in a rage, disappearing beyond the hallway. I couldn’t see the bedroom area from the entrance, and I wasn’t even sure I wanted to.

A catlike hiss shook the air, and it sounded a lot like Francesca. I heard Alice gasp, and she barreled out of the bedroom. She pushed me out, knocking the air from my lungs with all of her weight.

“Let’s get out of here,” she growled, holding me against my will. “Francesca was right.”

I squirmed to get away from her. “What the hell is going on? Why would I go away?”

Alice relaxed her grip on me, and only then I realized she had tiny droplets of fresh blood sprinkled all over her face.

“Because... Alba...” she hesitated, “I’m not sure you’re ready to see what’s in there.”

Chapter 28

Alba

Blood.

Blood everywhere.

Blood soaking the pillows and the mattress; blood staining the elegant beige carpet. Bloody handprints on the bed head and even on the old, still open book on the nightstand. There was blood even on my hands, my fingers sticky and smeared with crimson after flipping the light switch to make sense of my surroundings.

Francesca’s hands and face were tarnished with scarlet stains, some dry, some fresh. She was kneeling on the once white bedspread, her fangs sharp and soiled, her knees apart, straddling Clarence’s body over the sheets and a desperate expression washing over her eternally young features. Her black gown was torn and stained, just like Clarence’s shirt.

“What...?” I couldn’t speak. I leaned against the wall behind me to avoid collapsing on the carpet.

“I told you not to come in,” Francesca croaked, wiping the blood off the corners of her lips. “You didn’t listen.” She panted and closed her eyes, which glimmered with a weak azure glow, and slithered to the edge of the bed. “I wanted to spare you this... this mess.”

Clarence was unconscious, his hands peacefully woven over his chest. His cheeks were dark and sunken, stained with red; his nose seemed shockingly sharp and angular all of a sudden. And that eerie glow... like an aura glowing around him, now obvious and bright.

“You had no right to hide this from me,” I growled, slowly approaching both vampires and caressing Clarence’s stiff arm. “I’m not a child. Just tell me what the hell is going on.”

Clarence’s hand was heavy and rigid like a statue’s, and I winced when his fingers refused to intertwine with mine as they usually did.

“Francesca!” I roared, directing all my anger and fear toward her. “Say something! What have you done? Why is there blood everywhere?”

When I turned around, there were hefty, round tears rolling down Francesca’s face. Francesca, who was always calm and collected.

“I was trying to...” she trailed off, retracting her fangs with a pained wince. There were dark circles under her eyes and fine wrinkles around her mouth, and none had been there before.

Silence fell over the room.

“Trying to what?” I swallowed. The more I observed the gruesome scene, the less sense anything made. It almost seemed as if they had been trying to kill each other.

Alice approached me cautiously and lay a hand on my shoulder. “She was trying to help him, Alba.”

I swayed back. “Excuse me if I don’t see how this... bloodbath could help anyone.”

“The curse was spreading so fast...” Francesca murmured, her eyes low but still glowing through her long eyelashes. “Alice tried a regular healing spell, but it didn’t help. So she suggested we try vampire blood. Clarence agreed at first but later changed his mind. He was worried... worried about me. He refused to feed anymore, to avoid harming me.” Francesca sighed and rolled her eyes. “So, I had to be a bit more persuasive.” Licking a drop of blood off her knuckle, she left it clear what kind of persuasion techniques she might have been using. “I had no choice.”

“We were dancing together two hours ago,” I snapped. “How can he be unconscious now? He seemed perfectly okay at the abbey. Why the hell didn’t I notice any of this, and why didn’t anyone bother to tell me?”

“Well, I don’t have an answer for that,” Alice whispered. “Nobody knows why the curse works faster on some and slower on others, although some say that the harder the heart, the longer it takes for the silver cast to consume it. But honestly, I can’t believe you didn’t notice his health was deteriorating. Even a stray should be able to pick up on such things.”

I blinked.

I remembered all the times I had voiced hunches about Clarence’s health dwindling. He had always denied it, so I had dismissed my own intuition and believed him. The main reason being that I wanted to believe him.

“But he said he was fine!” I protested.

“Never trust an English vampire when he tells you he is fine,” Francesca observed, slumping on the bed next to Clarence.

I crept to his other side and leaned over him, brushing raven black waves of hair away from his forehead. I could feel his breath on my skin; it was cold and sporadic but still there.

“He’s just asleep. Must have fallen into slumber,” I declared.

“No.” Alice sighed and took Clarence’s hand from mine. She turned it over to show me the thin veins in his wrist, clearly visible through his almost transparent skin. “This is no ordinary slumber. See this?”

I shook my head, about to say no, but then I saw what she meant: the same thing I had observed a hundred times and deliberately overlooked. His veins were shiny grey and traced a map of silver rivers all over his body, and they were the source of the halo of light surrounding him.

“This is the Silver Cast, spreading from the heart and throughout all his veins. It moves only forward, and there’s no way to stop it without the counterspell. If we don’t get hold of the grimoire soon, I doubt he’ll wake up ever again.”

“No,” I gasped. “I don’t believe you.”

“Alba,” Francesca’s voice was softer, and she had recovered her characteristic restraint. “I’ve seen this before. It’s merciless. I know it’s hard for you to accept this, and it isn’t any easier for me, but the time to say our good-byes might be imminent.”

“He’s not dead yet,” I said, crossing my arms.

Alice watched me with sympathy. No. Not sympathy. Pity.

“Alice,” I said, “please. Don’t look at me like that. Tell me we can fix this.”

She tilted her head, her eyes immense and sad, but she didn’t answer. Instead, both of them stared at me in silence, with dejected half-smiles which felt like an invisible blow to my stomach.

“Okay then,” I said, using all the courage I could muster to get up on my feet, “Then don’t say anything, but I’m going to get that grimoire, and I’m going to do it right now or die trying.”

Chapter 29

Clarence

London, 1835

Harold Jamieson was my self-appointed best friend and fellow opium enthusiast, and he happened to be the first human I was tempted to turn into a vampire. We were as thick as thieves for many, many years. He was a failure at art as much as I was one at medicine, but we both excelled at ruining our lives and enjoyed doing so together. My sudden disappearance after I became Anne’s shadow must have been an unbearable shock for him, accustomed as he was to sharing most of his shenanigans with me.

Following Anne’s instructions, I strove to leave my old life behind and start a new one with her as my master. But Harold was not one to give up easily; he combed all of London searching for me. I laughed grimly when I heard he had been asking for me at the morgue―among the dead, and not the living medical professionals of which I used to be a member. This was ironic and also remarkably accurate, a sign he knew me well, the old devil.

When Anne disappeared forever in the parliament fire, together with her lover of the day, I dismissed all her lessons and let go, becoming an even worse version of myself than the one she had turned me into.

The only good thing I ever did during those months was to regularly visit my mother, who was dying of consumption. There must have been a minute part of my brain which still remembered being human, and it desperately drew me to her. My thirst was hard to withhold in the presence of mortals, but Rose Auberon had an almost magical gift: just one of her fond, sympathetic gazes, or a calm word from her sufficed to remind me that somewhere in my heart, I was still her child. This helped me forego my need to be a predator around warm-blooded mortals, at least for the brief moments we spent together. Around her, I was still a creature able to suffer, grieve, and feel human feelings again. Still a monster, yes, but a monster able to remember how to love another, forgiven for my sins during those fleeting hours when the whole house was sleeping, with only the flickering flame of a candle between us.

Whenever I was there, she pretended not to know what I was, and I pretended to be the person I used to be before Father broke us. It was our tacit agreement, and we kept it religiously, no questions asked.

Those soul-baring evenings with Rose were the very reason I held onto a minute fraction of my humanity, unlike many others of my kind. And so, I cherished them and dreaded my mother’s imminent death, knowing that each time I visited, it might be the last one. And after that, many things could happen, none of them good.

One night, as I was leaving my parents’ home cloaked by fog and darkness, Harold Jamieson came running from the other side of the street and stared at me with disbelief.

“Christ, Auberon!” he gasped, repositioning the round, brass spectacles over his nose. “Where have you been all this time? You look... different. Have you been sick?”

“Harold,” I said, swallowing and trying to dispel my growing thirst as I stepped back. I had spent two hours with Mother, and despite her efforts to keep me sane, it was hard to think clearly around humans when darkness fell. “Excuse me, but I really need to go.”

Harold scoffed and placed a hand on my shoulder, scrutinizing me with suspicion. “What’s the rush? What is so urgent that you can’t greet an old friend after a months-long disappearance?”

“Harold, please,” I repeated, closing my eyes and striving to divert my attention to something else; anything that could distract me from the sweet scent of his blood and the sound of his heart pumping it into his arteries. “I’ll call on you tomorrow,” I lied, but it sounded like a lie, and he knew me too well. “I cannot talk now.”

I started to walk away from him, turning into a dark alley. I avoided looking back, but I could hear him following me. I could have run and got away from him, but curiosity was stronger than caution. As much as I knew it wasn’t wise to talk to Jamieson, the thirst for information was as strong as the one for blood. I, too, had missed him.

“Fine,” I huffed, stopping in my tracks. “What do you want?”

“I want to know why you disappeared. I want to know why suddenly I am not worthy of a proper hello or five minutes of polite conversation. Did I offend you in any way? Are you embarrassed to be seen with me now?”

“No.” I paused. “I have changed. That’s all.”

“I can see that.” He sounded disappointed.

“Will that be all?” I asked. His heartbeat was so loud, it was deafening. If I didn’t slip away quickly, I would lose control, and my fangs would be on his throat before he could even take his leave.

“I suppose,” he said, shaking his head, offended. “All right, Clarence. I think you have made yourself clear. Thank you.”

He turned around.

Too late.

Harold screamed and implored when I ambushed him in the alley. I could not think. All I could hear was his heartbeat: too loud, too enticing, too sweet. I had tried to warn him that I wasn’t his old friend anymore, but he hadn’t listened. The side street was dark, and my self-control was nonexistent. The beast took control, and when I finally recovered my lucidity, he was unconscious and on the brink of death.

“Auberon. Please,” he panted, “I don’t want to die.”

I squeezed my eyelids together, pain and guilt gripping my chest as awareness crept back.

“Help me,” Harold pleaded. “I know you can.”

“Please forgive me, Harold,” I said, kneeling by his side. “I could never do to you what was done to me. I can’t curse you with this existence.”

His eyes fluttered one last time, shining with a flash of sympathy before they fell open, and life abandoned his body.

“Farewell, my friend,” I whispered, closing his eyes. I said a prayer for his soul, not that any of us ever cared about the hereafter. After that, I left my only and last mortal friend to the mercy of the ravenous, implacable London rats and trudged all the way back to Anne’s empty house, while muttering to myself, and perhaps to the ghosts of those my bloodthirst had killed, “I am so, so sorry.”

Chapter 30

Alba

“Going back to the abbey right now is a horrible idea,” Alice said, pulling at my arm and forcing me to sit back on the bed. “We are both too tired to cast even the easiest spell. It would be pointless to face those witches while we are drained. Heck, no, it would be suicidal.”

I growled in frustration, knowing Alice was right. The events of the day had left me exhausted, mentally as well as physically.

“Sleep now,” Francesca commanded, leaning over me and caressing my hair. “I’m famished too. I need to go out for half an hour. But I’ll be back very soon to watch over your sleep.”

She jumped out the window with a rustle of skirts, leaving behind her characteristic scent of blood and roses.

“I’ll go to my room, if you don’t mind,” Alice said, eyeing the tiny crimson smudges on the cream bedspread―and the unconscious vampire―with reluctance. “Would you like to come with me? It’s cleaner, and we have a couch too.”

I shook my head. “No, I’ll be okay here. I’d rather be close to him.”

Alice nodded. “Yes, of course.” She was about to leave when she paused, her hand over the light switch. “Should I turn off the lights? Or would you feel better if it’s not so dark?”

“It’s okay. I don’t mind the darkness.”

Alice left, and I remained alone with Clarence. He wasn’t breathing, and his skin had that distracting silver glow. It was faint around his fingertips, becoming almost blinding over his chest, even through the fabric of his half-torn shirt.

As usual, I was tired but not sleepy, so I turned on the little bedside lamp and took the thick tome forgotten on the nightstand. War and Peace. Yes, it sounded like the perfect antidote to pernicious insomnia. I checked the page where Clarence must have stopped reading before leaving for the ball, a passage underlined with a sharp pencil as he often did:

Chapter XI

“I have been in love a thousand times and shall fall in love again, though for no one have I such a feeling of friendship, confidence, and love as I have for you...”

Ah. Clarence.

I kept flipping the pages, just to find yet another highlighted paragraph:

Chapter XXXII

“...when loving with human love, one may pass from love to hatred, but divine love cannot change. No, neither death nor anything else can destroy it. It is the very essence of the soul. Yet how many people have I hated in my life? And of them all, I loved and hated none as I did her...”

“Damn.”

Wasn’t this supposed to be a book about wars?

I slammed the book closed and slipped it into my purse, turning off the lights once again. No. I wasn’t in the mood for that kind of torture. I’d just lie there until sunrise, allowing my worries to devour my soul as they should.

But in the darkness of the room, Clarence’s body kept glowing, and its eerie luminosity was but a mute testimony of the curse which would soon bring about his demise. How was I supposed to sleep like that? It was so disturbing, I just wanted to scream. I found a blanket in the closet and covered him with it. After that, I snuggled by his side, holding his frozen hand, and closed my eyes to wait for morning in the company of my demons.

***

IT WASN’T MORNING THAT woke me up, but a furious banging on the door. When I opened my eyes, I didn’t even remember where I was, and I had to blink several times to understand why there was a glowing man lying next to me in a bed covered in soiled, sticky sheets.

“It’s the hotel manager! Open the door!”

“What?” I mumbled, straightening my creased pink dress out of desperation, like that would make any difference in a room with the walls covered in blood splatters.

“Don’t worry.”

Francesca’s voice startled me. She was sitting in an armchair in a corner of the room, calm and collected despite the stranger threatening to bust down the door at 4 AM.

“Open the door right now, madam,” the hotel manager went on. “One of our guests heard screaming and yelling, and we saw you through the surveillance cameras, charging against the door with a chair. I’m really sorry for the inconvenience, but I need to make sure everything is in order. It will only take a minute.”

Francesca bit her lip, pensive, then whispered, perhaps to herself, “Should I knock him out, or would you prefer to leave discreetly?”

The door-banging intensified.

“Please, madam, don’t make me call the police!”

“So?” Francesca arched an eyebrow, unfazed by the man’s escalating threats. “What should I do?”

It took a herculean effort to restart my barely functioning brain and consider Francesca’s question. Should we knock out an innocent man and use Francesca’s talents to make him forget? Or was it better to flee as fast as possible and hope nobody followed us?

“I... I don’t know...” I stammered.

“Madam, I have a key. I’m going to come in,” the man’s voice warned us from outside.

Francesca rolled her eyes and smacked her lips. “I’m not hungry anymore, but I guess I could do it for you,” she murmured, throwing me a questioning glance.

“Okay, okay, let’s get out.” I sighed. “Can you make him forget before we leave?”

“I can, but do you expect me to clean up this mess too? Because if I don’t, other people are going to see the state of the room sooner or later, after we’re gone, and I won’t stay here to make the whole town forget. Besides, I’m afraid I forgot my cleaning gloves and apron in The Cloister.”

I took in the dark flecks covering all surfaces like abstract paintings and the inert vampire splayed in the middle of a ruined bed―hopefully, we would be able to remove that piece of evidence, at least. In any case, whoever came in was about to walk into a scene worthy of a horror movie.

“What about Alice?” I asked, hearing the key turn in the lock. “She’s still in her room.”

“I’ll pick her up afterwards.”

Francesca wrapped Clarence into a thick grey blanket, which made him look even more like a shrouded corpse. A gush of tears threatened to burn the corners of my eyes, but I held them back, concentrating on the search of an alternative exit instead.

He is going to be alright, I told myself. One doesn’t live for two-hundred years just to quit when things finally get interesting.

Francesca threw Clarence over her shoulder, an odd sight to say the least, particularly when he was almost two heads taller than her, and took a leap to the window, ready to jump out once again.

“Wait!” I shouted, “What about me? How do I get out of here?”

“Just like me,” Francesca said, her voice devoid of emotion as she assessed the street below us, perhaps making sure there weren’t any witnesses. “Jump. I’ll catch you. It’s just a couple of feet.”

Okay. What she had labeled a couple of feet was a second story window, to be precise.

Francesca disappeared just as the door of the room clicked open.

“Francesca! Help! I can’t do it!” I cried, looking back and forth and digging my nails into my palms. I gathered my cheap skirts, holding onto the window frame, which in turn left me no free hands to pray and entrust myself to whatever god or goddess might be willing to listen.

Francesca was standing on the cobblestones with her arms wide open, waiting for me. “Hurry up!” she mouthed.

My head started to spin as I stepped on the windowsill and looked down.

“I’m coming in, please cover yourself if you are not dressed,” the hotel manager said as the door hinges squeaked.

“Jump!” Francesca growled with frustration. “Think less, trust more, remember?”

A man stepped into the room and turned on all the lights, his face gradually distorting as he assimilated the state of the place.

“Who are you?” he asked me with a terrified gulp, wiping his bloodied hands on his trousers.

“Just a crazy woman who thinks she can fly,” I answered, closing my eyes.

And then, I jumped.

Chapter 31

Alba

Francesca caught me mid-air and set me kindly on the sidewalk, on the cobblestones of a narrow side street where the hotel manager would not be able to see us. A few seconds later, she repeated the process with Alice, who dropped out of the sky like a ripe apple.

“It’s raining witches,” Francesca said with a faint smile, kissing Alice as she placed her next to me on the ground and picked up Clarence again with one arm. “Fine, ladies. Where should we go now?”

I looked up to the hotel window. It wouldn’t be long before someone came down looking for the crazy foreign woman who had jumped through a window and disappeared, leaving a bloodied room behind. “Let’s go to my hotel. It’s just a couple of hours till sunrise, and you two are going to need shelter soon,” I suggested. “I’ll just call Carlo to check if it’s safe to go there.”

Funnily enough, my phone was already ringing when I got it out of my purse.

“I’m on my way,” Carlo spat into the phone. “I just knocked out the guy who was trying to break in again, and he’s hanging from the fire exit.”

“What?” I shouted, rushing to follow Francesca to the edge of the village. “No, you can’t come here!” I looked around, desperate to come up with a safe meeting point quickly. “Okay, let’s meet at...”

“At the Sinner’s Cemetery below the abbey,” Francesca whispered, then grabbed my arm and dragged me into the woods at the edge of the village. I was about to point out that there was no way I could walk that much uphill in the darkness, when she added, “Don’t worry, I’ll take you.”

***

THE WANING MOON SHONE among fuzzy clouds when we reached the Sinners’ Cemetery several hours past midnight. Carlo arrived riding a motocross bike which was definitely not his and probably woke up the whole town of Alcazar with its roaring engine.

“Very discreet,” I commented as he got off his new ride with a smug smile. “I didn’t know car dealers were open after 3:00 a.m.”

“I’ll return it,” he drawled with a shrug. “But listen, I found out a few things. First of all, I caught the guy who stole your laptop, and I got it back.” He opened his army backpack and presented me with my computer, which was neatly tucked inside. “Here, for you. He also confessed he had been hired by Natasha and was supposed to meet her in Spain. Have you heard of a place called Finis Terre? The End of the Earth?”

I stared at him blankly. “No, I haven’t. But why would he tell you all that?”

“He and I had an interesting conversation while he was hanging upside down from the fire escape stairs of the hotel. I caught him while he was trying to run away after ransacking your room. Natasha has taken the other two vampires to a lighthouse in that place called Finis Terre, where she’s also meeting a business partner. After that, she should head to London, not Paris as we first thought...”

Alice cleared her throat, glancing at her watch. “Speaking of which, we should really decide where to put the unconscious vampire we already have before sunrise toasts him. I know there’s still a few hours, but we are out in the open, and the car is at the mechanic, and we can’t go back to our hotels either.”

“We’ll bury him,” Francesca said in a flat tone, and she ignored me as I nearly died on the spot. “Stop fussing. It has been done this way for centuries.” She glanced at her nails with sorrow. “I’m just concerned it will ruin my manicure.”

Carlo lifted a finger. “I have a folding shovel in my backpack, if it helps,” he offered, scattering the contents of his rucksack on the ground. Two beers and a dozen miniature liquor bottles rolled on the grass, together with several bars of soap and tiny shampoo containers.

“You stole the whole minibar?” I said, shaking my head with disapproval. “Come on. Also pens? Towels! Hotel toiletries? What’s wrong with you?”

“I stole the manager’s motorbike too, so it’s not going to make much difference if they catch me, is it?” He grabbed a bottle of beer and rummaged in his back pocket until he found a large silver object, then fumbled with it for a while until he managed to open it. “Here, drink. It will make you feel better.”

I took a step back, glancing toward the abbey looming above us. The party was long over, and most lights had been turned off. “Thanks, you can have it. I need to be sober in order to find my way back to the crypt.” All heads turned to me, and Alice closed her eyes as if dodging an invisible projectile. “Yes,” I said as calmly as I could, “we must get this done tonight. We have nowhere to stay, and I’m sure the hotel called the police. They’ll be trying to find us. I’m going back to the abbey, and I’ll find a way to get in, even if it’s the last thing I do.”

“It will probably be the last thing you do,” Alice said, horrified. “Nobody can get in without a Tyet key and the right incantation. The ghost knights will get hold of you and alert the witches.”

“You said it was a simple incantation.”

“Yes, but do you have a key? Nope. As far as I know, there are only twelve. Each of the witches has one, and they always wear them around their necks, even while they sleep. It’s impossible to get hold of a sacred Tyet, unless you kidnap a member of the coven or...”

Carlo took a large swig of his beer and burped behind me. I turned around, rolling my eyes with disgust, but he just shrugged and picked a second bottle off the ground. “Sorry,” he said. “It wasn’t on purpose.”

The bottle opener shone in the dim moonlight, and Carlo cursed as he tried to position it properly against the metal cap of yet another beer. “Stupid design, too narrow to fit,” he complained.

“What the hell, Carlo?” I yelled, snatching the item from his hands and pressing it against my chest. “A bottle opener? Seriously?” The polished metal object was shaped like a human body with a hollow head and hung from a broken silver chain. “How did you get your hands on this?”

He stared at me, puzzled. “Uh... I was talking to that red-head... the one who almost turned me into a cockroach thanks to you, by the way,” he said, “and I found this thing on the bar counter, next to a platter full of drinks. I used it to open a bottle while I waited for her to come back from the ladies’ and―” He shrugged. “―it ended up in my pocket somehow.”

“Almighty Goddess Diana,” Alice gasped, examining the purported bottle opener with respect. It was just like Isadora’s pendant, except a bit smaller. “Please don’t tell me you have spent the night opening booze with a sacred Tyet!”

***

“ALICE...” I SAID, TUCKING the Tyet into my purse and eyeing the steep path that led up to the gates of the abbey. “Would you come with me? I would feel so much better if I had you with me. But I’ll understand if you refuse. I know it’s a crazy idea, and...”

Alice blinked. “Yes, it is crazy. But you are talking to the person who allowed you to steal the most valuable piece in the museum she works for. Does that sound sane to you?”

“Is that a yes?”

Alice nodded slowly, and I ran to hug her, all the emotions of the day gushing out and turning into tears. “Thank you, Alice, thank you!”

She hugged me awkwardly, then pulled back. “But there is one condition,” she warned me.

“Anything. Just name it.”

“You must promise not to try any spells outside your level of expertise. We’ll do our best, but if danger arises, we’ll leave the grimoire behind and escape. Because fleeing is always better than dying, okay?”

“Yes, okay.” I had to agree that her reasoning was rather sound.

Francesca and Carlo remained at the Sinners’ Cemetery in order to find shelter for Clarence, while Alice and I started our uphill hike.

The path, though short, was frustrating and draining, particularly for someone dressed for a Carnival ball and not a hiking tour. I concentrated on the gorgeous view of the lights illuminating the sleeping village of Alcazar below, ignoring my painful, frozen feet. We were in the heart of the High Pyrenees, and the views were remarkably scenic. For a second, I imagined myself strolling up that path with Clarence on a sunny spring day, and the heart-warming fantasy made me smile.

I shook my head, the smile vanishing. Never going to happen.

Once we reached the abbey, climbing over the outer wall wasn’t particularly hard. Thanks to Francesca, I had collected plenty of practice climbing graveyard fences; but also, the yellowish limestone had been eroded by centuries of wind and rain, creating a natural ladder which made the task fairly easy.

We found ourselves in the courtyard and made our way to the old refectory. The party was long over, and the door was locked, but Alice unlocked it with a hairpin.

“No spells?” I asked with surprise, following her down the stairs that led to the crypt.

“Energy conservation,” she clarified. “Why use magic when a simple hairpin will do?”

“Makes sense.”

Another lock fell, and we found ourselves facing the coffered door of the crypt. The ghostly suits of armor were still there, silent and menacing at the end of the hall.

“So... you know what to do?” I asked Alice. “You do remember the words, don’t you?”

She nodded. “Oh yes. That won’t be a problem.” She sat Indian style in front of the knights and started to hum.

“Are you sure that’s the right way to do it?” I asked. I didn’t remember Isadora doing any of that, and the last thing I wished was to end up dangling from a spear at the mercy of those French witches, all while Clarence remained buried like a... no, concentrate on the now, I scolded myself.

“I am a Witch of the Lake,” Alice answered proudly. “Our ways are different. But they work, and that’s what counts. Now, silence!”

While Alice concentrated on her humming, I took out my phone in case Carlo had texted me. There was no service, but I found a string of old-ish messages from Minnie which must have piled up during our hotel escape ordeal.

Minnie, 3:04 a.m.

We just landed in London! So exciting!

(Selfie of Minnie with Iris and Katie holding a neck pillow).

Minnie, 3:23 a.m.

Waiting for our suitcases! Yay!

(Blurry photo of an empty baggage carousel).

Minnie, 3:32 a.m.

Playing hide and seek while waiting for Daddy to get out of the bathroom!

(No photo).

I was evaluating Minnie’s sanity levels, and my decision to leave my kids with someone who allowed them to play hide-and-seek in one of the largest airports in the world, when Alice interrupted my musings with an abrupt halt in her humming and the beginning of a muttered incantation.

“Salve, fieles Caballeros de la Abadía,” she repeated three times.

A brief silence ensued, followed by a loud screech as the ghostly suits of armor came alive. I held my breath while they hit their halberds against the rock floor to greet us. My handbag slipped to the floor as we stood in front of them, terrified.

“Welcome, Keepers of the Abbey,” a voice said inside my head. “You can pass.”

“Shit,” I said, picking up my things from the floor, “they startled me.”

“Shh.” Alice seemed upset. “Don’t swear. You must be respectful. The knights were the true lords of the abbey, and we are at their mercy right now. A false step, and we are doomed.” I grinned nervously in apology, and she continued. “And now, unlock that damn door already!”

So much for not swearing.

I tried to fit the Tyet into the lock, but it was too large. After a couple of minutes of desperate fumbling, my hands got sweaty, and the silver key slipped off my fingers. “It doesn’t work,” I sobbed as I kneeled to retrieve it. “We came this far just to learn it was a bottle opener after all.”

“You know that’s no bottle opener,” Alice replied with a clenched jaw. “You need to focus. Magical keys don’t work like ordinary ones. You must use the power of intention; otherwise yes, it’s going to behave like a useless object. Tools are not supposed to do the work instead of you. You are supposed to use them the proper way. Or do you expect a hammer to assemble your furniture on its own?”

I took a deep breath and did as instructed. Holding the Tyet, I imagined it was an extension of my own hand, allowing my magic to flow. I had only tried this trick in order to blow things up, but this time, I had to use all my self-control to restrain the tingling without interrupting its flow. It was much harder to contain the magic than to set it free with a blast.

The Tyet slipped gently into the keyhole, and the door unlocked with a quiet click.

We waited for a couple of seconds, making sure we hadn’t offended the ghostly knights with our disrespectful language or otherwise. They didn’t seem to be bothered, so I threw one last look at their two ominous figures, now standing still and silent with their halberds pointing upwards, and followed Alice into the darkness of the crypt.

“Quick. I’ll grab the grimoire, and we get out of here,” I said. “I feel something’s not right. This has been... I don’t know, almost too easy.”

Alice turned to me, her eyes saying clearly, I know.

The Alcazar Grimoire glowed softly on its podium with a white, faint light. I was about to seize it when Alice stopped me.

“It’s probably secured to the pulpit with magic,” she said, pushing me away. “I will scan the room for spells.”

She closed her eyes and started her meditative humming once again. A loud thump resounded upstairs, followed by several more. It sounded like doors slamming closed and people running. Meanwhile, Alice carried on with her scanning, removed from the outside world.

“Alice, hurry up!” I nudged her. “I think someone is coming.” Another bang, this time closer. “Alice. I’m freaking out. I’m going to grab the book, and we run, okay? Do you hear me?”

Alice was lost in her trance, and the steps were approaching, clear and unmistakable. “Alice!” I shook her arm, and she finally opened her eyes, a disconcerted look washing over her face. “We’re leaving. Now!”

I grasped the heavy old volume and closed it, then secured it under my arm.

Horror distorted Alice’s face as soon as she realized what I had just done.

“No!” she shouted. “Don’t touch it! The whole crypt is hexed!”

But it was too late.

The book let out a piercing, continuous shriek which reminded me of an ambulance siren. The tome became hot under my arm, and its white glimmer started to turn red. It was too hot to hold it, and I dropped it; it crashed wide open to the floor, and a burst of flames enveloped it.

“Let’s get out of here!” Alice yelled, yanking me toward the exit, “Too dangerous! Remember your promise!”

I stood by the flaming grimoire, motionless. Tendrils of fire extended from its core, swirling, growing and creating a circle of scorching flames around us. We were imprisoned in the circle of flames, and there was no way to get out without crossing the growing barrier of fire.

The steps got closer, and several witches burst into the room, brandishing their wands in the air. As they raised them, the flames grew up to the ceiling, trapping us inside a sweltering prison with the grimoire at its center. The heat became suffocating, but the grimoire remained intact. The pages spun left and right, ancient spells flickering in front of our eyes with flashes of white and red light.

“I knew this would happen,” Isadora growled. “Strays are a pest. They should be annihilated.”

She drew a circle in the air with her wand, and the flames withdrew from the book and crawled toward me. Fire vines licked the bottom of my skirt, infusing the air with the foul smell of burnt synthetic fabric. I stepped on the charred rim of the dress before it burned me alive, but Isadora repeated her spell, making me jump and scream. I glanced at Alice in desperation, hoping she would find a way to appease the witch.

Alice held Isadora’s gaze through the wall of flames, disregarding the pearls of sweat running down her reddened face.

“Please, sister,” Alice said. Isadora’s eyes glowed with fury at the moniker. “Have mercy. We were trying to help a friend.”

“No mercy for thieves,” Isadora declared, commanding the flames to climb up Alice’s legs. Alice held her arms out and pushed back the fire, but the veins in her forehead bulged with the effort. “What do you say, sisters?” Isadora asked the others.

“I say burn the bad witches,” one of them answered, and an ominous laugh blended with the crackling of the magical fire around us.

The witches joined the tips of their wands and directed the flames against us. I could smell the fine hairs on my arms singeing, blisters forming on my legs and bare shoulders. Alice held her arms in front of us, fighting the advance of the fire, but it was obvious she wouldn’t be able to withhold the flames for much longer.

There were twelve witches against us.

Hopeless.

“We’re going to die,” I cried, trying to mimic Alice’s shielding spell. It didn’t work.

“Then we can be roommates in hell,” Alice muttered, a growl escaping her throat as she lost control of the fire. She tried to repeat the incantation but gave up, her energy depleted, and retreated toward the center of the circle, where I was standing. “That is, until Francesca joins. Then you’ll have to move to your own dungeon.”

I gave her a tight smile, appreciating she could still wield her sense of humor in such a hopeless situation.

“You said witches don’t believe in hell,” I muttered. “But they do believe in ghosts...”

“Yes. Say hi to the Angel of Death for me,” Isadora cackled, and the smell of burnt hair―my hair―became asphyxiating.

Ghosts.

Of course.

“Laura!” I screamed, bracing myself against the implacable flames, “Laura, I accept your offer! Please, manifest yourself!”

Chapter 32

Alba

Heavy steps thundered into the crypt, and the enchanted armor guards appeared at the door. The witches turned around to look at the newcomers, and the flames followed their movements, receding just a couple of feet—enough to allow Alice and me to take a deep and very needed breath. My arms were blistered and in pain, and it was hard to establish how much of my hair was still attached to my scalp.

“Welcome, Knights,” Isadora greeted them, “you can have the trespassers if you wish. Consider them a grateful gift from the Keepers.”

The Knights bowed in agreement and hit their halberds against the floor three times, sealing our fate.

Isadora snapped her fingers, and a gap opened in the ring of flames, creating a narrow passage between them and us.

“Kill them,” she commanded. “They are thieves and traitors. Don’t leave any traces.”

The ground started to shake, and a dozen knights came in, positioning themselves along the four walls of the crypt and pointing their halberds toward us. Isadora smiled with delight and raised a hand.

“On second thoughts, I’ll kill the thieving stray myself, and you can have the Italian renegade,” she said and pointed her wand at me. An orb of red light started to gather at the tip, and I closed my eyes, waiting for the impending blow.

I heard the explosion and felt the blinding flash of light coming out of Isadora’s wand, but instead of pain, all I could feel was a cold, viscous kiss on my forehead.

“Don’t worry, madam,” said a little girl’s voice, “we came on time, and the kind knights are our friends. They are specters, just like us! They will understand, won’t they, Maman?” The ghostly girl looked at her mother’s bodiless head, which she carried in one hand, clutching it by the hair. The head nodded, and the little girl kissed its ashy cheek. “I can’t wait to hug Papa again.”

The mother’s head spun, dangling in the air from the girl’s tiny, bluish fingers, and turned to the empty armor stationed along the crypt walls, “Honorable Knights, these two women owe us a magical debt. Keep them alive so they can repay it.”

The knights bowed once and turned their halberds toward the Daughters of Isis, who screamed and started to flee, which caused the flames to go wild. Only Isadora and two of her sisters remained in the crypt, trying to control the fire and direct it against us. Meanwhile, a knight grabbed my arm, and another one did the same with Alice. I tried to escape his grip and reach for the grimoire, but Isadora saw me and opened a path through the flames to stop me.

“The book!” I said to the ghost girl. “We can’t leave without it!”

The little ghost dove to the ground and picked up the grimoire, then dropped it into my hands. “There you go, madam. Now let’s go; I miss Papa so much!”

I took the book, and as soon as I did, it started to scream again. Its screams blended with the shrieks of the witches, who were fighting against the knights, wand versus sword. Meanwhile, the fire crackled loudly, and the empty suits of armor crashed against each other in a deafening cacophony. The grimoire kept wailing when I threw it into my bag, but nobody cared among the reigning chaos.

One of the knights picked me up and dragged me toward the door, where Isadora was waiting for us, shooting fire orbs with her wand. The crimson orbs hit the knights, but they just bounced off their armor, and they kept walking. I, on the other hand, strove to dodge them the best I could. When we reached the door, Isadora had created a fire curtain to block the exit and was standing in front of it with her wand pointed against me.

“I defy you to cross this door and steal our sacred grimoire,” she said calmly. “One more step, and I’ll burn you alive. Give it back, or I’ll retrieve it from your smoking ashes.”

I wiggled in the knight’s arm until he placed me back on my feet, and I opened the bag, holding Isadora’s gaze. Alice stood next to me, inspecting the fire curtain with analytical eyes. Next to the grimoire sat Clarence’s aged copy of War and Peace, almost the same size and thickness; both books were dark brown and leather bound. Swiftly, I slipped my hand inside the bag, grabbed Clarence’s book and threw it as far from myself as I could, making it land on the other side of the crypt.

“Catch!” I shouted at Isadora.

Alice muttered a spell and lifted the fire curtain for a few inches, while Isadora hurried to the other side of the crypt to retrieve the false grimoire. We crawled out of the crypt under the curtain of fire, followed closely by Headless Laura and her ghostly daughter.

We reached the stairs and crossed the courtyard, escorted by two of the knights. Once we reached the cloister, they threw us over the fence in the most discourteous way and disappeared back into the abbey.

I lay on the frosty grass for a while, allowing the tiny particles of ice to cool the reddened skin of my arms and legs. I rolled on my back and made a frost angel, then sat up and washed my face with tiny snowflakes, taking a moment to ground myself despite the persistent screaming of the grimoire inside the bag.

“Will you make him shut up already?” Alice complained, as if the book was a living creature. She had been standing against the wall and waiting, covering her ears with her hands. “Otherwise, the witches will find us as soon as they come outside. I would do it, but it’s you who stole him, so I can’t.”

“I’d love to, but I don’t know how.”

“Try asking kindly.”

I looked at the raging book, glowing red inside my handbag, and caressed the covers with gentleness. The grimoire slapped closed, pinching the tips of my fingers. “Ouch! Bad, bad book! It bit me!”

Alice rolled her eyes, “Just tell him what you want!”

The book started to shriek even louder than before, perhaps trying to alert its rightful owner.

“Hello, book,” I said softly, raising my voice over the wailing, “Sorry we stole you, but we need your help. Would you please...ehm, turn down the volume?” My discourse worked, and the screaming turned into a quiet meowing. “Yes, very nice!” I encouraged it. “Now come with us, we have a mission for you.”

***

ALICE AND I RACED BACK to the graveyard, with the two ghosts following a few inches above our heads. The little girl kept asking me when she was going to see her papa, and I prayed there really was a spell to send ghosts to The Other Side in the grimoire because the last thing I needed was two angry ghosts following me around for the rest of my life.

My phone started to beep wildly. I took it out, in case Carlo was trying to warn us of some danger ahead, but found several messages from Minnie instead, their tone increasingly disturbing.

Minnie, 3:56 a.m.

“Hello, Alba, no need to worry, but we can’t find Iris and Katie. We’ve been searching for them for half an hour and they must have hidden really well while we were playing hide-and-seek at the arrival terminal. They are calling them over the loudspeakers so I think they’ll come out soon.”

I reread that nightmare of a message to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating again, then continued to the next one, dated fifteen minutes later, desperate for it to tell me my girls were fine.

Minnie, 4:12 a.m.

“Okay, we haven’t found them yet, but the police are here now. They said we must remain calm. For now, they have locked all the accesses to the terminal. Nobody can get in or out. They are checking the security cameras right now.”

Another message flew in as I was reading. This time a voice message, with lots of background noise, including whistling, weeping and offensively merry music.

“Hi, Alba... they are sending us to our hotel. The police say they will call us as soon as there’s any news. I don’t know how to tell you this but the girls... they have gotten lost, and nobody can’t find them right now.”

I started to feel nauseous as I processed Minnie’s messages and panic set in. Did she just say gotten lost? Because no. Katie and Iris hadn’t gotten lost: my stupid ex-husband and his girlfriend had lost them due to sheer neglect. Interesting how calm Minnie’s voice sounded despite the dreadful situation. I hit the call button, but Minnie had turned off her phone. Incredible. Mark’s phone was off too. How could they do this to me?

Alice was standing behind me. I must have stopped walking without even noticing. I kept staring at the screen and pressing the call button compulsively, in my blind obsession to talk to Minnie, or Mark, or just about anyone who had seen my daughters in the last few hours.

“We must hurry, Alba. Isadora is probably searching for us right now,” Alice said, tapping on my shoulder. “Is everything okay?”

I couldn’t even answer. The massive knot in my throat didn’t allow me to. Suddenly, the feat of retrieving the Alcazar Grimoire seemed mundane and inconsequential compared to my children being missing. My brain had stopped working. Nothing else mattered anymore.

“I don’t... I don’t know!” I gasped, breaking into sobs. My bag fell out of my hands, sinking into a muddy puddle. Alice retrieved it and rubbed my back with nervousness.

“Okay...” she said with a concerned grimace, “whatever it is, you’ll have to tell me on the way. No time to waste crying here.”

In the distance, I could see Francesca’s silhouette, sitting somberly on the rim of a tomb. Her head was bent low, as if praying or sleeping. A faint, flickering glow was coming out of the open grave, turning on and off every few seconds.

“I’ll be fine in a minute,” I lied, squeezing Alice’s hand in thanks as we ran toward the Sinners’ Cemetery. “I don’t want to talk about it now. Let’s go.”

Francesca heard us and rose to meet us, her eyes glossy with tears. Carlo must have returned to the village because he and his borrowed motorbike weren’t there anymore.

“Glad you’re back,” Francesca muttered, then noticed the two ghosts hovering silently over our heads. “You have the strangest friends.”

I tried to smile, but I couldn’t. In front of us lay a half open grave. According to the tombstone, it had been once occupied by a monk who had committed suicide and didn’t deserve to be buried inside the abbey. Francesca had slid the stone slab aside and placed Clarence inside it, covered with a blanket from head to toe. The blanket hid his features, and the blue flickering of the curse was becoming more and more infrequent.

Francesca leaned over Clarence, rearranging the blanket, then turned back to us and said, “Sit down please. I have some challenging news to convey.”

Chapter 33

Alba

Darkness fell over the Sinners’ Graveyard, our only companions the silence of the mountains and Francesca’s muffled sobs as she spoke. A slight dusting of snow had started to cover the meadow, and snowflakes glittered under the moon like tiny, star-shaped pearls. Everything sparkled, but in the tomb where Clarence rested, the unnerving glow had come to a halt. Eerie as it was, the radiance meant there was still some energy for the curse to consume.

I sat by Francesca’s side and uncovered Clarence’s face under the blanket. His expression was serene, almost placid. He seemed almost relieved to be leaving this world forever. In my anguish, the idea of sleeping, forgetting everything and never waking up suddenly seemed quite appealing to me too.

“I’ll leave you alone with him if you wish,” Francesca whispered, caressing the crown of my head. “You two deserve a private farewell.”

“No!” I snarled, directing my frustration toward her. “We have the grimoire, remember?” Francesca ignored my remark, dropped to her knees and started to pray in Latin, an ominous plea which reminded me too much of burial rites. “Can you please stop with the praying? It’s making me nervous!” I pulled the stolen spellbook out of my bag and slammed it on the tombstone. “I’m going to cast that spell right now!”

I opened the grimoire and scanned the pages in search of what I needed. There were spells to make people fall in and out of love; to inflict magical revenge in several dozen ways or to call the elements and cause fires, floods and even plagues. There was no time to read them all. I clasped the Tyet in my fist, allowing the hard edges to dig into my skin. Physical pain brought me back to the moment and helped me calm my nerves. The pendant became strangely warm in my hand; its temperature fluctuated depending on the page I was looking at. Was the Tyet trying to guide me?

“Find me the counterspell for The Silver Cast,” I demanded, not sure whether my command was aimed at the pendant, or the book, or whatever spirits might be watching over me and protecting me.

I flipped the pages and the polished surface of the Tyet turned warm against my fingers; warm, like Katie’s peachy cheeks when she had been born; warm, like the summer apples in my grandma’s orchard; warm, like Clarence’s shoulder blades after lying naked in my arms for a whole night. The memories made me weep, sorrow bubbling up and out of my chest in salty, round, sincere tears.

So this is how losing everything feels.

If I were to lose my daughters, if I were to never see Clarence again... how was this any better than dying? How was this any different from ceasing to exist and becoming one with eternal oblivion?

Ultimately, I ran out of tears and collected myself, remembering there was still hope and not all was lost. But someone kept crying. At first, I thought it was Francesca, but she was sitting in silence by my side, her gaze lost in the faraway tombs. No, it was the grimoire that was letting out a soft, heartfelt lamentation. My sadness had spread to its pages like a contagious illness, and I cradled it against my chest, trying to appease its sorrow. When the book stopped crying, I placed it on top of Clarence’s chest. It fell open at the right page, where a thorough scribe had added ten menacing skulls at the top, carefully traced in black ink next to a calligraphy title― Silver Cast Curse Counterspell: to reverse mortal curses and death.

Right under the title, a crimson warning preceded the main verses:

Defeat and agony fall upon those
who the rules of sorcery dare forego:

Twenty-five turns around the blazing sun
your practice as healer must paramount;

Procure the kindling of a waxing moon,

And never work this spell beyond the tomb.

After this, someone had scribbled a few additional sentences in black pencil:

To be cast by at least five high witches.

Chant the incantation three times three and channel the energy straight into the subject’s heart.

May Isis assist the healers and may Osiris take them in their warmest embrace if they do not succeed.

“The moon is still waning,” Alice pointed out. She must have been reading the grimoire over my shoulder. “That’s not good. Also, we need the power of more witches combined. I could get a few friends to come here. If I call them now, they could be here in a couple of days and...”

I glanced at Clarence’s tomb, which had been dark since I started to read. The edges of his body had started to become translucent, not unlike a ghost’s.

“I don’t think we have time to wait for the next waxing moon or your friends,” I said quietly.

“Probably true, but you can’t cast this spell on your own. Call me crazy, but I’m not keen on joining you on a suicidal mission,” Alice replied.

I took a deep breath. Yes, I knew what might happen if I did try to cast that spell alone—the many warnings had told me—and I would have never expected such an extreme favor from Alice.

“I understand,” I told her. “Please step aside now because I’m about to begin.”

“Alba, don’t make me restrain you,” Alice growled, standing up and towering above me with her hands on her hips. “No. Just no. I won’t allow you to do it. It’s stupid. You need five experienced witches, and even like that, it’s extremely dangerous...”

Alice was lifted off the ground by an invisible force—actually, not invisible, just tiny. Francesca had grabbed her waist and was holding her tightly in the air, away from me and the grimoire.

“No,” Francesca said, setting Alice behind herself, “this is not our battle to fight, Alice. Alba knows the risks and must make her own choice. Otherwise, her sorrow will be ours to carry when Clarence is gone. And I can’t carry anyone else’s grief. I have enough burdens of my own.”

I muttered a quiet thank you to Francesca, my eyes turning misty again. Alice nodded in understanding and stepped aside. They both retreated to a safe distance, holding each other by the waist, expectant.

***

I KNELT NEXT TO MY beloved and lay my hands on his motionless chest while his body started to fade in front of my eyes.

If Jean-Pierre’s description was correct, after the glow of the curse was gone, Clarence would turn translucent and then disappear forever, leaving behind a thin layer of dust the wind would have blown away by morning.

“Clarence,” I pleaded, removing myself for a second from my self-imposed magical hypnosis, “I need you to stay with me. Please don’t die on me now. Please stay here just for a little while longer.”

Still as a statue. Colder than steel.

“Just a little... please. Do it for me. I’m going to read the spell now. Please.”

No reaction. Just the stillness of the dead.

“Stay here for me... your Isolde... you my only awareness, utmost rapture of love... remember? I didn’t forget. You said I would, but I didn’t.”

As I quoted Wagner in a desperate last attempt, a faint sigh left his lips.

The moonlight seeped into my bones, and a shudder passed through me.

I lay my hands on his immobile chest, my knees sinking mindlessly into the damp, frosty grass by the tomb.

“A life for a life,

A curse for a curse,

Gelid like silver,
silver cast death

The magic of Ra’s

Most secret names

Heal and destroy

The curse shall melt

Lighting strike

And dampened earth

Oh mighty Isis

Untie this spell...

Three times three I chanted the incantation.

Then I closed my eyes and let the moonlight course through my extended arms and into his heart. The energy the spell unleashed was like the tide: rising inexorably, like a stream of warm water gushing through my limbs, traveling from my heart to his, squeezing me from the inside, wringing me, emptying me of each living particle still residing in my being.

Finishing me.

But flowing, pumping, absolving.

Even though I knew where this spell was leading me, I didn’t break it. It was unstoppable. Stronger than me, greater than life. A powerful lightning bolt that I was dissolving into.

The words in Tristan and Isolde’s dramatic finale reverberated in my mind:

Unconscious―utmost bliss!

Clarence had asked me to remember them.

I nodded, finally understanding.

I, like Isolde, was ready to meet my destiny.

The last thing I saw of this world before I died were those magical, brick-red eyes, open and alert, loving, concerned, disconcerted. His eyelids fluttered, and his lips cracked open, half-breathing, half-smiling, half... wincing as reality set in, his forehead covered in radiant snowflakes.

Then darkness enclosed me, and before the end became the end, I heard him whisper, “I love you.”

Chapter 34

Clarence

London, 1836

The night my mother passed away, I confronted the quandary of turning a human for the second time in my vampire existence. Three times, I faced that choice in the course of my first year of unlife, but only once I went through with it, choosing the worst subject possible.

Obviously, it was not her.

Rose, unlike Harold, never asked me to turn her. She would have loathed such an existence; she knew my pain and sorrow too well to wish them upon herself. But I, in my selfishness, wanted to keep her by my side. I feared that once she was gone, I would lose the tiny part of myself that still remembered how to be human. For me, her wish posed a dire ethical dilemma: without her, I would soon be lost to the thirst, reduced to a predator with a reptilian brain. No more sorrow or guilt, just hunger and hunting, victims and stalking, prowling the streets in search of prey.

That night, as she coughed her lungs away into a bloody handkerchief, I told her my story. She listened stoically; she had known all that time. There were tears in her eyes as I spoke, but she remained quiet, encouraging me with silent nods, asking me to repeat the parts she had missed due to the pernicious, lethal cough. It was a long, heartfelt conversation, after which I tried to persuade her to remain by my side for the rest of eternity. She shook her head and squeezed my hand in reply, infusing me with motherly love and sorrow.

“No,” she said softly, “I have had enough of this world, my dear child.”

“Please, Mother,” I pleaded, holding her as she nearly choked and a crimson rain sprinkled the white bed linens, “consider my offer.”

Mother stared at me with an immense tiredness in her eyes. She paused to listen in, waiting for the maid’s footsteps to fade away. “No, Clancy,” she answered after a brief deliberation. “That would not be me anymore. I would be of no use to you, or me, or anyone, and you know that.”

Indeed, I knew, but losing her... losing Rose... it was analogous to insanity. I couldn’t even bear the thought. She was the last person I loved in the whole wide world, and she was about to vanish forever, right in front of my eyes, while I had a way to make her stay. Rose Auberon was my last shred of lucidity; the only remaining pillar in the crumbling universe I had been thrown into. Her demise would sever the last tie which prevented me from falling into the abyss; into the unbearable loneliness of the immortal. She was the last tie to my old life, save for Father, who was dead to me anyway. That night, I faced the reality of seeing the last person I loved with all my heart die.

“I fear myself without you,” I told her, holding her feeble hand in mine. It was warm, small and bony, with dry and wrinkled skin and spidery veins protruding like the roots of an old tree.

“I will always be with you,” she assured me, trying to sit up. I helped her up, and she kissed my forehead, leaving traces of blood on it. “Paint me, Clarence. So you will never forget me. But make it a beautiful painting, like those you used to draw for me when you were little, remember?” She beamed, lost in her fond memories. “Give me long lashes and a happy smile... and only nice, bright colors. Will you do that for me?”

I nodded, glancing away so she would not see my tears.

“Promise me, Clarence.”

“I will paint you,” I assured her, “bright and kind. Like the angel you are.” Like the angel she had been. “You have my word.”

She smiled the last of her smiles and whispered, “I would really like that.”

Chapter 35

Alba

The blanket was too heavy, and it covered my face. I couldn’t breathe. I kicked it off, revealing where I was. It was the bed I used to share with Mark in our house in Emberbury, and confusion washed over me as I studied all the items scattered around the otherwise tidy space. Everything was just how I remembered it: the half-read romance novel on my nightstand, with a receipt as a marker. It was still on the page where I had stopped reading because my sobs were bothering Mark, who was trying to sleep. Mark’s black suit, resting on the wooden valet, and my black mourning dress next to it, over the armchair, were both freshly ironed and ready to be worn.

“When is the babysitter supposed to come?” Mark yelled from the bathroom, and he peeked through the doorway, his face partially covered in shaving foam.

“Babysitter?” I asked, trying to dispel the thick fog muddling my thoughts. I pinched myself, just like in the movies. Was I awake or dreaming? How had I ended up in Mark’s bed if the last thing I remembered was kneeling over Clarence’s unconscious body in France? “What babysitter?”

Mark huffed. “Seriously, Alba? When do you intend to get your shit together? You said you would call a nanny to take care of the kids during the funeral, didn’t you? Or did you forget that too?”

Funeral...

Yes, I remembered.

Mark’s mother’s funeral.

It was today.

“Mark, what’s the date?” I asked, feeling weak. But he just rolled his eyes and started to button up his shirt, ignoring the question.

I got dressed, moving like a robot, unable to ignore the tight gold band on my finger, and the engagement ring next to it. Was I still married to Mark? I was tempted to ask him, but I decided against it, knowing my inquiries would be met with more sneers and few helpful answers.

The nanny came, and we drove to Emberbury Central Cemetery in a tense silence. Mark was moody, which was understandable for someone whose mother had passed just a couple of days ago. But he was always moody around me, no matter what.

We arrived early and were received by dozens of wreaths, sprays and baskets full of flowers, sent from the four corners of the world in memory of Mark’s mother and tastefully arranged around the expensive mahogany casket. Work colleagues, old friends, teammates: everyone adored Mark. Mark’s mother had been sick for years, and her death had been more a relief than a shock for the family; those people were there for him, not her.

Soon, Mark was hopping from one attendee to the next, unfolding his social butterfly side and charming everyone with his natural allure. It was hard not to love that version of my husband. I knew it well because I had been the recipient of those charms once upon a time. Those days were long gone now.

Knowing nobody would mind my absence, I walked away into the foggy pathways, wandering among the oldest tombs. I had at least half an hour before the service began, and I desperately needed some peace and quiet to put my thoughts in order.

As I strolled aimlessly among the graves, I admired the statues which adorned the mausolea of the richest families of Emberbury, trying to clear my mind. Pleading souls. Lamenting Madonnas. All mournful, or praying, or sleeping the sleep of the dead. All except for one: an angel statue which happened to be my favorite, erected in a secluded spot under a weeping willow. I remembered visiting it often. It was sculpted in white marble, his weight resting on one knee, with wide shoulders bearing the sprouts of torn wings, which lay at his feet. A fallen angel. His face was tilted down, as if wondering how he lost those wings. I had to crouch myself to look at his face. I had forgotten that detail. When I stared into the fallen angel’s eyes, time stopped. My heart was pierced by an invisible silver bullet.

It was him, and there was no doubt: the angular jaw, framed by unruly, wavy hair, all illuminated by a soft, roguish smile, which contrasted with dark, sorrowful eyes.

It was him.

Clarence.

I held my breath, trying to ascertain what was real, and what was the dream. If Clarence was a statue, and I was still married to Mark, there was only one answer to my question.

I started to cry at the feet of the fallen angel. I remained there, lost in my grief, until a lady passed by and asked me whether I needed help.

“I’m okay, thanks,” I lied, wiping off the tears. “I just need a minute. My mother-in-law just died.”

And the man I thought I loved.

And the part of me which still knew hope.

“My condolences,” she said with sympathy before resuming her stroll. “I know how much it hurts, losing someone you love.”

I thanked her again, although I didn’t think she knew how much it hurt. Had she ever lost someone who never existed?

Had she ever woken up to realize her whole present had been a dream, and she was still a prisoner in a previous life she thought extinct, while the future had never even happened?

I sat on the ground, dry leaves sticking to my expensive coat. My suede heels sunk into the mud, and I couldn’t care less.

There had been no Clarence.

No Francesca.

No vampires, no witches.

Just a statue I used to pass by, which my mind had recycled as a real person in an extremely long and vivid dream to shield myself from reality.

The sadness of this realization was so devastating that it felt like being crushed under a mountain of rocks, then chopped into tiny pieces and scattered into the wind. Was it possible to die from a broken heart? The pain was unbearable, and I tried to make myself hollow to avoid it, in a vain attempt to detach from a heart which only brought me suffering and sorrow.

I could not breathe. I tried to call the kind lady, but she had disappeared already. I must be really dying, and it hurt, and I was alone... and lonely. They must have been wrong because there was no tunnel, and no light at the end to follow. Only pain, and loneliness, and the shadow of a fallen angel.

***

NIGHT HAD DARKENED the graveyard, and a man approached me from the other side of the path. He had long, raven hair, which contrasted with his sparkling maroon eyes, and carried himself with the gracefulness of a lion and the lightness of a leaf dancing in the wind.

“Clarence?”

Was that even possible?

Where did the nightmare end and reality start?

He opened his arms and embraced me. He was so warm. Warmer than he had ever been.

“I thought I was lost,” he said, then smiled, “but I’m not anymore.”

“I’m lost too,” I agreed. “And so confused.”

“You know what they say...” He smiled fondly. “Not all who wander are lost... but I was lost without you.”

I squeezed his hand, but it felt odd, unlike him. How was he warmer than I? Something was wrong, very wrong, and it wasn’t just his presence at my mother-in-law’s funeral, three years before I had even met him at The Cloister.

Looking around, I realized that Emberbury was no longer the graveyard I was standing in. It was a different place... an abandoned sinners’ graveyard in France, at the foot of an abbey once owned by the Knights Templar.

Shaken by the flickering flashes of hallucinations and reality, I took a deep, steadying breath and gathered the courage to pose the question I had been dreading to ask, even though I already knew the answer.

“Am I dead, Clarence?”

He nodded warmly, his eyes pools of sadness and compassion. “Yes. Yes, you are.” His voice broke, the last word almost inaudible as I nestled in his chest and started to weep.

“But...” I wept, inhaling his rusty, pinewood scent, “but I don’t want to be dead,” I cried, and he nodded again and kissed me, allowing me to continue. “The sun... I’ll never see the sun again...”

“The sun is but a star, my dear,” he whispered. “And now they are all yours. For all eternity.”

He let me weep in his arms for a very long time, and after that, we remained under the willow, hugging each other in a silence full of questions, promises, and hope.

“What do we do now?” I asked weakly.

Clarence smiled, a slight hint of mischief lightening his gaze, and he said, “Let’s just stay dead together for a little while longer, shall we?”

Chapter 36

Clarence

I found myself inside an open tomb in the Sinner’s Cemetery of Alcazar, unable to remember how I had ended up there but relieved to feel the ice inside my heart magically gone. Alba lay over my chest with her arms limp around my neck and her eyes half open, her pupils riveted on the faint lights of the faraway abbey. Her breaths were choppy, sparse; her skin cool and pale. We must have been lying that way for a long time because a thin layer of snowflakes had made her bare shoulders glitter, partially melted under the veiled moonlight.

My first, half-conscious thought was how she was the loveliest creature I had ever encountered. Exquisite in her glorious imperfection: enticing, alluring, generous... mine. But perplexed as to how I was awake again, and in the most unexpected place, I failed to comprehend what unearthly power could have aroused me from my doomed slumber. I nudged her, but she remained still. A heartbeat, then silence. Another one. Then a longer silence.

A lightning bolt illuminated the sky, revealing the most distant peaks of the Pyrenees, and realization struck me just the same: she should not be here now, on the verge of death, with her hair spilling like a silken cobweb down the stone slabs and to the damp, cold earth I should have returned to. Wild briars were tangled in her skirts, and an open book lay at her feet, glowing menacingly.

I knew exactly what she had done, and fury started to boil inside me. Stifling a howl, I sat up and cradled her head in my lap, rocking her side to side. I tried to muffle my anger by taking it out on the briars around us. I uprooted them with my bare hands and threw them as far away as I could. My hand bled under the hardy spines, and my blood stained her dress, but to my frustration, the wounds healed as quickly as they had appeared.

A fresh, leafy briar grew again from the ground, sparked by a faint glow emerging from Alba’s chest. The briar started to bloom, and I growled as I tore it down again and again. But it kept growing, springing from one side of the grave and disappearing into the other one, mimicking the enchanted briars that had joined Tristan’s and Isolde’s tombs after their death; the ones nobody had ever been able to cut down.

After a while, I gave up and allowed the implacable briars to grow at will. They built a canopy over us, sheltering us from the light snow while the North Star shone through the gaps in their abundant pink blossoms.

When the canopy was finished and completely covered with wild roses, Alba took her last breath.

I shook her in despair. Why? Why her? Why now? I had accepted that she would be gone before me, but... but not this soon. Not like this. I hadn’t deserved that woman’s presence in my life. She should have never been mine in the first place.

It should have been me turning to dust among the briars.

Not her.

My Isolde, my savior, my wings.

Just like Harold, just like Rose, just like so many others before her, I beheld a loved one marching to her demise, and once more, it was because of me. History repeated itself, mocking me with a devilish sneer. Only I was the devil. And she was my willing victim, sacrificing herself, even though I had lived too much, and I didn’t really deserve―or even wish―to live any longer.

I howled like a wounded wolf, and my fierce, enraged yell alerted Francesca, who materialized out of nowhere, holding a white handkerchief against her delicate face. She had been crying, but for whom? For Alba? For me? For the love we would never have?

“Why?” I growled at her, holding Alba’s limp body against mine. “She should live, and I should be dead.”

Francesca watched me in silence, nodding. She agreed, but she also knew what I was thinking. And I knew what she would have done in my place, but I? I did not know. How to be sure she would not hate me?

Our eyes rested upon Alba’s neck, where a faint blue vein still pulsed sluggishly under her skin, the last sliver of a life bound to end too soon.

“You did it once before,” Francesca said. She opened a gap among the briars to kiss my forehead, then inhaled deeply behind Alba’s ear. “If you don’t do it, I will,” she added in a quiet whisper. “But I think it should be you.”

***

I HAD ONLY TURNED ONE human into a vampire in my whole, long, troubled existence. On that occasion, I had acted out of impulse, imbued with hatred and revenge for a man who now called himself Vlad. I would pay for that selfish urge for the rest of my darkness-filled days, or until I managed to right my wrong and end our centuries-long cat-and-mouse game. But that time, many decades ago, I had wanted to hurt him. I had wanted it to hurt.

Yet this time... this time was different.

Could you create a monster out of love?

Was my stone-cold heart capable of such sentiment, or did I just want to redeem the guilt I felt after her extreme sacrifice?

Francesca cleared her throat and nuzzled me softly with her nose, then backed off, expectant. Alice appeared behind her, watching us in concerned silence. Francesca hugged her, and her fangs glistened under the moon. She had meant what she said: if I didn’t do it, she would. She had always been braver than I, that little one.

The memory of Alba’s blood was enough for my fangs to descend. I kissed her listless lips, pausing at the corner of her mouth, which didn’t respond to my kisses anymore. Desperate, I let the tips of my fangs slide along her neck, feeling the delicate skin, still warm but barely alive... I was reluctant to break it, aware that doing so would break my heart, one way or another. How I wanted that moment to last forever, as I grieved in advance the loss of her warmth, the touch of her living hands, and everything that made her mortal, delicate, and warm. All those things would be gone forever... and perhaps all of her would be lost to death, one way or another, spent by a spell she was never supposed to cast, or consumed by unrestrained magic and newborn bloodlust. Turning witches was hazardous, and there were a thousand reasons not to do it. But did I have a choice, if I wanted to remain sane? I had let Rose go... and I still regretted that choice every day, two-hundred years later.

“Whatever happens now, know that I’ll love you forever,” I whispered into her hair.

But would she ever look into my eyes again after what I was about to do?

Tears rolled down my cheeks as I sank my fangs into her skin, and her sweet blood flowed freely, like a river of fire; a slow streaming farewell leaving her feeble heart forever. Her body quivered in my arms, and I had to force myself to keep going, not to stop now, just go through with it and finish what I had started.

A soft moan, then a sigh, and then... she was gone.

Dead.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry... I’m sorry,” I hummed against her broken skin, kissing, and crying and screaming inside as my heart shattered with guilt. Dead, like Rose. Dead, like Harold. Dead, like so many others I had loved and lost.

The briars started to swarm with worms. No. Not worms. Caterpillars. They crawled over the pink blossoms, then knitted a thousand silken cocoons around us, and they shone like goldthread beads. I closed my fist over the branches, relishing the piercing pain, allowing the thorns to drive into the skin of my palms and wrists. My blood started to flow, and I brushed my fingers against her blue lips to make her drink. She didn’t react to my urgings at first, but I kept trying. She had to drink. She must. Otherwise, I would lose her forever.

Francesca and her witch stared with joined hands, holding their breath as I tried to make Alba drink. Francesca nodded, her eyes saying, Insist. Don’t quit now.

The golden cocoons exploded like fiery lanterns, and Alba took a deep breath, her eyes staring at me in shock.

“Drink, my love,” I said, hugging her with relief.

A thousand butterflies emerged from the cocoons, and a gust of erratic winds propelled them in all directions, carrying a heavy snowfall with them. Alba kept drinking from me, avid and alien, her eyes showing no recognition of me or her surroundings, just unending thirst... and terror. The snow storm turned into a hurricane whirling around us, but it didn’t touch the inside of our briar chrysalis. We remained in our bubble of blood, death and rebirth, until the ritual was complete, and she fell unconscious once more, her body jerking as she dropped onto my chest.

Silence fell over the Sinners’ Cemetery. This silence was different though, and it buzzed with the hum of a hundred cursed souls anticipating the birth of a new sinner.

The snowstorm abated, and the briars started to wilt and crumble until our cocoon burst open, and the world around us became visible and real once again.

Francesca stepped closer, glancing at the sky with apprehension. Sunrise was looming, but we had to wait for Alba to wake up, if she ever did.

“You did well,” Francesca said, placing a hand on my shoulder. I might have started to cry then, or perhaps I hadn’t stopped at all. She caressed my head, motherly and calming, letting me know that it was fine. That I had the right to mourn. To cry.

“I don’t know,” I growled. “Did I?”

“You did, and she’s one of us now,” Francesca reassured me, and I joined her in a tortured embrace, waiting for the woman I loved, who would never be the same, to wake up and abhor me for the rest of her cursed, immortal days.

Chapter 37

Clarence

One hour to sunrise, and she still lay rigid and lifeless in my arms. Her body had cooled off, all rosiness gone forever from her cheeks.

A tremor shook the frosty blades of grass, and they tinkled like bells as they brushed against each other, a fairylike sound only detectable by immortal ears. It wasn’t until minutes later that the roar of a motorcycle approached up the mountain path, and strong white headlights washed over the Sinners’ Cemetery, carrying Carlo Lombardi’s smug rear. The corrupt policeman parked his motorcycle with a cocky pirouette and clambered down, his hands full of foul-smelling, heavy-looking bags.

“Seems nothing can quite kill him for good...” he said to Alice, referring to me. I took a deep breath and ignored the sneering. “Here, I brought the supplies as agreed. For the trip.” He gave one of the bags to Alice, who studied its contents with skepticism.

“I thought you were buying only essential goods,” she said, lifting a large, transparent bottle.

“Yeah, the vodka is essential. I need to keep my cool while traveling with two witches and two vampires. I think I could do much worse than vodka.” He looked around, as if searching for something. “Where’s Alba, by the way?”

“Oh, she’s...” Alice’s voice trailed away, interrupted by Francesca.

“She’s fine,” Francesca stated in a daring tone, hands on her hips. “She fell... asleep while you were gone, but if I were you, I would let her rest. Maybe go to the train station and wait for us there. Use the opportunity to return that...” she searched for the word, then gave up, “velocycle, or whatever you call it.” Lombardi squinted and took two strides toward us. Francesca allowed him to pass, a look of curiosity growing on her face. “Good, as you wish,” she said with a shrug. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“What’s that?” Lombardi gasped, pointing at the spot above our heads where the two ghostly entities were still hovering with impatience. I had been wondering why they wouldn’t go away too. They didn’t seem to belong to the Sinners’ Cemetery, but it was hard to guess, as they refused to talk to me or Francesca. Ghosts were often envious of vampires, condemned to an incorporeal unlife as they were.

“Oh, that’s just Laura... and her daughter,” Alice explained. “They are waiting for Alba to wake up and send them to the afterlife.”

“The Angel of Death is gone, madam,” the child ghost said in a hiss, looking at the witch. “Can we go home now too?”

“Well...” Alice picked up the grimoire, which was still lying on the ground, and sat down on a nearby grave. “Maybe I should try and do it because Alba might be a bit disoriented when she wakes up.” She turned to Carlo and added in a whisper, “We don’t need two angry ghosts haunting us, on top of everything else.”

Lombardi grimaced, studying the specters with animosity, while Alice tuned out the world and immersed herself in the antique spellbook. After a few minutes, Lombardi recovered his composure, but it didn’t last long because his eyes fell on Alba, still lying inert and pale in my arms.

“Oh, fuck.” He made the sign of the cross and brushed the back of his trembling hand against Alba’s bare shoulders. “She’s... freezing.” His hand found her chest, hesitating over her unbeating heart. “Oh... fuck, no, no, no... she’s...” He swallowed, glowering at me. “Dead! She’s fucking dead, Auberon! What did you do to her?” He grabbed her shoulders and tried to shake her, in an attempt to wake her up. I growled at him and forced him to step back. The man remained paralyzed, staring at Alba, motionless. I could smell the anger growing inside him, waiting for a spark to make it blast. As much as I loathed that mortal, I could empathize with him for once; I felt the same myself.

“I told you to leave,” Francesca reminded him, standing beside him with her arms crossed. “You did not listen.”

“You two are sick!” he spat, his voice quivering with barely controlled anger. “How could I ever trust you! Vampires! Monsters! I was right all along!”

“You have no idea what you are talking about, human,” Francesca scoffed.

Alba stirred on my chest, her eyelids fluttering for a second before she fell limp once again. Francesca hushed Lombardi with a wave of her hand and hurried to kneel beside us. “She’s coming to,” she observed, holding Alba’s hand.

Alba’s eyes popped open, an eerie green glow sparkling behind her lashes. She sat up abruptly and turned her head left and right, a startled expression on her face.

We remained silent. Breathless.

Francesca got up again and inched closer to Lombardi, peering at stirring Alba with wariness.

Newborn vampire.

Helpless human.

Bad combination.

“Oh, no,” Carlo gasped, finally understanding the situation.

Within fractions of a second, Alba leapt out of the grave like a missile, knocking Carlo down and perching on his chest with a vicious grimace.

“Francesca!” I yelled, rushing after Alba before she killed Lombardi in her craze. “Stop her!”

Alba sank a glistening pair of new fangs into the human’s neck, pinning him to the ground like a rag doll. The man screamed, then froze with shock as she fed from him, unable to match the brutal thirst of a new vampire.

“Alba!” I shouted, striving to detach her from the man and bring her back to her senses, “Alba, stop, please! You will kill him!”

I tore her off him, and she turned to face me with her eyes glowing. Sharp, virgin claws emerged from her delicate fingers, tearing at my skin like a tiger and leaving deep, bleeding marks all over my chest. She scratched and bit as I tried to restrain her clumsy but reckless attacks; all the while, she kept growling like a wild beast, ready to kill me if she had to. My wounds closed as soon as she withdrew her claws, and a disconcerted look formed in her now emerald-glowing eyes. In her madness, she didn’t understand why I was healing, nor did she seem to remember what I was, if she remembered me at all. It was typical for newborn vampires to wake up thirsty, but aggression toward their own maker was extremely rare and invariably punished with a swift execution―which was out of the question in our case.

She paused her attack, studying me with half-closed eyes, surely devising a new strategy to pounce on me from a different angle.

A group of teenagers passed by, drinking cheap wine and singing obscene songs, burning the last hours of a long night and jesting about chasing witches, ghosts, and the other imaginary creatures which loomed over the abbey. They seemed young; yesterday’s children. Alba’s nostrils flared, and I prayed to all gods I didn’t believe in for her to stay put where she was and not lunge at the children, as it was bound to be a massacre.

She would never forgive me for that, if she ever came back to her senses.

“Do not move,” I said softly, but baring my fangs. She noticed them and snarled like a cornered beast.

Grief clasped my core as I stood in front of her, watching the creature she had become... all because of me.

Who was this devil holding my gaze?

What had she done to the woman I loved?

And most important of all, were there any traces of kindness in that vicious shell of a human?

Turning witches was forbidden. Turning witches was hazardous. Turning witches wasn’t supposed to be done because it often brought doom upon them and those close to them. It often unleashed madness and reckless magic, destroying everyone within reach until the witch, and her loved ones, were consumed by a mixture of rage, thirst and unbridled powers.

But I wasn’t going to stand and watch her self-destruct. Not as long as I had two hands to stop her.

Ignoring her aggressive stance, I opened my arms and took a step forward. When she saw me approaching, she crouched, ready for a new assault.

I held her gaze, admiring the new hue of her eyes: dark, enigmatic and green, and as deep as the oldest ferns of the Amazon rainforest, with golden speckles where before they had been sprinkled with brown. She had been beautiful and lovely before; now she was terrifying too.

A flicker of vulnerability crossed her face—perhaps her sanity flashing back—and she faltered. Losing no time, I gripped her tight. It felt so out of place, using force on her. I had to remind myself that this was not her. Not anymore. Or at least, not yet.

She resisted and squirmed in my arms, but I used all my strength to hold her, until she gave up and remained still; a predator devising a new escape strategy.

Slowly, I loosened my grip, turning my clasp into a hesitant embrace.

“You are safe,” I whispered into her hair. “You are safe with me. I will take care of you.”

She lay her head on my shoulder, and a sigh of relief escaped my lungs.

She was coming back... she was...

A horrible agony shook my whole body as she sank her fangs into my neck with a rage I wouldn’t have employed even on my worst enemy. It hurt like hell, even for a vampire, but I allowed her to drink while Lombardi ran to safety on his motorcycle, taking the Italian witch with him.

As Alba fed, she started to calm down. She drank for several minutes, and bit by bit, her kicking and scratching diminished, her thirst slowly quenched. We would need to find her a human, but it was nearly morning, and she was too dangerous to feed in the open and unsupervised.

“Alba, my lovely, look at me,” I said, trying to steer her face toward me. I was getting weaker with all the blood loss, and I would need to stop her. “Who am I?”

Her eyes flickered to my face, her fangs tearing my flesh, and she squinted at me in silence. I flinched with pain but kept my voice calm.

“You are going to be fine,” I assured her, even though I didn’t believe my own words.

She licked her lips of the last drop of blood, then closed her eyes and started to weep in silence, collapsing against me and relinquishing all resistance.

“Shh,” I comforted her, caressing her hair. “It’s fine. I understand how you feel. Just come here. Come. Come home.”

She threaded her fingers behind my neck and rested her cheek against my shoulder. I relished the softness of her skin against mine, and the sound of her choppy sobs as the rational part of her brain finally started to wake up. I planted a feathery kiss on her forehead and leaned back. Her eyes glimmered, but this time with curiosity, devoid of all previous threats. She tilted her head, and her lips parted, barely an inch from mine. My whole body responded to her invitation, and she smiled.

Alba pulled me against her with the force of a tidal wave pushing me into the ocean, fierce and unstoppable, compelling me to drown in the most passionate kiss we had ever shared.

Snowflakes faded and melted, then turned gold, and red, and blue, flashing like rainbows as we kissed inside an anonymous sinner’s grave. She opened her eyes again and freed me from her grasp to admire the shifting colors around us. Meanwhile, I let my hands drop to her waist, pushing her against me and running the tip of my tongue down her chin, exploring all the way down to her cleavage. Her skin was firmer and colder but still as delicious as it used to be. Her hands delved beneath my torn shirt, and she moaned softly, whispering my name into my ear.

She remembered it.

Francesca cleared her throat, dragging us back to the present moment, and we parted abruptly with a frustrated gasp, our bodies already mourning the unwelcome separation.

“You two could benefit from the privacy of a hotel room,” Francesca reproached, “if only you hadn’t ravaged the one we had.”

Alba smiled at her with discomfort, her true self bubbling back to the surface. “I’m sorry,” she muttered, shaking her head and holding it with both hands. Her voice sounded like her, just like her kiss had felt like her. She turned to me, with her arms extended in front of her, and examined them with puzzlement. “Clarence...” she said. “Why do I feel so strange?”

Epilogue

Alba

Cape Finisterre

Finisterre or The End of the Earth, was a long granite finger at the end of the Bay of Biscay, dipping into the vast Atlantic Ocean and covered in a tapestry of green, mossy grass and grey stone. Once upon a time, this place was believed to be the very last place on Earth. If you dared to keep walking, or decided to swim for a while too long, you might fall into the void and be lost into nothingness forever.

Today, the world was known to be round, which meant that far, far away, there must be my old home in Emberbury, and The Cloister, and all the memories that kept coming back in painful ripples since waking up at the Sinners’ Cemetery a couple of nights earlier.

I stood under the moonlight at the very edge of this rocky cape on Costa de la Muerte, an ominous toponymic―though well-fitting― which translated to The Coast of Death. No better place for someone like me, after dying and rising from the dead, as I held my undead lover’s hand under the expectant gaze of two ghosts: one headless, one not so much.

Clarence and I had followed the clues Carlo had coaxed from the hotel burglar all the way to a lighthouse, where Natasha was supposed to meet one of her business partners. But we had been late. We hadn’t been able to locate Julia or Ludovic either. The hunters had been gone before we had arrived, perhaps alerted by one of Natasha’s contacts in Alcazar. Francesca was on her way to The Cloister, although we still hadn’t decided what she would tell Elizabeth about me. She would probably meet Alice and Carlo back in Emberbury.

Now it was just Clarence and me, and the ocean extending before us, full of possibilities, doubts... and choices.

To the right, the chance of finding my daughters, still lost despite their father’s reported efforts to find them. Clashing with this need was the horrible fear of harming them when we met again, unable to control myself around humans as I was. Panic took hold of me when I remembered how I had almost slaughtered a group of teenagers two nights earlier. Who knew what I might do to my own offspring if the bloodlust clouded my mind, as it seemed to do at nightfall?

And then, to the left, Emberbury, and the promise of freedom and justice for someone who had helped me when I needed it most: Julia, the previous witch of The Cloister, captured by hunters together with her husband, Ludovic. According to the burglar, both were still alive but suffering under Natasha’s imprisonment.

Clarence’s hand squeezed my shoulder, and he leaned against my side to comfort me. He probably knew what I was thinking, and I was grateful for his rare silence. I turned toward him to find him staring at me with a sweet expression of longing.

“What is it?” I asked, watching my arms like they were someone else’s. I wasn’t yet used to the transparency and pallor of my skin, which made the blue veins under it clearly visible.

“Nothing,” he said. “You are so beautiful.”

I exhaled, seeking my reflection in the puddles left by a late-night rain, but it wasn’t there anymore.

“I wish I could see what I look like,” I whined.

“I know.” He nodded. “But you can trust me. You are as beautiful as ever. Even more than before, if that’s even possible.”

I thanked him with a playful nudge, and he staggered back, taken by surprise. I still forgot I was stronger than I used to be. “Okay. I think I’ve made up my mind.”

“So? Where are we going first?”

“I can’t help anyone else until my children are safe. I’m not sure I can trust myself around them right now, but I trust you to be at my side if I lose control.”

“Good choice,” he said. “Even though London is the last place on Earth I would like to visit, I applaud your decision.”

“You don’t want to go to London? Why? I thought you liked it.”

“Yes, I do indeed. But there is someone there I would rather not meet.”

“Really? And who’s that?”

He shuffled his feet, pensive. “His name is...” he hesitated, his eyes scanning my face, “Vlad. Some distant relative of mine. He would like to see me dead, and vice-versa. The usual family squabbles.”

“Oh, I see. But London is a big city.”

Clarence let out a broody rumble, which could have meant just about anything, though mostly nothing good.

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing. Look at this,” he said, waving his arm in the air as a faint smile crept back. Performing one of his favorite tricks, he produced a ring out of his sleeve with an exaggerated flourish, and he presented it to me on the palm of his hand. “For you.”

“Isn’t that Francesca’s ring?”

“I’d like you to have it now. She approves.”

I blinked, my hand hovering over his but unsure of what I was supposed to do with his offering. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

He laughed, shaking his head. “No, of course not. We already discussed that when we first met, remember?”

I sighed with relief. Yes, I remembered that. Vampires live too long for that kind of commitment. “Good,” I said, “because I already did that once, and I don’t think I ever want to do it again.”

“Not even with me?” His eyes glinted, maroon with red sparkles of hope and mischief.

I smiled. “Sorry, but...” I muttered, although my heart whispered, Maybe one day.

He hugged me and bent down to slip the ring on my finger, brushing his lips over the back of my hand before standing up again. “I don’t blame you.” He bumped his nose against mine and stepped back to watch me. “But no, no need to fuss. This is just an enchanted trinket, meant to bring you luck and hopefully keep you safe. If you get lost on the way, hold it and think of me so we can find each other again.”

I took off my shoes and relished the coolness of the grass on the soles of my feet. I could feel each tiny blade. I could even tell whether they were pointing left or right or straight upwards and whether they were fresh or dry. Not only were all those new sensations fascinating, they were a great way to avoid thinking about the hundreds of things I was terrified of dealing with.

“So?” he said, cocking an eyebrow and nodding toward the ocean. “Shall we?”

“I guess I need to shift if we are to cross the sea, don’t I? Will you teach me how?”

All the way here, I had been trying to shift but never succeeded. Because of that, we had run for two days to reach Finisterre, but running wouldn’t do in order to reach London.

“It’s easy,” he explained. “Just jump, and it will happen. Your body will know what to do, once it has no other option.”

God, he was handsome. Now that my senses could catch so many more details, I marveled at all the little things I had missed before, and it was hard to concentrate on anything. I could have sat and stared at a drop of water for hours, gaping at the rainbows and shapes inside it. Perhaps one day, I would just stay in bed and stare at Clarence for a whole week, listening to the nuances of his voice and investigating his body and its wonders up to the very last inch.

A large wave splashed and sprayed my face, waking me up from my sensual reverie.

“Let’s go,” Clarence said, glancing at the sky. The sun was about to rise. I threw him a helpless look, too embarrassed to reiterate my worries for the hundredth time. “You can do this. I believe in you.” He framed my face with his hands and kissed me, making all my doubts and fears evaporate. “See you in London.”

Clarence jumped off the cliff and disappeared into a grey mist, fusing with the stormy clouds for a few seconds until his raven form materialized and soared over Finisterre, gliding over my head and waiting for me to take a leap after him.

Standing on the edge of the cliff, I opened my arms, delighting in the soft caress of the fabric on my skin as my dress billowed in the wind. With my eyes closed, I imagined how flying would feel.

Being weightless...

Opening my wings and shooting into a starry sky...

Clarence’s words from many months ago echoed in my mind: Taking off is always scary, but once you are airborne, all troubles become so much smaller.

The rock I was standing on crumbled under my toes and gravel tumbled down to disappear into the hungry black waves.

My turn.

I swallowed, closed my eyes and took a leap into the night sky, jumping as far and high as I could. It felt like flying.

Clarence had said my body would know what to do, but as I plunged toward the raging ocean, doubt started to creep in. I flailed my arms and legs, time slowing down, and as I was about to crash to the surface of the water, my hands turned dark and small. Still, I sank into the ocean, unable to fly. I tried to call to Clarence, but the waves muffled my screams. Finally, I managed to start swimming using my new, foreign body, and I wondered what might have gone wrong as I reached for the surface.

Clarence descended in soft spirals, spreading his wings over me as I paddled furiously in the water, trying to figure out how to use my new, alien shape. Trust, his eyes said, trust like the caterpillar trusts in its rebirth. Trust when you have no other choice, and the tide is dragging you to the high seas.

“Clarence... what happened?” I wanted to speak. I wanted him to help me, or at least to tell me what had gone wrong, but all that came out of my throat was a deep, hoarse growl. Yet looking at Clarence, I saw no concern—only fondness and... admiration?

The first ray of morning sun peeked among the clouds, finally revealing the answer to my question.

I hadn’t turned into a raven; I had no feathers at all. Instead, ebony fur covered my arms; arms that ended in soft, delicate pads, which hid deadly black panther claws behind them.

Astounded and delighted, I swam, releasing my fears and expectations into the salty water. I swam into the unknown, trusting like the caterpillar, ready to open my butterfly wings and fly into a new, exciting adventure.

––––––––

End of Book 3

BOOK 4: Witches’ Elements

There are darknesses in life,
and there are lights;
and you are one of the lights.

Bram Stoker, Dracula

Chapter 1

Alba

Darkness is not so dark when you are what lurks in the shadows.

Darkness, in fact, was supposed to be our happy place as vampires; unless you were me and couldn’t shed all sorts of human habits, such as turning on the lights at night or brushing your fangs with toothpaste. And even though Clarence had been very supportive and kept telling me all those quirks were extremely amusing and endearing, they upset me because they were proof that I was still stuck in my old, mortal mindset, and I had made no visible progress since my turning.

Staying in central London, with its crowded streets and many temptations, wasn’t helping the learning curve either. I struggled to juggle my constant thirst and the imperative need to be cautious; killing someone by accident would have been dreadful, but not worse than having them run away with forbidden memories of my actions.

Standing under the shower, I rubbed off the blood spatters scattered all over my body; messy testimonies of yet another hunting trip gone wrong. Being a civilized vampire was harder than it appeared, and I was feeling discouraged that evening―if my witchcraft skills had been average, the vampire ones were clearly substandard―and sometimes, borderline atrocious.

“What are you up to, Isolde?” Clarence asked, peering into the bathroom and checking the time on his pocket watch. “I thought you wanted me to show you around London tonight.” He had changed into a vintage burgundy robe and matching slippers, and finished the look with a rolled black-and-white newspaper.

“Where did you get that robe?” I shouted from the bathtub. “Did you just time travel from 1880?”

“1798, my darling,” he replied with an enigmatic grin.

To be fair, his outfit was a perfect match for the classy accommodations we had been staying in since our arrival from France. Elizabeth owned an apartment in one of the most exquisite areas of London, with several bedrooms and a ballroom-sized bathroom. Clarence had acquired a key without her knowledge, thanks to the ever-helpful concierge, who might have been as old as Clarence’s bathrobe but never forgot anyone’s face. He was also the one who kept supplying Clarence with daily newspapers, so he could maintain his new hobby of walking around with one in tow, pretending to read it.

“I hate not seeing myself in the mirror,” I whined, reaching for a towel; I had left it too far, and I verified with disappointment that vampirism hadn’t provided me with longer arms or made me any taller.

Clarence nodded with understanding. “Let me help you with that,” he said, bringing me the whitest, softest towel that ever came into contact with my skin. “You are so tense...” he said, rubbing my shoulders. “Would you prefer to stay at home tonight?”

“No,” I replied as the stiffness dissolved under his skilled, strong fingers. “I think the fresh air would do me good. I’m just worried about the girls.”

He nodded. We had been there for days, yet we hadn’t made any progress. Not only that, Mark and Minnie’s phones were offline, and they hadn’t returned any of my calls. Even though I tried to remain calm, it wasn’t possible at all times.

Clarence took my hands, sitting me by his side on the rim of the bathtub. “I know it worries you. I am very concerned about them too.” Unrolling the newspaper, he pointed at the crime columns. “I check the papers every day, trying to find any clues.”

“You know,” I continued, “I feel like all this was my fault.”

Clarence raised his eyebrows. “I can’t see how anyone could blame you for the girls’ disappearance. You weren’t even there.”

“Exactly, that’s the problem. I shouldn’t have left them with Minnie, who knows nothing about children. It was irresponsible, and all this could have been prevented.”

“No,” he interrupted me. “It was not your fault.”

I wrapped myself tighter in the towel, suddenly exhausted.

“We will find them,” he reassured me. “If everything else fails, I will ask Elizabeth. She has contacts everywhere.”

“Yes, but Elizabeth...” I paused, seeking his eyes. He glanced away, looking uncomfortable. “We can’t have her find out about...”

Nobody in The Cloister was allowed to turn humans without the entire clan’s consent, on pain of death. Not even Clarence, the apple of Elizabeth’s eye.

“Have you heard from her?” I asked, letting the towel slip to the floor.

He shook his head, his predatory eyes following my every move. “No, but Francesca must have reached Emberbury by now. I don’t know what she told her.”

“Francesca would never say a thing, particularly not after what happened to Julia and Ludovic.” I turned around so he could help me with the clasp of my bra. “Maybe we should do what they did, to keep you safe. Run away... never go back.”

Clarence’s shoulders sank. “I owe my life and loyalty to Elizabeth.”

It was devastating to witness the struggle I had brought upon him. After an ill-fated human existence, The Cloister was the closest thing to a family Clarence ever had. And even though my heart wanted to scream that I would be his home and his family from now on, my head knew that my love alone could never be enough. Perhaps for a while, but resentment would build up with time... and we might have plenty of it. As much as I loved him, I could never replace his companions, confidants and allies of centuries.

His lips curved in a joyless smile. “But I owe you my life, too,” he said quietly.

I hugged him tight, relishing the cold of his cheek against my bare skin.

“You don’t owe me anything,” I whispered. “But we’ll figure it out. There has to be a way.”

***

WE GOT DRESSED AND left the apartment, and my stomach rumbled with feral hunger as soon as I passed by the concierge. I held my stomach with one hand, just to have an inhuman growl escape my lips. I must have sounded like a walking zoo, all on my own. Covering the growls and rumbles with a nervous cough, I glanced at Clarence, hoping he wasn’t too disgusted by my severe lack of control.

“You look so deliciously harmless, my sweet little panther,” Clarence commented, stepping between me and the unknowing man behind the counter.

“I wish I could say the same about you,” I replied, glancing at his top hat, gloves, and cane, which made him look a bit like a lunatic. “Couldn’t you have left the accessories at home, at least? It’s enough that I can barely control myself; we don’t need any more attention on us.”

He laughed. “But this is such a lovely, discreet cane! Nobody will even look at me. You, on the other hand....” He made me twirl in my short dress under a lantern. “You are a remarkable sight!”

With all the twirling, I nearly slipped on the wet flagstones, but he caught me with his free arm, seizing the opportunity to steal a fleeting kiss.

“Yes,” I grumbled. “Super remarkable.”

The clumsiest vampire on earth.

I held my breath to avoid growling at the passing humans, taking care not to slip again. After many days of ceaseless drizzle, the streets of London smelled of ancient, damp cobblestones. Nevertheless, beyond the delightful petrichor, human scents pervaded every corner of the city. Those smells made my life harder, but when my thirst was quenched and I could think clearly, they would tell me stories of their jobs and families as well as their illnesses and vices. The stench of drugs was apparent on the addict, just like the milk on the breastfeeding mother or the cinnamon notes on a baker’s hair. The one I dreaded most was the foul odor of death, which was sometimes detectable on those about to embark on their last journey. People had turned into open books, if only you knew how to read them.

We ambled aimlessly, and I listened to Clarence with fascination while he pointed at some of the buildings and places. I tried to recall some of them from the brief time I had lived in London with my parents, but most of those memories had been washed away by time.

A small crowd had gathered at a wide square I hadn’t seen before. In the middle of his small audience, a handsome busker was singing and playing a Spanish guitar. Surrounded by so many warmblooded mortals, the stomach rumblings became unbearable. I sought Clarence’s eyes, and he nodded: his tacit permission to pick my dinner among the watchers. Relief.

The singer was surprisingly talented, and his song spoke of two lovers separated by fate.

“I like him,” I whispered, and Clarence shrugged, looking unimpressed.

“I think those two over there would be easier to catch,” he said, pointing at a young couple in party attire.

“I meant as an artist.”

“Oh, yes, yes, he is not that bad... anyway, shall we go greet our dinner?”

The couple had already noticed our hushed exchange, and the woman, a pale, freckled redhead, threw us an inviting glance. Clarence replied with his warmest smile: I had yet to meet a woman able to ignore him when he did that.

They approached us, holding hands, and the woman patted Clarence on the chest with outrageous familiarity. I took a deep breath and looked away, using all my willpower to keep my claws in and away from her neck.

“Hi, handsome,” she said, then turned to me. “And you look gorgeous too, hun. Do you like Mike’s music?”

“It’s the first time we...” I started to say, but Clarence interrupted me.

“Yes, it’s absolutely mesmerizing,” he lied, immersed in his charmer role. “So many unappreciated artists on the streets of London.”

“Are you in the show business too?” the woman asked, checking out Clarence’s attire with curiosity.

He smiled cryptically. “In a way.”

“We play in a band,” the man interrupted, pulling his partner closer to him. “Why don’t you come see us, we’re playing tonight in a club around the corner.”

I stepped aside, repulsed by their unbearable smell of alcohol. As I did, something moved behind me, following me, and I caught a man in the crowd staring at me. His face was covered in so many scars, he barely looked human. He was wearing a turtleneck sweater and leather gloves, as if trying to cover as much skin as possible.

Clarence agreed we would pop up at the concert a bit later, and the couple left. I was about to tell him about the scarred man, but when I looked again, he wasn’t there anymore.

Our next stop was a street painter, who had set up a makeshift studio on the sidewalk and was drawing cartoons of people.

“How cute!” I said, pointing at the fun, big nosed caricatures.

Clarence frowned. “Cute?”

He clearly wasn’t a fan of street art of any kind.

“Wait!” I held him by the sleeve, a sudden thought crossing my mind. “I haven’t seen myself in a mirror for so long...”

His eyes widened with horror.

“Please, Clarence? Why don’t we sit for a portrait? I’d love to know how others see me!”

Clarence sighed and followed me, dragging his feet. “Fine. But please, don’t try to eat him.”

We waited for our turn, and Clarence greeted the painter with a grumble. “If you could please try to keep our nose and ears proportionate, I would appreciate it,” he said, resting his hands on the golden top of his cane.

The painter laughed his comment off and got down to business. It didn’t take him long to present us with his work of art, which only confirmed Clarence’s reservations―either I had turned into a hideous vampire, or the guy really needed some extra drawing lessons.

“Next time, I will paint you,” Clarence said with a head shake, leading me toward a less crowded side street. “This portrait is a disrespect to your immortal beauty.”

I grinned, rolling up the drawing and looking for a trash can. “Sorry,” I said, “you were right.”

“I am always right.” He smirked, kissing me softly with an I told you so look. “At least when it comes to beautiful things.”

His hand found its way discreetly under my jacket, making me squirm, and I was about to kiss him back when the buzzing of the cell phone in my bag interrupted us. I pushed him aside and pounced on the phone, while poor Clarence stared at me in confusion. After some struggles, I managed to hit the green button right before the caller hung up.

“Hello?” said the voice at the other end.

“Minnie!” I gasped, pressing the phone against my ear. “I’ve been trying to reach you for days!”

Chapter 2

Alba

“Minnie, where are you?” I shrieked, leaning against the wall of the townhouse behind me. “Why didn’t you return my calls?”

“We are in London, I told you,” she replied, sounding too calm for the situation. “Sorry, I lost my phone and had to get a new one.”

“And that took you ten days?” I shouted.

“I had other things to do, apart from shopping around for phones and chatting to you,” she snapped.

“Whatever,” I muttered, holding off my anger; it was pointless to upset her before finding out what she knew about Katie and Iris. “I’m in London too. Where are the girls? Please, tell me you found them.”

“Not yet.”

“Not yet? So what’s going on, then?”

“Look, they’re still missing. That’s all I know.”

“What have you been doing all this time? Did you talk to the police?”

“Yes, you don’t need to call them. They’re investigating the case already.” She huffed, tired of my questions. “I understand your concerns, Alba, but this is not my fault, nor Mark’s. Those kids ran away in a crowded airport. Bad upbringing, what can you do...”

I squeezed the phone in my hand, wishing it was Minnie’s neck, and I crushed the screen with a crackling sound.

Minnie’s voice faded off, and I growled, glaring at the dead phone. “God, I hate her!”

Clarence hugged me, taking the broken device off my hands. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll get you another one. Just give me a second.”

He vanished and, as promised, returned with a shiny new cell phone in less than five minutes.

“Where did you get it?” I asked. It looked expensive. “I thought all stores were closed at this hour?”

“Let’s say I... borrowed it.” He gave me an innocent smile, and I decided not to ask any more questions. At least he had been faster than Minnie in replacing it.

I got my SIM card out of the broken device and dialed Minnie’s new number, hoping she would pick up.

“That was rude,” Minnie complained. “Why did you hang up like that?”

“My phone restarted,” I grunted. “Look, we need to meet in person; we need to discuss what happened that night.”

“Okay...” Minnie hesitated. “What about lunch... tomorrow?”

“No, I can’t do lunch.” I sighed. Daylight. Food... Death. “Do you have time in the evening?”

“I thought you were here just because of your daughters, I didn’t know you had other things to do,” Minnie grunted. “But fine, dinner then. What time?”

“Let’s just meet for drinks, I don’t eat so late,” I said, wondering how I was going to sit around the same table as Mark and Minnie without murdering either of them. “Eight o’clock.”

The conversation with Minnie left me feeling uneasy, and I kept thinking about it as we walked back to the main square to meet our new friends at the jazz bar. After telling the waitress we were friends of Jen and Mike’s, we got one of the best tables at the front, far enough from other people for me to survive my hunger without incidents. I found out that holding my breath helped, so I did it for the rest of the evening while pretending to sip a disgusting Bloody Mary. When the performance was over, the redhead singer winked, gesturing for us to wait by the exit.

“We’ll be with you right away!” she said, disappearing backstage.

“At last, your midnight snack!” Clarence said, then added with a naughty smile. “Unless you don’t want to eat so late, of course.”

***

BY THE TIME THE TWO singers met us, they were completely drunk. I hated how alcohol ruined the taste of blood, but it would at least make our job much easier.

Jen and Mike suggested a pub which closed later, and we agreed. We strolled along a busy main street, and I started to worry we would get there without managing to eat first. By then, my head was spinning with hunger, and all I could hear was Mike’s heart while he walked by my side, pounding in my ears like a siren call. I could vaguely hear Clarence a few steps ahead, charming Jen and singing praises about her performance.

I muttered a silent thanks when a park materialized by our side and Clarence suggested we took a shortcut. Mike and Jen were so tipsy, they didn’t even ask how he knew the way.

Clarence pointed at a small pond a few yards away and asked Jen to go have a look with him, leaving me alone with Mike by a large, leafless tree. A flashing flicker of red in Clarence’s eyes told me it was safe to feed, and the thirsty vampire inside me didn’t lose any time―with a clean push, I cornered Mike against the large tree trunk, making him laugh with surprise.

“Whoa, whoa, easy,” he said, wrapping me in a large, hairy arm and trying to kiss me.

I dodged his kiss and, with an apologetic grin, went for the blue, pulsating vein on the left side of his neck.

I failed to use the tips of my fangs properly, and the poor man screamed with pain, blood trickling down his chest as he tried to get me off him.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” I apologized, feeling terrible for him while I tried to hush him and hold him at the same time. I couldn’t decide whether to finish what I had started or try to make him forget everything as quickly as possible. “I’m new at this!”

Steps approached, and I moved aside, thinking it was Clarence. Instead of him, a stranger jumped from behind me and delivered a blow straight to my temple, sending me flying against another tree. Stunned, I clambered up the tree bark with my claws, trying to shift into panther form. It didn’t work, and the newcomer hurled me to the ground, drawing a dagger out of nowhere and placing it over my heart. It was the man with the scarred face I had seen earlier among the crowd; and he was no ordinary mortal but one of us, judging by the shiny set of fangs behind his distorted lips.

“This is my territory,” he growled, kicking me again. I curled into a ball, my mind too blurred by the blows and the hunger to hit him back or think of a spell.

In the meantime, the human had passed out, either of shock or blood loss, or a bit of both. Screaming coming from the pond told me that Jen, the other singer, had finally noticed the altercation and was about to alert half the city.

As if hit by lightning, the vampire opened his arms, a dark stain spreading over his dirty jacket, and the uneven end of a torn tree branch appeared in the center of his chest. Clarence had stabbed him with a makeshift stake and was standing behind him, still holding the other end. The vampire’s cheekbones sank, and he started to age on fast-forward, turning into an ancient corpse in front of my eyes.

“Clarence!” I shouted, terrified. “What’s going on?”

“Stop the girl before she runs away!”

I sprung after her, ignoring my pounding head. When she saw me running after her at an impossible speed, she turned around in panic and tripped, knocking herself unconscious. I picked her up in my arms and carried her to the place where Clarence was healing the wounds on the human’s neck. By then, the dead vampire by his side had turned into a ghastly, dry skeleton, and I averted my eyes, revolted.

“I’m sorry,” I sobbed. “I’m a disaster. Look at what I did.”

“This was not your fault, Alba,” Clarence said, searching the man’s pockets and drawing out a set of keys. “You couldn’t know that an outcast vampire was following us.”

“I should have!” I shrieked. “I saw him earlier. I was just so thirsty, I forgot to pay attention to our surroundings. Also, I hurt that poor man so much.”

Clarence opened the woman’s bag and pulled an envelope out of it. It was a letter, addressed to Ms. Jennifer Thompson. “I hope it’s the right address,” he said, hauling the man over his shoulder. “Let’s go.”

Only a pile of ashes remained on the grass where the other vampire had been. We walked away, seeking the shadows, until we reached the couple’s apartment, which turned out to be a musty hole hidden in a basement.

“Do you want to do the oblivion?” Clarence asked as we tucked them both into their grimy bed.

“I’m not in the right headspace to try that now,” I replied. “It’s been too much for one night.”

Clarence pursed his lips but didn’t say anything. He just took the woman’s hands in his, closed his eyes and let his energy erase the woman’s newest memories.

“You need to practice, my dear,” he said, covering the woman with another blanket. “It’s the only way to learn.”

“What if I do it wrong?” I said, desperate to get out of that place. “What if it doesn’t work and they remember everything the next day?”

“It will be fine, trust me,” he reassured me.

“Will it? Then why didn’t I manage to shift when the other vampire attacked me?”

He headed to the door, pensive. “I don’t know. When that happens, it’s usually due to weakness, injuries or starvation. But you had none of those afflictions, at least nothing severe.” He closed the door behind us and took my hand, helping me up the stairs. “You just need more confidence.”

Was it lack of confidence... or was it incompetence? I followed Clarence down the street, a familiar feeling bubbling up to the surface from the darkest corners of my soul. This sensation was an old friend; one I had experienced often during the years spent with Mark. I had kept it buried for a while, but just like its host, it was very much undead.

“I don’t know how I’m ever going to survive on my own,” I moaned, crossing the street after him.

“You will,” Clarence said softly. “But you can always count on me, as long as you need me.”

“That vampire could have killed me.”

“He could have,” Clarence agreed in a somber tone. “You need to learn to shift faster.”

“I wonder what happened to his face.”

“Sunlight damage,” he replied.

“Sunlight? But then... how could he still be alive?”

“It used to be a common practice. A form of punishment,” he explained. “They would leave traitors in the sun, unconscious or wounded so they wouldn’t shift, just for a short span of time. Sufficient for their skin to burn, but not enough to kill them. Such damage would never heal again, and it marked those who were disloyal to their clan.”

I shuddered. “Sounds horrible. Worse than death, almost.”

Clarence shrugged. We had reached our apartment, and he greeted the concierge―he could have been a vampire too, judging by the very little sleep he needed.

“That vampire was an outcast,” Clarence said, unlocking the door and opening it for me. “Honor and loyalty are of utmost importance in our world... you will get used to it.”

“So many things to get used to.”

I got rid of the muddy shoes and jacket and collapsed on Elizabeth’s sofa. Clarence loosened his cravat and snuggled up by my side, wrapping an arm around my back.

“I’m still hungry,” I murmured, leaning my head against his shoulder.

“What do you mean?” he asked, shocked. “You did not feed in the end?”

I shook my head, embarrassed.

“Whyever not?”

“Because that other vampire showed up, and...”

“Yes, but... after that?”

I glanced down and sighed. “I hurt that man so much when I bit him, Clarence. You should have heard him scream. It was terrifying.”

“Hmm,” he hummed, pensive. “If that was the case, it would be wise to remedy such a troublesome fault... promptly,” he murmured, then straightened his back with sudden determination. “I will teach you,” he said, turning to face me with an enigmatic expression.

“Okay, master.” I replied, amused by his sudden solemnity.

“I am, in fact, your master,” he grumbled, a naughty grin on his lips. “As your sire.”

“Are you, now?” I said weakly, staring at him and sensing the magnetic field between us.

Clarence squinted, maroon eyes observing me like prey. “Mm-hmm.”

His scent infused the air, earthy and intoxicating like blossoming magnolias in the summer.

“You first need to find the perfect spot.”

He traced the line of my jaw with his fingertips; one hand opened my blouse, and the other ambled down my neck, finding its way to my heart and cupping my breast with reverence. My heart beat just once under his touch―a rare occurrence these days.

I swallowed, fighting the feral urge to sink my teeth into his neck as I surrendered to his confident grip.

“It is vital to get your victim into a comfortable yet accessible position,” he continued in a deep, raspy voice as he lay me on a pile of pillows with utmost gentleness, never losing eye contact. He leaned over me, his arms confining me into the most delicious, fragrant prison.

“Make sure they have no way to escape,” he whispered into my ear, and his breath on my skin made me shiver. His pelvis pressed against mine, sinking me into the soft embrace of the pillows, deliriously helpless under his weight. “And above all,” he said, biting his lower lip with his fangs, “always start with a kiss.”

My lips parted, expectant. He breathed hoarsely, his mouth strolling casually around mine. I sank my claws on his back, unable to wait any longer, and he smiled with eloquent, half-closed eyes. He knew the wait was sheer torture. He knew exactly what he was doing, and he was clearly enjoying it. Every part of me wanted him, and wanted him now.

His fangs pierced my skin, delicate and forceful, sending me into a hurricane of pain and pleasure. My whole self melted into a spiral of vertigo as my blood flowed and I surrendered to the need to give, to be his in this drunken, selfless state of ecstasy.

My whole body jerked with desire, and he paused, licking the spots on my neck. He raised his head, observing me with concern.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked, holding my face with both hands. “You look paler.”

I squinted at him, drowsy. “No.”

“Are you sure?”

I nodded, propping up against the pillows as the world stopped spinning. “My turn.”

Taking him by surprise, I pounced on him with all my strength. I threw him on his back, letting loose the suppressed animal instinct which had been boiling inside me since my turning. I ran my claws along his sides and bit his neck with all my contained passion, making him groan with pleasure and twist under my body. His taste was the sweetest, even sweeter when he was groaning, helpless, under my grasp.

He moaned my name, and I silenced him with a hard kiss, returning him all the anguish he had caused me. We ripped off the pillows and the rest of our clothes―by then, nothing mattered but us and our pleasure, easing into each other as the first rays of sunlight filtered in through the gaps in the blinds.

When morning creeped into the room, the veiled sunlight was met with the remains of our passionate clash as we lay spent on the couch, our lips tinted scarlet red with each other’s blood.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” I mumbled, kissing his forehead.

He smiled, kissing his way all the way to my c-section scar and pausing to draw its outline with the tip of his tongue.

“I wish that scar would have gone away when you turned me.” I sighed.

He peered from under his unruly, salt-and-pepper waves, his eyes wide and kind. “It might be my favorite part of you,” he mumbled against my skin. “Every scar tells a story, and yours is shaped like a smile... the mark of a survivor.” He sat up, holding my hand. “I’m so glad it remained, for now I will be able to worship it forever.”

Chapter 3

Alba

I spent most of the day haunting the halls of Elizabeth’s apartment like a tormented soul, worrying about the upcoming meeting with Minnie and furious at the bright tendrils of light filtering through the blinds. Oddly enough, those stray light slivers didn’t hurt my eyes as badly as expected, which I attributed to my witch blood. The slightest amount of sunlight would cause Clarence to wince and recoil in pain, while I would just glance away and go on with my daily affairs. Anyhow, I wasn’t going to stick my head out the window anytime soon just to figure out how many minutes it would take for my cornea to melt into eye soup. I had more exciting experiments to try, such as shaving the hair off the back of my calves without a mirror, for example.

By dusk, I was already buzzing with contained frustration. I texted Minnie, suggesting to meet her and Mark at the same bar from the previous night, and it was a real struggle not to run like a gazelle on our way there. Clarence insisted on coming with me, which added to my worries―I feared Mark’s snide remarks at me would make Clarence lose his temper, and I needed my ex-husband alive until we found the children―he was my only link to the police when I had lost all my documents and entered the country illegally... swimming across the English Channel. Noticing my distress, Clarence refrained from wearing his top hat and cane that evening: as much as I found them quaint, I was grateful for it as it would minimize the amount of attention we already got everywhere we went.

We found Mark and Minnie sitting at the back of the bar, sipping whiskey on the rocks. When Clarence walked into the bar, Minnie nearly spat out her drink. She opened her mouth, closed it again, and ended up just studying him with absolute astonishment.

“Do you know each other?” I whispered so only Clarence could hear me.

He shook his head. “Never seen her before.”

Their only encounter, as far as I could remember, had taken place at Mark’s parents’ house a very long time ago, when I had driven all the way there to get the girls back from Mark and she had peeked out the window for a couple of seconds; but it was unlikely either of them could remember that short-lived meeting.

“I wasn’t expecting you to bring a boyfriend.” Mark scoffed, ignoring the fact he was sitting right next to the lover he had cheated on me with. “You look weird, by the way.”

Clarence let out a soft warning growl, and I squeezed his arm to calm him down.

“I think she looks nice, actually!” Minnie cheered, studying me with curiosity. “Did you get a facelift? It was about time if you ask me!”

I rolled my eyes, wondering which one of us would try to murder Mark and Minnie first. This was going to be interesting.

“Okay,” I cut her off, leaning toward the table and striving to keep my fangs hidden while I spoke. As I got closer to Minnie, I noticed she smelled funny, and I made a mental note to ask Clarence later. “Please tell me exactly what happened that night at the airport.”

“I already told you.” Minnie huffed as she glanced sideways, the way liars often did. “We were playing hide and seek. Mark was in the bathroom. I was counting, and the girls hid. On the third round, they ran away, and I couldn’t find them anymore. At first, I thought they were just playing pranks, and I didn’t worry. When Mark came out of the bathroom, they were still missing, so we alerted the airport police. Even though they locked all the exits and searched the whole terminal, we never found them. Even the camera footage last showed them sneaking behind the baggage carousel, and after that, they disappeared. Like magic.”

Magic. A furious tingling ran down my fingers when she pronounced the word, and I shook my hands under the table in a vain attempt to make the feeling go away.

“Did the police find out anything after that?” I asked, closing my eyes to block Minnie’s perfect features, framed in perfect blonde waves and the carefree aura of those who never had to worry about a thing in their whole life. Whenever I looked at her, it was like seeing my younger, more cheerful replacement.

“Not really.” She shrugged, tossing her hair back. That scent again. Mark remained quiet, which was unusual for him. “Also, I wanted to tell you that Mark and I can stay here in London for two more weeks or so, but after that, we need to go back home. Clients are waiting, and we have open cases to deal with.”

“Oh, of course.” I paused to take a deep breath, willing my fangs to retract. “Waiting any longer for our abducted children to be found would be... a total waste of time, I guess.”

“Missing,” Minnie corrected me. “They are missing, not abducted. You made that up.”

The tingling was back in full force, the smell of blood was about to make my fangs crawl out, and on top of that, the need to strangle those two was about to surpass my willpower. Clarence clasped my arm with an iron grip, guessing what I was going through.

“Thank you for being so... helpful,” Clarence sneered.

“So... that’s all?” I blurted, my internal battle still in full force. “You don’t know anything else?”

Mark squirmed in his seat, and Clarence tilted his head with interest, red embers glinting in his eyes for a fleeting second.

“Yes?” he said, seeking Mark’s gaze.

Mark stared back, unfazed.

“There’s one thing.” Mark paused, carefully studying Clarence’s features. “While I was in the bathroom, I saw...” His eyebrows raised in an unspoken question directed at Clarence, who shrugged in response. “I saw a man. He must have come in while I was washing... stood behind me all that time, and I didn’t see him until I turned around. He was watching me like a hawk, and I thought he was a bit freakish.”

“Interesting,” Clarence commented.

“Yes, very. Even more because...” Mark paused, pointing his Scotch glass at Clarence, “because I think it was you.”

We all remained silent for a second, glancing at each other.

I snorted.

“Yeah, right,” I said, slapping the table a little harder than I wanted to. Minnie’s drink flew away, catapulted behind my back. “Oops. Sorry.” I stood up to pick up the shards, but Clarence made me sit down again and waved at the waiter. “How could he be in London that night if he was in France with me?” I chuckled.

“Look,” Mark said with indifference, “I don’t know why he’s pretending not to know anything about it. But if it wasn’t him, then he must have a twin brother.”

“I certainly don’t,” Clarence replied. “But what a fascinating coincidence.”

Minnie scowled at Mark. “You never told me that before, Marky!”

“I hadn’t seen him before.” Mark huffed.

He actually had, for a few seconds, but he must have forgotten.

We all remained silent, Minnie’s annoyance buzzing like an electric field between her and Mark: it was clear she was about to flip out as soon as Clarence and I left. But why, I wondered? She didn’t seem too concerned about the children’s disappearance. Why did it bother her so much that Mark hadn’t told her first?

“We need to leave,” she grunted. “I have a headache.”

“Okay, honey,” Mark said. I looked at him, confused, thinking for a second he was addressing me―a while ago, I had been honey too.

“Please keep your phones on,” I said. “Call me if you hear anything about them, okay?”

They stomped out of the bar, Minnie’s exclusive handbag bumping against everything in her path, and left us waiting for the bill. As soon as they disappeared, Clarence grabbed my arm and said, “Did you smell that?”

“Smell what?”

“That woman,” he muttered, glancing toward the chair where Minnie had been sitting. “She smells like a witch.”

Chapter 4

Alba

“A witch?” I repeated, astonished. “There’s no way Minnie could be a witch. Have you looked at her? She’s the most ordinary person I have ever met. And not the brightest either.”

“I know a witch when I meet one,” Clarence said as we stepped into the night, holding hands. “How do you think I found you, my dear? I am certain there’s witch blood running in that woman’s veins, but I doubt she knows it.”

“Another stray witch?” I asked, and he nodded. “Why would Mark find himself another one? I mean, how does he even do it? It took you decades to find one, and he’s just dating one stray witch after another. Makes no sense at all.”

“All those are valid questions, for which I have no answers at the moment.”

“What are the odds this could be a coincidence?” I had no idea where we were. Hopefully he did. “Could there be something about witches that makes them more attractive to him, and vice-versa?”

“I do not believe it could be a coincidence.”

“And then, when Mark said he had seen you at the airport...” I puffed. “What a ridiculous idea, come on. I think he was trying to incriminate you because he hates the idea of me being with someone else.”

We stopped at a traffic light, and Clarence studied the names of the streets, looking as lost as I was.

“Perhaps he saw another vampire. As we observed last night, there are others in London, and he might have picked up on the undead energy, after being surrounded by supernaturals for a while, including your daughters. Or...” He sighed.

“Or... what?”

“Or perhaps he met someone who actually looked like me.”

“Someone, like whom? A grandchild of yours?”

A quiver shook my stomach at the thought of Clarence having grandchildren. Had he had any children as a mortal? He had never mentioned any, but there was much about his past I didn’t know.

“Certainly not my grandchildren.” He chuckled grimly. “But it could have been my father.”

I halted in the middle of the crowded sidewalk. “Your father?” I said, blinking. “Your father died centuries ago. You killed him yourself. Elizabeth told me.”

“I did kill him.” He muttered. “But then I...” He clenched his teeth in a tight grin. “I brought him back.”

“What?” I squeezed my eyes shut, unwilling to comprehend what he was telling me. “Why would you do that? After everything he did to you?”

“Precisely,” he said, ushering me into a questionable-looking street. “I turned him into the thing he hated the most.” A vein throbbed in his temple, and he inhaled slowly before adding, “I turned him into... me.”

“Oh, Clarence...”

I reclined against a façade older than Clarence himself, trying to process what he had just said.

“So, if I understand correctly, your father, who mistreated you all your mortal life and part of the next one too, is still running around; and you thought turning him into an immortal was a great idea?”

“Young and stupid, as they say, my dear.”

“Sorry to say but this definitely wasn’t your brightest idea.” I bit my lip. “Do you think it could have been him at the airport?”

“I don’t know.”

Clarence sniffed the air, looking left and right. He pulled at the sleeve of my jacket. “This way.”

“I have no idea where we are, but I’m 99% sure our apartment is not in this area.”

“That’s right. But I was following Mark and Minnie’s scent. We should find out where they are staying and the places they are visiting. I suspect they didn’t tell us everything they know.”

***

MARK AND MINNIE’S TRACK led us to a narrow street lined with terraced houses, which had been invariably turned into cookie-cutter boutique hotels.

“This one.” Clarence pointed at a window upstairs. “I’ll go check.”

He stepped into one of those picturesque red phone booths, reminding me of a certain superhero who used to change in one of those. After a few seconds, a black raven shot up into the sky. He sat on the windowsill, peering through the thick, drawn curtains. In the meantime, I listened to the medley of snores, steps, water running and whispered conversations in many languages inside the hotel, but I didn’t manage to pick up Mark and Minnie in particular.

Finally, Clarence shook his black, feathery head and perched gracefully on the shoulder.

“They must have gone straight to bed,” I told him, waiting for directions. He pointed toward the left with his beak, and I walked briskly into a dimly lit side street. “You know,” I said, almost talking to myself, “I keep wondering what the chances are of a stray witch, a vampire, and two little witchlings finding themselves at the same hour, at the same terminal of the same airport, all on the very same night my kids disappeared. It can’t be a coincidence... it’s just impossible.”

Clarence squeaked and hopped nervously on my shoulder, his claws poking tiny holes into my jacket.

“What if you turned back to normal?” I suggested. “It’s kind of hard to have a conversation like this.”

As we passed by some tall bushes, he leapt into them and reappeared a little later, swathed in a cloud of gray smoke. He straightened his tie, shaking the dry leaves off his trousers.

“I do agree there must be a reason,” he said, offering me his elbow. “My father hated witches with all his might. He was a religious man.” He pointed at the marble colonnade which flanked the entrance to our luxurious apartment as it appeared in the distance. “But then again, he hated vampires even more...”

The concierge greeted us with a bow and asked if we were going to need anything from him.

“No, but thank you very much, John,” Clarence replied politely.

“You know his name?” I whispered, following him up the stairs.

“Of course I do. It is important to remember servant’s names.”

“He’s not a servant,” I snorted. “He’s an employee.”

“Is that not the same thing?”

I was about to contest his statement when a few scenes from my past jobs, including the time I had worked for Elizabeth, flashed in my mind, and I decided to remain silent instead.

Clarence unlocked the sturdy wooden door, and we stepped inside. We had fed earlier, but my unquenchable thirst led me instinctively to the kitchen. Right after opening the refrigerator, I remembered there was nothing in it for me, but still, I stood in front of the empty appliance out of sheer habit. After a while, Clarence joined me and peered inside too, trying to figure out what I was searching for.

“What are you doing?” he asked with sincere curiosity. “Is this some sort of modern pastime I’m not aware of?”

“Oh, yes,” I replied in a secretive tone. “This is something most mortals do at night. Didn’t you know?”

He frowned. “I have forgotten a lot about being human, but this seems like a completely irrational thing to do. Why would you want to stare into an illuminated ice box?” He blinked. “Fascinating.”

His reply made me laugh, and he grinned, lifting me with one arm and throwing me over his shoulder.

“Hey!” I complained.

“I have a better idea,” he said, making his way toward the bedroom with me in tow. “Let’s do what vampires do at night instead.”

He dropped me on the white satin sheets, and an excited shiver ran through my body.

“Oh? And what is it vampires do at night?” I asked innocently. “Bite people?”

“Among other things,” he said in a husky tone. “You will see...”

Unfortunately, I never got to see anything because my phone started to ring. Hoping for news of the girls, I wriggled myself out of Clarence’s grip while he stared at me with dismay.

“Sorry,” I muttered, checking the unknown number on the screen. “It could be important!” After the usual struggle, I managed to unlock the device. “Hello?”

On the other side, Carlo Lombardi’s voice greeted me, and I cursed myself for picking up. “Oh, Carlo, it’s you,” I said, unable to hide the disappointment in my voice.

“Howdy-do,” Carlo sang, “what are you up to today? Sucking the blood out of London tourists? Feeding bodies to the fish of the Thames?”

“Ha, ha. So funny,” I replied, not even slightly amused. “You know, I was in the middle of... something, so if you could get straight to the point...”

Carlo puffed. “I just wanted to check on you and ask if you found your kids.”

Since when did Carlo Lombardi care so much about my well-being?

“I’m okay, thanks. But we don’t know anything about the girls yet. We’ve been trying to do some research, but so far, we found nothing.”

“You know, I have contacts in the police. I know people in London too... maybe someone could help.”

I contemplated his offer for a second but decided not to involve Carlo unless desperate―he had helped me in France, but his past as a vampire hunter made him kind of untrustworthy. “Thanks, Carlo, I appreciate it. But there’s not much we can do right now. Also, I’m not keen on contacting the police because I don’t even have a passport, or a visa.”

“Okay, as you wish...”

“Wait!” I said, a sudden idea crossing my mind. “You said you have friends in London?”

“Well, sort of. We Italians are like a big worldwide family. I’m sure I could find at least one distant cousin who works in a useful place. What do you need?”

“Is that Carlo Lombardi ruining my evening...?” Clarence murmured, unzipping the back of my dress and drawing a line down my spine with his fingertip. He had been holding a grudge against Carlo since he had tried to kiss me in Como.

“Um, Carlo, I really need to go now, can I call you later?” Clarence slid his hands under the straps of my dress, making me shiver. “I have an idea, but... uh... I need to... erm... think about... ouch!”

Clarence surprised me with a soft bite on my shoulder, and before I could finish the sentence, he grabbed my cell phone and threw it on the armchair in the farthest corner of the room.

“Lombardi can wait... now let’s continue where we left off.”

Chapter 5

Alba

The next morning, Clarence went to visit Mark and Minnie’s hotel again, but I was forced to stay in the apartment like Penelope waiting for Odysseus: shifting into a panther might sound much more regal than a simple raven, but he had the luxury of flying around unnoticed while a shiny black panther would hardly have gone unnoticed in the streets of central London. After my former existence as a stay-at-home mom, I wasn’t ready for life in a zoo again just yet, so I had to stay inside and wait for him.

I opened my laptop and, just like every morning, scanned the news for headlines mentioning my daughters. Nothing. I googled Mark and Minnie’s hotel, but there was nothing remarkable about it either.

But there had to be something.

Something I wasn’t quite seeing.

“Okay,” I told myself. “Let’s see what we can find out about Minnie.”

I logged into my ancient social media accounts, and old photos of myself with my children as babies popped up. A sudden melancholy took over me when I realized I wouldn’t be able to add any more photos now that I was forever invisible for the camera’s lens... and I didn’t even want to consider the possibility of Katie and Iris remaining missing forever.

I turned my attention back to Minnie. What was her surname? Heeder? Heider? I googled both, and at last, several photos of her came up. There were photos of her graduation, family gatherings, gala dinners and luxurious trips, together with the classical inspirational quotes about being able to attain anything you desire. She came from a well-off family and was definitely the achiever type, judging by all the photographs with all sorts of medals and awards. But nothing I found identified her as a witch.

Around midday, I heard a tapping noise from the other side of the apartment. Please, not the concierge with Clarence’s newspaper... I was too hungry to deal with that. Luckily for me―and for him―it was Clarence, making his way through the half-open window of the living room with a messy flutter of wings.

“How did it go?” I asked, throwing myself into his arms as soon as he burst out of the customary puff of gray smoke. “Did you follow them? What are they up to?”

“So many questions...” Clarence sat down elegantly on the divan, gesturing for me to jump on his lap. “And so few answers. They seemed cross at each other, and they barely spoke. I cannot decide whether they were expecting spies or they are just a bit dull...”

“Second option,” I interrupted him.

He grinned. “I won’t contradict you. Anyhow, they went for a walk and then had lunch at a pizzeria.”

“Oh, okay.” I slumped against his chest, relishing its comforting sturdiness. “Nothing interesting, then. Maybe they told the truth and they’re just waiting around for the police to call them.”

“Possible,” Clarence said, twisting a lock of my hair around his finger. “I shall go back tomorrow and see what happens.”

***

AFTER SEVERAL DAYS of undercover work, we concluded that Mark and Minnie led the most boring lives, sleeping in at the hotel and having the majority of their meals at the same pizzeria. They didn’t even go sightseeing and were in a foul mood half of the time, bickering over small things or simply being silent.

I wondered why, in a city with as many options as London, would anyone choose to eat always at the same place. That restaurant didn’t even look particularly nice or clean, at least from the outside. We decided to go have a look and investigate what was so special about Trattoria di Luigi―if only they hadn’t been there every single evening, the task would have been much easier.

“What will we do if they are there when we arrive?” I asked Clarence that evening.

“Wait outside for them to leave, I suppose?”

“They always seem to stay until closing time,” I pointed out. “That’s a problem.”

“I noticed. But we cannot remain idle forever.”

“I know. I hate the idleness so much.” I hated wasting our time doing useless things, knowing Katie and Iris were still missing. “I wish we could do more, but I can’t think of anything else.”

“Well...” Clarence sighed, leaning against the kitchen counter. “There’s one thing...”

“Yes?”

“I am certain I am going to regret saying this...”

“Please, Clarence... I’m about to go insane.”

“Perhaps we should try to find my father.”

I nuzzled him softly. I knew how much he had dreaded meeting Victor in London, and I was grateful he would do it for me. “Do you know where he lives?”

“No, our house was sold a long time ago. But he used to visit mother’s tomb often, and I might be able to track his scent from there.”

***

WE AGREED TO GO TO the pizzeria first and walked under a soft drizzle all the way to the restaurant. I was sure I had seen at least three Trattorie di Luigi in Emberbury, and they all looked exactly the same with checkered red and white tablecloths and an Italian flag over the entrance. A cheap-looking sign marked it as Trattoria di Luigi, and a large, dirty window with drawn green curtains partially showed the musty inside. The place stood out in its shabbiness among the rest of exclusive restaurants in the Saint James quarter, to the point that I wondered how a run-down establishment like this could have survived for so long in the area.

We peered inside, hoping Mark and Minnie weren’t there yet. My hair had turned into a damp, frizzy mess in the rain, and I tied it back, wiping off raindrops from my forehead. The initial drizzle was starting to turn into a downpour, and we had forgotten our umbrellas at home.

“Stupid rain,” I whined. “I wish it would stop already. It’s been going on for days. Look at my hair.”

The rain stopped abruptly, or better said, it stopped falling on me, like someone had just dropped an invisible umbrella over my head. I could have sworn I even heard an apology.

“They are sitting in a corner, but perhaps we can try to be discreet. It’s a public place, after all,” Clarence said, holding the door open for me. “Why are you standing there?”

“Look at this!” I said with a giggle.

I raised one hand and moved it in a half-circle over Clarence’s head, and another magical rain shield appeared over him.

“Lovely,” he said, winking. “Now come in, my adorable little witch.”

Mark and Minnie were concentrating on their food, staring at their phones and ignoring each other, and it wasn’t hard to tiptoe inside and find a table far enough from them.

Once upon a time, I had loved pizza. But the smell of warm dough and melted cheese coming from the brick oven made my stomach turn, reminding me this wasn’t my body’s preferred nourishment anymore. I ordered tomato soup, just because it was warm, thick and red, and Clarence got himself a small pizza, basically for decoration. He was able to eat a few bites of normal food if needed, but I wasn’t used to it, and the very thought was enough to make me sick.

After finishing her pasta, Minnie stood up and abandoned Mark at the table. I thought she was going to the bathroom, but she sneaked into the kitchen instead.

Twenty minutes later, she was still missing, and Mark didn’t even seem concerned about it. They had the strangest, coldest relationship I had ever seen, and I wondered whether he had started to belittle Minnie the way he had done with me, now that the novelty of the younger new girl was slowly wearing off.

It was closing time when Minnie reappeared. When Mark asked what had taken her so long, she mentioned an upset stomach, and he shrugged. They hailed a taxi and went straight to their hotel without exchanging a single word, at least that we could hear.

“We need to get ourselves into that mysterious kitchen,” I told Clarence on our way home. “Also, I don’t know what is stranger: the fact she spent almost an hour there, or Mark sitting alone without looking worried in the slightest.”

“I think they don’t fancy each other so much,” he replied. “It is evident.”

Once home, I opened my laptop and started to research the Trattoria di Luigi. Online reviews complained about rude waiters, overpriced chianti and chewy pizza dough, and the words tourist trap seemed to be a constant in most customer opinions. Why would anyone eat there every single day? The more I learned about it, the less reasonable it sounded. The place had been open since the 80s, and according to past patrons, absolutely nothing had changed since then. It was just an old, below average restaurant meant to lure a tourist once and for the last time. Except for Mark and Minnie, that was.

I found out the business was registered under some Luigi Favola’s name, with an address in a town west of London.

“Luigi Favola from Reading,” I muttered, pulling out my phone to type a text to Carlo. “Let’s see if it’s true you have connections with all Italians everywhere...”

Carlo’s reply flew back after just a couple of seconds.

I don’t know him, but let me look into it.

“Wow, that was fast! I wonder if...” A knock on the door interrupted my musings. The grandmother clock on the wall was about to strike 2 AM, a very unusual time for ordinary callers. “Who...?”

A key turned in the lock, and Clarence sprung to his feet, assuming a defensive stance.

“Hello,” said a familiar voice.

We glanced at each other, letting out a deep sigh as two friendly shadows knocked on our bedroom door.

“Can we come in, or are you... busy?” they asked.

“Francesca!” I gasped, running into the tiny vampire’s arms. She gave me one of her characteristic stiff hugs, and in the meantime, Alice jumped in and wrapped us both into a bear hug. “Will you ever shake off that habit of coming in uninvited? What kind of vampire are you?”

“Thank you for the warm welcome,” Francesca said, slipping out of the embrace like a surly cat. She stood in front of the mirror, rearranging her hair in front of the empty glass. Alice rested her hands on Francesca’s shoulders, towering over her and greeting us with her wide, affable smile.

“What a long trip!” Alice said. “Two planes, three airports. I just landed at midnight, and Francesca flew here on her own. We met at Heathrow and came straight here.”

“We need to talk.” Francesca sighed.

“You could have sent a message,” I pointed out, showing them to the living room. I understood Francesca wasn’t familiar with modern technology, but it surprised me Alice would let her travel all the way to London just to have a conversation.

“No, this is not something I could write about,” Francesca explained, finding a seat next to Alice. “Dreadful things are happening back in Emberbury.”

I wrapped my cardigan tighter around me, and Clarence took my hand, expectant. “What is it about?”

“It’s The Cloister,” she said. “It’s gone.”

Chapter 6

Clarence

London, January 1845

In the darkness of the coffin, there was only pain and thirst.

Days and nights blended into a maddening continuum. My outstanding hearing would help me count them, paying attention to the bells in the faraway belfry. At dusk, the steps of wildlife made my stomach growl, and it was even worse when humans wandered around my side of the graveyard, making me twist and fight against the strong chains. For days, I had striven to burst the bonds and break the lid of my leaden casket, buried under many feet of dirt. When I still had the strength to scream, some mortals had heard me and mistaken me for a tortured soul inhabiting the graveyard. After that, only a few dared approach my tomb. Those who did soon ran away, shrieking for a priest.

But time passed and eventually, I stopped fighting. Pain became an old friend; a silent one I lay with in numbness. When worms visited me, I prayed for them to crawl over my face, and eagerly hoped for them to make it closer to my lips. They were my only sustenance, and besides, it was essential to eat them before they devoured me.

Hallucinations haunted me, and most times they were about blood; the sweet, warm taste of blood stirring me back to life. Other times, I had visitors: the ghosts of those who were fortunate enough to pass before me. My mother would hold my hand and talk about her garden, of colorful dahlias and marigolds, and the troublesome mites attacking her roses. Whenever she talked about them, she smiled, as she picked up the hungry corpse-beetles that kept nibbling on my flesh.

She was with me that night, the night the ground started to shake.

Someone was digging: digging with their bare hands, finding their way to my grave.

“The Dark Lady came for you, Clancy,” Mother announced with childlike enthusiasm, kissing my forehead before disappearing into the obscurity. “Now, please be a good boy, my darling.”

The Dark Lady unburied me and carried me to an isolated house in the country. The starry night burned my eyes, unused to the slightest source of light. She kept me chained to the walls of her basement even though I could not move or talk. I was too weak to shift and flee, but also completely indifferent. I didn’t know who she was, but she fed me, bringing me first small rabbits, then larger game she hunted just for me, and that was more than enough. Sometimes a Frenchman visited, and they asked me questions about my past; but the words did not come easy, and all I could do was stare at them, awaiting their blood offers.

“He seems beyond saving, Elizabeth,” the Frenchman used to say. “Perhaps we should exercise mercy and grant him a compassionate passing.”

But the Dark Lady was relentless. She kept caring for me, night after night, inspecting the holes in my putrid skin and licking them with a motherly tenderness which contrasted with the glacial demeanor she showed in the Frenchman’s presence.

Only two thoughts populated my mind for the whole time I spent in her care: mainly an endless bloodlust, after years of starvation, but beneath it, something even darker clouded my rational discerning.

Revenge.

All I could think of was revenge.

That night, ten years ago, my father could have killed me, and I would have let him. It happened right after losing Anne and my mother, and death would have been a pleasant gift. Yet he had knowingly chosen a much worse fate for his own son: an eternity of madness, buried alive and deprived of the sweet respite of a dignified passing. With this, his hands had remained clean, at the expense of my sanity.

And even after that, I would always be the monster in his eyes.

A monster that now yearned for retaliation. Chained in the Dark Lady’s basement, I plotted my revenge and dreamed of my torment being his own, for as long as the earth endured.

One evening, when the Dark Lady left the house, I found enough strength in me to break free from the chains and flee her countryside sanctuary.

Whoever said love is the most powerful form of motivation must have never experienced true vindictiveness.

Love? When had love endured the trials of time? Love had been the one to bring me sorrows and eternal damnation. Trusting Anne had ended up in a tale of doom and betrayal, and cherishing Rose had weakened me, to the point of posing no resistance when my father apprehended me.

Revenge, though... the sole thought of retribution had been enough to endure the hell of healing my broken soul; it had refreshed every single cell in my body, infusing them with a boiling, unstoppable bloodthirst.

It was by Mother’s grave that I found him. Kneeling, engrossed in his duplicitous prayer. My tomb, next to hers, had been promptly restored to a pristine state, thanks to the Dark Lady’s discretion. He had not a clue I did not lie in it anymore.

Time had been kind to him, sparing the wear of age to his angulous, sharp features, so similar to mine. His hands were joined in a mute request, and he did not hear me approaching. But when he turned around and saw me, all blood left his face.

“Clarence...” he said, swallowing to hide his anguish, “...Son.”

“Father,” I scoffed, sinking my claws into his neck. “I have a gift for you.”

Chapter 7

Alba

I stared at Francesca in shock, wondering if I had heard her right.

“What do you mean, The Cloister is gone?” I asked, holding my head so it would stop spinning.

“There was a fire,” Francesca said. “The ceiling collapsed and buried most of The Cloister under tons of graveyard debris. The archives burned completely, and most of the library too. It happened at dawn, when we were all there, but we managed to get out fast enough and nobody was harmed.” She took a seat on the Edwardian stool by the oak sideboards, spreading her voluminous skirt around her. “I don’t think it was an accident.”

Clarence was so pale that his face looked almost gray. He stood up and started to pace around the living room, his hands buried in the pockets of the dark gray suit. “But who? Why?” he murmured. “Nobody knew about our existence.”

“Real estate speculation, perhaps,” Francesca muttered. “The graveyard was a protected historical area. But now that it’s gone, the city could sell the land. It’s an expensive location, and it’s conceivable that many investors might have had their eyes on it for a while.”

Clarence shook his head. “Unlikely. Elizabeth would have predicted such a thing. She wouldn’t have built our home there if she hadn’t deemed the location safe.”

“That was a long time ago, Clarence, And Elizabeth hasn’t been herself since you left. She had a dream that you died in France, and she believed it a premonition. Even though she learned later from us you were fine, she has now lost her mind, and since the fire, all she does is lie in bed; a shadow of the woman she once was. You wouldn’t even recognize her.”

Clarence stared at the floor, silent. His sorrow and guilt were apparent, and I stood up to hug him, but he pushed me away and crossed his arms, leaving me empty-handed. “Sorry,” he said. “I need a moment. Alone.”

A cold draft shook the curtains, and a stack of papers flew off a shelf, scattering them all over the bedroom like a flock of white doves. A childish giggle filled the room, and two bluish, spectral figures flew in through the wall.

“Those ghosts are still here?” Clarence huffed with disapproval.

“Sorry. I didn’t manage to send them back,” Alice said with a shrug. “It was Alba’s job! But they’re kind of nice to be around, don’t worry.”

“Maman!” said the little ghost, her hair tied into two messy braids. “Look, here’s the other undead lady!”

“Lucille! Please be polite! Don’t point at people!” shouted the mother, who was hauling her own head in her hand. She placed it over her neck, using the other one to salute us with a curtsy. “Excuse my daughter, Miss,” she told me. “We are glad to see you again.”

That was all I needed now, on top of everything else. I had completely forgotten about my promise to send those two ghosts back to the afterlife in exchange for their help. In my defense, I had died after that, in my attempt to save Clarence, and then misplaced the grimoire containing the right spell.

“Hi... I’m happy to see you again...” I said without much conviction. “I thought you would send them to the hereafter, Alice...”

Alice shrugged. “I tried, but it didn’t work out. I think it’s because you made a magical pledge, and now we’re stuck with them until you fulfill your promise. You made the deal, so they’re yours now.”

“Mine?” I asked in horror. I really didn’t need two ghost companions.

“Yes, Madam!” chirped the little girl. “We’re here to haunt you for all eternity. We’re going to have so much fun together!”

I grinned, suddenly understanding the feeling of being gifted a puppy you didn’t want. “Are we? What do you mean by haunt me?”

“We’ll be with you all the time because you broke your promise!” She sounded oddly cheerful for someone who had been mortally affronted. “We’ll follow you everywhere! I can’t wait to find out what vampires do all day!”

“Everywhere?” I stared at the mother. Was she going to allow that? “Even to bed?”

“Particularly to bed,” the mother said, swinging her head back and forth to emphasize the message.

“Oh my...”

I reclined against the pillows and sought Clarence’s support, hoping he would come up with an idea. He sure didn’t want that child ghost in our bedroom every night? But all he did was say, in a neutral, cold voice, “That’s right, Alba. You made a pact. You need to do your part, or else they shall remain attached to you forever. Oaths are made to be kept.”

I growled, desperate. I had no idea how to do what they were asking of me, and how could he be so chill about having two ghosts hovering over our heads until Doomsday? Did he actually believe I had a clue how to send people to the afterlife? I had made that promise in a moment of desperation: a life-or-death situation, with not much time to think. And Alice, a trained sorceress, hadn’t managed to cast that spell later. How on earth was I, the most incompetent witch on the planet, going to do it?

“This can’t be true.” I closed my eyes. “I can’t believe it.” The little ghost pirouetted over my head and planted a gooey kiss on my cheek. “Go away,” I grunted, shooing her away, but she just cooed and flew back to her mommy with a chuckle.

“Where is the clan staying?” Clarence asked Francesca, ignoring my personal turmoil. “Is everyone safe?”

“We have taken shelter at Westside Avenue for now, but as you know, it’s not ideal. The house is not safe, and very uncomfortable too. We are cooped up and there are neighbors, mortals pass by... it’s a matter of time for them to notice all the ravens coming and going. And worst of all, we lost most of Elizabeth’s business documentation. It’s a shame Alba never finished typing Elizabeth’s files into those...” she hesitated, “data processors. Elizabeth is having a nervous breakdown, and she requires your presence right away.”

“I shall be there as requested.”

Francesca rolled her eyes. “Of course, she cannot live without you.”

“What did you tell her about Alba?” Clarence asked, ignoring Francesca’s snide remark.

“I told her she was dead.” She shrugged.

“What?” I gasped, and she raised an eyebrow.

“Are you not, perchance? In her state of distress, I did not think she would be able to cope with the thought of killing the two of you, on top of everything else. You violated The Five Rules. You know the consequences.”

I did know. With a shiver, I wondered what must have become of Ludovic, Francesca’s brother, and Julia, his vampire-witch wife. Last time we heard from them, they had been captured by vampire hunters and taken away to a secret laboratory in France.

“Alright,” Clarence said, dialing a code into the safe and taking a wad of cash out of it. “Alba needs to stay in London and away from Elizabeth’s sight, at least for now. Let me finish some business here tonight, and then I shall go back to Emberbury.”

Chapter 8

Alba

Alice and Francesca settled in the guest room, and Clarence and I set off in search of his mother’s grave. We had intended to go the next day, but after hearing the grim news of The Cloister, he suggested we do it as soon as possible.

As we headed out the door, the two ghosts followed me, hovering over my head. Their slushy aura washed over me like a cold bucket of goop, and I let out an angry growl.

“Can you start haunting me from tomorrow on?” I pleaded. “I need time to get used to this. It’s too sudden. We’re going to be together for centuries, anyway.”

The mother, Laura, hesitated, dangling her head from a tuft of hair with indecision. “Hmm... it is not the usual manner, but perhaps we could do it for you...”

“Deal,” I cut her off before she could change her mind. “See you tomorrow!”

I slammed the door closed, not that it could have stopped them, and trotted after Clarence down the stairs.

“Hey,” I said, nearly flying onto the sidewalk after him. His pace was swift, and a somber expression gave away his bleak thoughts. “I know you are worried. But I feel The Cloister will be fine. I am a witch... I should know.”

He stopped abruptly and squinted at me, fire crackling between his lashes. “I do appreciate your positivity, Alba,” he said slowly. “But false hopes will not help me plan for the worst. Which is my job right now.”

I flinched, unused to such coldness. “Okay. Sorry. I just wanted to help.”

He noticed my shock and his expression softened, pulling me into his arms with renewed warmth. “Please forgive me, darling. I was not expecting this. I am only trying to devise a strategy to keep everyone safe.”

I was about to repeat, Everything will be fine, but thankfully, I shut up and quietly returned his hug.

It didn’t take us long to reach the grandiose gates of a Victorian graveyard on the Western side of London. They were closed after dark, but jumping over the fence was extremely easy. Clarence guided me among the lush trees and extravagant monuments, headed toward a small, grassy field covered in humbler tombstones. Sniffing the air, he kept walking from there with his eyes closed, passing by a magnificent Greek mausoleum, until he stopped in front of three gray standing stones of similar shape and size. The one in the middle had a single rose carved in white marble, and the inscription:

Rose Auberon

1778 – 1835

Loving mother and wife.

“Here,” he said, falling on his knees in front of it. He lay his cheek on the cold stone slab, crying or praying, and I left him alone for a while, observing the other graves in the meantime.

To the right, a similar-sized, plain tombstone bore the name Victor Auberon, d. 1846, while the one to the left seemed to be Clarence’s. I cringed. The date of death was the same as his mother’s, 1835.

“Clarence...” I whispered, tickling his back. “Why does it say here that you died in 1835?”

He lifted his head and straightened his bow tie.

“Because that’s when they buried me here.”

I kicked myself inwardly. He had told me that once. “Oh... oh, it’s true. I... I forgot. I mean, I didn’t forget, but...”

“It’s alright.”

“Thanks.” I exhaled, biting my lips. “I’m sorry, sometimes... I’m... I knew about it, it’s just... I’m really sorry...”

“Darling, I love you,” he said softly, placing a finger on my lips. “But can you stop apologizing for everything? You did nothing wrong by asking.”

I nodded. The last thing I wanted was making a bad evening worse by forcing him to relive the ten years he had spent locked in a lead coffin.

“Did you find any clues?” I sniffed the air, but I couldn’t detect any distinct scents, save for plants and dirt.

“A very faint track, although I’m not entirely sure,” he said, standing up. He took my hand, his face lighting up unexpectedly. “But I had a brilliant idea on the way here, which I wanted to discuss with my mother first.”

“With your mother?” I glanced around, almost expecting another ghost to show up. “What did you ask her? And... what did she say?”

“Nothing,” he chuckled. “I will tell you in a minute. But first, I would like to show you my favorite tree.”

“You have a favorite tree? Where?”

“Come here,” he said with a playful wink, leaping out of sight like an oversized bunny.

“Wait!” I laughed, surprised by his sudden mood shift. “Where did you go?”

I followed the rustle of leaves and the trail of crushed grass blades, which led me to a large and twisted oak tree. New leaves had started to sprout on the bare, gray branches, announcing the arrival of spring, and the breeze made them sing and dance with a cheerfulness which didn’t quite match their surroundings. Clarence’s tall figure stood on top of one of the highest branches, which didn’t seem robust enough to hold his weight for much longer.

“Clarence!” I called, a nervous laugh coming out of my lips unannounced. “Come down! That branch is going to snap!”

“I don’t think so,” he replied with mischief.

“Why are you in such a good mood all of a sudden?”

I attempted to jump on a branch to be closer to him, but I lost grip on the damp, slippery tree bark and ended up flopping on my behind and rolling on the mud.

“When do vampires get all sprightly and nimble like you and Francesca?” I shouted, looking upwards. “Does it usually take this long?”

“Not at all,” he shouted back, the grin on his face widening, “You either do or you do not. It should be immediate.”

I combed my hair back with my fingers, removing dry leaves and grass that had gotten stuck during my failed jumping attempt. “Lucky me.”

He chuckled and slid onto a lower branch.

“Alright,” he said, balancing his feet over my head. “As you know, Elizabeth thinks you are dead...”

I leaned against the rough tree bark, staring at the soles of his immaculate tan leather shoes. “And that’s why you are in a good mood?”

“No!” He laughed openly. “But that’s why I decided to climb up the largest oak tree in this graveyard. My favorite tree, as I mentioned earlier...”

“Do the British climb trees when someone dies?”

“Most certainly not,” he replied, a charming glint in his eyes. “But this gave me the most wonderful idea...”

“Oh?”

“I despise lying to Elizabeth, but I would do anything to protect you. If I must lie forever about your death to keep you safe, I shall.” He paused, glancing at the night sky with a dreamy expression. “But I was thinking... of course she would never accept you as a member of her clan because we didn’t seek her permission before turning you....” His hand wandered over his pocket absentmindedly. “Unless...”

“Unless, what?” I asked, retracting and extending my claws, a fun stress relief technique. Something about his tone of voice was starting to make me uneasy.

“Unless we give her a reason she could not contest,” he said triumphantly. He did a backwards somersault and ended up hanging upside down on the lowest branch, holding onto the tree on the tips of his feet in what would have been an impossible feat for any human. The tails of his coat sailed behind him, rocked by the wind.

“What are you trying to tell me...?”

He grinned, his head over mine, and reached into his waistcoat pocket. I followed his fingers with curiosity, and I was so enthralled by his graceful moves that I didn’t notice the small object flying from them straight into my eye.

“Ouch!” I screamed, covering my eye with my hand and finding a silver ring on my face. “What’s this? Francesca’s ring?”

He rubbed his forehead with concern. “Yes, well, it’s not hers, it’s mine...”

“Wasn’t this on my hand ten minutes ago?”

“Let’s not be fussy, just give me your hand, please...”

“Okay, but can’t you come down so we can talk normally? Why do you have to be upside down? My neck hurts.”

“I will come down right away, I just need to ask you something first.”

“Can’t you ask me from the ground?”

“I could, but this is the complete opposite of what I should be doing, or what any sane man, let alone vampire, would do in my situation. Therefore, I believe this is the most suitable position to ask you...”

“Ask me what? Please tell me it’s not what I think.”

“I don’t know. It’s witches who can read minds. I cannot. I am just a humble immortal man, hanging upside down over his undead girlfriend, asking her to...”

“For goodness’ sake, Clarence, stop it.” I huffed and gave him my hand as requested.

He took it and cleared his throat, the spirited tone suddenly turning grave. His hair hung covering part of his face, framing his sharp features.

A mouse squeaked in the distance, breaking the silence of one million departed souls, watching us stand alone in the graveyard, holding their long-extinguished breath and waiting for the inevitable.

“Alba Lumin,” Clarence said solemnly, his eyes ablaze as he placed his right hand over his heart. “Will you marry me?”

Chapter 9

Clarence

Emberbury

Francesca and I set off from London at noon, embarking on a non-stop Atlantic crossing all the way to Emberbury. We reached the city on the third day of our travels, just as the sun was setting over the blazing mirror glass skyscrapers.

By the time we arrived, we were about to perish of thirst and exhaustion, but I requested to pass by the remains of The Cloister first, before feeding or heading to the clan’s new headquarters. Francesca’s eyes were glassy after traveling the same route twice in the span of one week; but she understood my necessity to get acquainted with the state of matters as soon as possible. I needed to see for myself, and she knew.

As the street lights started to sparkle, we glided over what once was Saint Anne’s cemetery. There were no lights left in the vicinity of the graveyard; only a black patch of rubble, covering what had once been a lush mass of greenery and delicately carved marble monuments... and our home.

I descended first. After so many decades, I could have found the entrance to The Cloister with my eyes closed.

The angel mausoleum which used to conceal the main door had crumbled, blocking the stairs leading to the main chambers of our underground dwelling. Only rubble was left of St. Anne’s: Elizabeth’s lifetime legacy disappeared into nothing.

The word apocalypse came to mind: earthquakes, storms, and the sun turning black: the sixth seal of the Book of Revelation unleashed upon us, creatures of the darkness, to eradicate us from the face of earth and destroy our cursed den.

I shifted back into human form and took a second to stretch my limbs after many days of flight. Francesca remained behind me, her arms crossed and her skirts flowing in a swirl of dry leaves and ashes.

“Do you want me to go in with you?” she asked. She lowered her arms and the twirl of cinders quieted in a mesmerizing coincidence.

“No. I would rather go alone. But I’ll be quick.”

“It’s fine, take your time,” she said and sat down on a crushed tombstone with a mournful, knowing expression.

I had to remove a couple of heavy boulders to make my way through one of the narrow tunnels in the back of the galleries. I crawled in the pitch darkness for several hundred feet, passing by the wide cave where I had found Alba what seemed like eons ago now. Over my head, I could still see the same shaft through which she had fallen on her very first―and slightly accidental―visit to The Cloister. The cherry amber walls were still shining, their glimmer unfazed in the face of destruction. Emberbury’s red amber... crystalized witches’ blood, as the legend went. It must be magical indeed, to endure in the midst of such chaos.

I carried on, removing obstacles as I went, and eventually, I reached the main passage. Some of the sconces were still there, although no candles burned in them any longer. The ceiling had collapsed right in front of Julia’s room―now Alba’s room, and I had to quit the search there. As much as I wanted to reach my own chambers, or the library, it was too dangerous to dislodge all that rubble on my own; and besides, I was too hungry. I had seen enough for that night, at least as much as could be seen; I turned around and went back to the exit, waving at Francesca, who had been waiting patiently outside.

“We can leave now,” I said. “Should we walk or fly to Westside Avenue?”

“I’d prefer walking, thank you. I need to stretch my legs after the journey.”

I nodded.

“It’s a disheartening sight, isn’t it?” she said as we left Saint Anne’s.

“It’s dreadful.”

“I should warn you, though... what you are about to see won’t be any more pleasant.” She stood under a bright red sign, and the light tinted her golden hair pink. “Perhaps the walls of that house are still standing, but everyone’s spirits have sunk deeper than the vaults of The Cloister.”

Soon we reached the house, a red brick building identical to all the others on that same street, and she pulled a key out of her petticoat.

“Elizabeth is devastated,” she continued. “She hasn’t fed for weeks, and she barely speaks. I wonder if you will recognize her at all.”

She opened the door, and we stepped into the living room, which occupied most of the ground floor and looked different from the last time I visited. They had moved the piano to the center of the room and placed a couch and a few armchairs around it. In one of them sat my old friend Jean-Pierre, and as soon as we entered, he set aside his thick tome and stood up to greet us, sorrow and relief evident in his face.

“Mon ami,” he said, crushing me into an effusive hug. “You have no idea how glad I am to see you again,” he added in a broken voice.

“It’s good to see you too, my friend,” I said, patting his back and somehow wishing for the awkward hug to be over.

He stepped back, grief overcasting his features. “I am so sorry, brother. Francesca told us...” His eyes turned glassy, and he swallowed before continuing. “You know we all loved her so, so much. She was... she was our bright star.”

A knot formed in my throat.

Alba.

He didn’t know the truth yet.

“It is... it is fine,” I muttered, glancing away. “We need to talk. Just not here, not now.”

“I know, and I cannot wait to hear every single word. Francesca said it was your right to disclose whatever you wished, whenever you were ready. I think she did the right thing.” He shook his head. “And to think the last time I saw our little witch, she was so worried about you, and yet you escaped the curse, and she...”

“Take me to Elizabeth, please,” I interrupted him, feeling guilty for his unnecessary sorrows.

“Elizabeth is not well, Clarence. She’s not well, I tell you,” Jean-Pierre warned me, skipping up the stairs. “But come with me. You will see for yourself.”

The fact that she hadn’t come out of her room to greet me as soon as I had arrived, particularly after requesting my presence with such urgency, was already a clear sign that something was very wrong with her. With her fine vampire hearing, she must have heard me as soon as I had stepped into the house.

A stream of moans and giggles filtered through the thin wooden door of one of the first floor bedrooms, and I frowned as we passed by. “I can see Lillian and Alonzo aren’t too concerned despite our precarious situation.”

“You know those two,” Jean-Pierre said with a dismissive wave of his hand, “they always find time for their favorite pastime. The only thing they care about is themselves, and I suspect they will leave us for another coven as soon as they find one willing to take them in.”

“Mind your own business, Monsieur Frog,” came Lillian’s voice from inside the room. “Or just go find yourself a woman to entertain you, instead of being a jealous party-pooper.”

Jean-Pierre muttered a curse in French, ignoring Lillian’s remarks.

“Also, hello Clancy!” she shouted through the closed door. “Sorry if we don’t come out. But we’re kind of busy...”

Alonzo laughed in the background, but soon, his laugh turned into a screech of pain.

“Ghastly,” I said, although their behavior rarely surprised me anymore. I was familiar with their gruesome games, and I had seen the way they would kill prey when allowed to. I had also been in The Cloister the night they had assaulted Julia, when one of their parties had got out of hand.

“Exceedingly distasteful,” Jean-Pierre agreed, clearing the last flight of stairs in just a few strides.

He knocked on the only door on the upper floor and waited for a reply.

“Elizabeth, it’s Clarence,” he said when nobody answered. “He’s here to see you.”

Still, no reply.

He raised his arms, giving up. “Maybe we should just walk in.”

Stepping into a lady’s room uninvited, and particularly our Queen’s bedroom, sounded like a most horrifying thing to do, yet I had no choice but to trust him.

The door was unlocked and led to a maid’s bedroom with a dusty canopy bed. Elizabeth sat reclined on half a dozen pillows, wearing a filthy, ratty nightdress, with her hair peeking sloppily out of a silken nightcap. In the two-hundred years I had known her, I had never seen her without a long dress or her tight braided updo. When we entered, she was picking at her claws, as if she couldn’t see us.

“You came,” she stated without granting me a single glance. “Too late.”

“I am so sorry, Elizabeth,” I said, standing by her bed. “Things turned rough back in Europe.”

“I always knew she was trouble. This is all because of her.” She waved, encompassing the half empty room and her disheveled self. “I should have never taken her in. She brought doom upon us, that stray witch.”

There was no way Alba could have been involved in the fire of The Cloister, but I didn’t wish to upset Elizabeth any further. I took a seat in one of the armchairs by her bed, hoping to find a way to comfort her.

“My Queen,” I said with a bow.

“Queen?” She huffed grimly. “Queen of what? Queen of Ashes! We have lost everything. There is nothing left. Nothing! All our documents burned in the fire.”

“We will rebuild everything, Elizabeth,” I reassured her. “Do not despair. Paper is not so important these days, things are stored in computers now. We might need time, but we have plenty of it. And if we cannot stay here, we will move somewhere else. Abroad, if necessary.”

“Emberbury is my home.” Elizabeth grumbled defiantly. “I shall perish here.”

After that, she stared into the void, signaling the conversation was over for her.

I sighed. “Thank you for your time, Elizabeth,” I said and stood up. She didn’t even react to my words.

Jean-Pierre stood by the bedroom door, holding it open for me. “You know, Francesca contacted someone, some law firm,” he explained. “They’re trying to look into things, help us access our accounts and our properties again. But it’s not easy because our papers were lost, and we can’t just go and get new ones. Also, we are going to need quite a bit of money for bribes. It’s a mess, Clarence.”

“I can imagine,” I agreed. “We need to get out of this house now and talk. Let’s go somewhere... to the forest... anywhere. I can’t breathe here.”

A raspy whisper came from the room.

“Clarence,” Elizabeth said in a husky voice. I stood still, waiting for her to finish the sentence. “I forgot to tell you one thing.” I went back inside, and she propped herself up on her elbows, her eyes softening for a second as she added, “My condolences, Son.”

Chapter 10

Alba

“I can’t believe you said no!” Alice shook her head, taking off her thick-rimmed glasses. “The man you love proposed, and you said no!”

“You don’t understand!”

I glanced away, feeling defeated by her lack of empathy, and opened the tap once more to refill my cold bubble bath. Alice grabbed her moisturizer and started to smear it all over her face in front of the mirror while I tried to put my thoughts in order for the hundredth time.

Clarence and Francesca had left for Emberbury a few days earlier, and I had remained in London with Alice, in case there was news about Iris and Katie.

After our visit to Rose Auberon’s grave, Clarence and I had followed the scent trail he had found. It had led us back to London and faded around an empty, grassy area in Saint James Park, rendering our whole graveyard trip useless.

Well, not exactly useless.

It had at least provided Alice with the best entertainment in months, as she sat on a chair on the opposite side of the huge bathroom of the apartment pretending to read but mostly just questioning me about the most minute details of Clarence’s rushed proposal.

“He just did it because of Elizabeth,” I explained, sticking a toe out of the soapy suds, trying to write my name in them. “Also, the ring fell on my eye.”

Alice laughed, holding onto the arms of the chair. “Okay, but still! You love him, don’t you? Why would you say no?”

“Why?” I propped myself against the side of the tub, adjusting the jacuzzi jets so they wouldn’t splash all over the bathroom. “Because I have been married before. I already had the party and the white dress, and I know they won’t change a thing. I don’t see how having a shared surname would make our love any better or any different.”

“Maybe not different, but in your case, it could be useful,” Alice pointed out.

“Yes. Useful.”

I couldn’t even hide my disenchantment. He had used that word too, which had been the last straw for me.

I pulled at the chain of the stopper with my foot and listened to the gurgling of the water rushing down the drain.

Alice stood up and turned her back to me politely as I got out of the bathtub and dried myself with a towel. “I think you will regret saying no. He’s a good man. You make a great couple.”

“Marriage means nothing,” I grunted, feeling uneasy as I pronounced those words. Then, to reassure myself, I added, “If we live for hundreds of years, are you aware of how many beautiful, interesting women he’s still going to meet in his lifetime? Why would he want to remain tied and loyal to me forever? Why would I do that to him... to myself? We would end up cheating, lying, or just being sour at each other for the rest of eternity. And we don’t even have real documents, so what’s the point?”

“I guess you’re right,” Alice said, unconvinced, turning to the door. “I’m gonna make pancakes, want some?”

She left the bathroom without waiting for my reply, and I stood there, staring at my nonexistent reflection, replaying Clarence’s dejected expression as he had slumped to the ground like a fallen acorn. He had just readjusted the lapels of his coat and apologized for his foolish idea, and we had left the graveyard in silence, a cloud of sadness lingering over our heads for the rest of the evening.

Why did he have to do that?

Why?

As if things weren’t going bad enough.

“Alba, I think you’re out of milk,” came Alice’s voice from the kitchen.

We had milk?

A knock on the door.

“Alice, can you go get the door?”

“I would, but I just set the curtains on fire... but no worries, I have a spell for that!”

“Oh, for Goodness’ sake,” I growled, putting on a bathrobe and preparing myself mentally to fight my thirst and not attack the concierge.

“We can talk to them if you don’t want to.” Lucille giggled, peeking out of a wardrobe.

“You wouldn’t dare, Lucille,” I snarled as her mom pulled her back among the hanging clothes, muttering a reprimand in French.

I opened the door and found the concierge standing there with the most patient, almost beatifical expression, holding a piece of paper with a few scribbled words.

“Excuse me, Mrs. Auberon...”

I gaped at him with a finger in the air, about to explain that was not my surname. What was wrong with the world today? Was this a conspiracy to make me regret having declined Clarence’s proposal? But in the end, I didn’t say anything. A dark, hidden part of my subconscious kind of liked it, but that part should remain buried forever.

“There’s a gentleman at the reception wanting to see you,” said the concierge. “I know it’s really early, so please excuse the intrusion.”

Food! was my first thought.

I shook my head.

No, no. A visitor. Not food. People were not food. Not all the time, anyway.

“A gentleman? What’s his name?”

“He said his name was...” He read from his notes. “... Lombardi. He sounds American and claims to be a friend of yours. Should I let him in?”

I blinked. Carlo? In London?

“Yes, please, it’s fine.”

“I must warn you, though, his outward aspect is slightly... unusual,” the concierge added, looking as if he was trying really hard not to laugh. “That’s one of the reasons I thought I would ask first.”

“What do you mean by unusual?”

He glanced at me sideways and bit his lip. “You will see for yourself, Madam. But I’m sure you will be delighted to meet an old friend, no matter what.”

Twenty seconds later, I knew exactly what he had been talking about.

Carlo Lombardi made his appearance swearing, looking irritated and dragging a cheap suitcase up the stairs. He was wearing several strings of garlic around his neck, a huge silver crucifix which could have come straight from the props trunk of a Dracula movie and something which resembled a set of wooden stakes in different sizes hanging from his belt from smallest to largest.

“Oh. My. God,” I gasped, covering my mouth to avoid exploding into the loudest witch cackle in the history of England.

As soon as the concierge left, Carlo’s hand traveled to the largest stake and rested there as he stared into my eyes with distrust.

“Good morning,” he muttered through clenched teeth.

“What’s wrong with you? Also, what are you doing here?” I asked, but he didn’t answer. I realized the concierge could hear us, so I added, “Please, come in.”

He narrowed his eyes. “It’s not for you to invite me in. It’s me who needs to decide if it’s safe enough to get into this snake nest.”

“Someone feeling grumpy this morning?” I puffed. “It’s not like I asked you to come! But you can sleep in the hallway. Call me if you need anything.”

I started to close the door, and he grabbed my arm to stop me.

“You are so cold,” he murmured, frowning, “it’s horrible. Horrible. I will never get used to this.”

“It’s not so bad, actually. Would you like to try?” I flashed my fangs at him for fun, and his face twisted in horror. “Just joking, Carlo, I will try not to bite you again, okay? Also, Alice is here. She would hex me if I tried to suck your blood. Unless you call her Kiwi Head again. In that case, I don’t think anything or anyone will be able to save you.”

“Garlic Hawaiian necklaces?” sang Alice, joining us in the hall while performing a wannabe hula dance. Carlo came in, and we closed the door.

“I think they’re called leis,” I pointed out.

“Whatever.” Alice waved her hand in a dancing motion. “I like them more with orchids. Those stink like hell.”

“That’s the plan,” Carlo explained. “Keeping those nasty teeth of hers away from my neck.” He rubbed the spot where my baby fangs had left a permanent scar, commemorating the honor of being the first person I ever bit.

“I can do it so much better now,” I lied, just to tease him. “Maybe not completely painless yet, but I hear some enjoy it. Are you sure you don’t want to try?”

“Gross,” said Carlo.

“Just trying to make you feel better! Also, I haven’t killed anyone so far. I think I’m doing great.”

“Congratulations, Lestat.”

“What are you doing here again, Lombardi?” Alice asked. “Did you need someone to hex you? Exsanguinate you? We can do both fairly well. Teamwork!”

“You’re still as annoying as always, but I’m kind of happy to see you’re here, Kiwi Head,” he replied. “Maybe you can help keep me alive.”

“Bite him,” Alice said to me, rubbing her short white and green hair. “I totally don’t mind.”

“I like your t-shirt, although I think they got the percentages wrong,” Carlo said in a failed attempt to fix things. The t-shirt was black, as were most of her clothes, with the words “50% Witch, 50% Bitch.” “Do you mind if we stay together while the creature is awake?” he added with a grin.

“She’s always awake,” Alice rolled her eyes. “So yeah, I mind.”

“It’s so nice to see both of you together again,” I commented, and I actually meant it. “Although I still can’t understand why you decided to come here so unexpectedly, Carlo. Is this about that pizzeria guy I asked you about?”

“No. I’m not here by choice,” he said, rolling his suitcase into a corner. “It was your crazy boyfriend. He paid me a visit in Emberbury and offered me money to come here and be your escort.” He twirled a finger over his temple. “He also mentioned sucking me dry if I didn’t agree to the deal, so it was him or you, and I’d rather be killed by someone with boobs.”

I rolled my eyes. “So he sent you to be my breakfast?”

“Clarence,” Alice said dreamily. “Ever the gentleman.”

“He said something about you needing help fighting other vampires. And that’s something I have firsthand experience with. But I could have emailed you the instructions, you know...”

“Well, I guess get settled, and maybe we can go visit that famous pizzeria later tonight, since you’re already here?”

Chapter 11

Alba

It had only been a couple of hours, and Carlo’s presence in the house was already driving me insane, his scent like a freshly-baked cake I wasn’t allowed to touch. Having him around was like being a four-year-old trapped in a candy shop, forced to smell sugar and popcorn all day without being allowed to eat them. Around noon, I couldn’t bear it any longer, and I asked him and Alice to go sightseeing so I could be alone until evening.

“Are there any spells for this?” I asked Alice, who had brought at least three spell books in her suitcase. “Something against the cravings? This is sheer torture. And I am always hungry.”

Alice grinned and rubbed her belly in big, round circles. “I wish there were. Maybe then I wouldn’t be looking like a sitting Buddha right now.” I pouted, and she shrugged. “It’s the pasta for me. But so worth it.”

“I wish Carlo were a bowl of pasta.”

“Same brain cell count,” Alice pointed out, pulling a candy bar out of her purse and laughing.

As soon as they left, I went on to practice some shapeshifting. After the incident with the outcast vampire, I had been practicing daily, and I was getting faster and more reliable, even though it still felt weird to be trapped in an animal’s body. I always needed a few seconds to adjust to walking on four legs, but after that, I kept marveling at the fantastic movement possibilities my alternative body offered. Not only that: there was nothing like stretching and rolling on a bed in panther form. I was almost certain that whoever granted us vampires the power to shift did it so I could nap all day curled up as a big, black cat. In a place as crowded as London, that one seemed to be the only real use for my skill. Even Julia could have moved around freely as a cat, whereas I remained a prisoner in the apartment until sunset: as much as everyone had been impressed about my unusual gift, I wished I had turned into a normal vampire instead.

Alice and Carlo returned late in the evening, but as soon as Carlo approached the hallway, the scent of his blood filled the whole apartment once again, making my stomach growl. So nice to have him back.

“You won’t believe it!” Alice grumbled, throwing her purse on the couch as she entered the living room. “Carlo spent literally the whole day trying to get anything that moved into his bed.”

“I have the right to talk to whomever I want,” Carlo replied from the hall, “and it would have been much easier without you giving the evil eye to any female who approached me. Were you jealous or what?”

“The evil eye!” Alice laughed hysterically. “You must mean my resting bitch face. Which wouldn’t have been necessary if you hadn’t told that woman you used to be a vampire hunter! Such a stupid thing to do.”

“Pff! She thought I was joking.”

“With that crucifix you were wearing?” Alice said, slumping on the couch right next to her bag. “You know what he replied when another one asked about the purpose of his trip?” she whispered so only I could hear her, then added, “He said, ‘Getting laid!’”

Carlo’s steps approached down the corridor as he said, “Well, some are never satisfied, Miss Kiwi Head. If I say hunting vampires, you get all scandalized. If I say getting laid, you go all prude on me. At least I’m not walking around with more chains than a work gang member. And, just so you know, everything I did was for a purpose, but you think you are so smart, don’t you...” his voice broke as he entered the living room and a loud scream left his lungs. “What the hell!”

I turned to him without understanding, and as I tried to say hello, a purr left my lips. I had completely forgotten I was still a panther, and Carlo wasn’t aware of that new ability of mine.

I jumped into the closet―so much easier to move with elegance when I didn’t have to be me―and turned back into my two-legged self, away from Carlo’s eyes.

“Sorry,” I said, stepping out, “I thought you knew.”

Carlo sat on the divan with his forehead in his hands, his tan complexion turned chalky white. “I can’t believe I’m going to sleep here tonight. I’m so gonna die.”

A cold breeze came from under the couch, and Laura and Lucille made their appearance over the coffee table.

“Maybe we should manifest ourselves,” Laura said, her head tilted toward me as if waiting for permission.

“Yeah, I mean, how much worse can it be?” I said, then turned to Carlo. “Okay, Carlo, take a deep breath now because there’s one more thing you need to know about this house and about me...”

He glanced up, pearls of sweat on his forehead, then slumped into the divan as if giving up. “What else?”

“I have two ghosts...”

“You have two ghosts,” he repeated wearily.

“They’re friendly ghosts.”

“Cool.”

“Okay, glad we clarified this. Feel free to show yourselves, ladies.”

***

IT TURNED OUT BIG, tall, muscular Carlo had an irrational fear of ghosts, and it took him a while to come to after Laura and Lucille made themselves visible to him and he fainted on the spot.

While he was unconscious, I had the―lousy―idea of doing my makeup for the first time since I had become a vampire. Picking up a nude color lipstick, I tried to remember the shape of my own face with my eyes closed. A touch of lipstick here, a bit of mascara there... of course the mirror was useless, but hopefully it worked out.

Alice walked into the room and stared at me.

“What have you done to your face?” she asked. “That color is horrid.”

I sighed. “Nothing, I’m just wearing my... dead person lipstick?”

“Shade 666, right?”

“Correct,” I answered in a bad mood, rubbing my mouth with a napkin in the hopes of getting rid of the pale pink.

“You look prettier without all that,” Alice said. “Your lips are a nice carmine color, why would you hide them under all that makeup?”

“Oh, so you think I should forego those online makeup courses I keep seeing everywhere?”

“What courses?”

“It’s called thanatoaesthetic makeup. Some weird ad that keeps showing up whenever I’m browsing the internet. Have you heard of it? Seems you can learn from home.”

“Oh, yes, I have!” chirped Alice.

“Have you? And what makes it different?”

“It’s... funeral makeup.”

I grimaced. “Like, for... attendees?”

“Um, no...”

I slammed my head against the wall, leaving a shallow dent on the wallpaper. It didn’t hurt at all, and it was unexpectedly fun.

“I. Can’t. Even. See. Myself. In. The. Mirror!” I whined for the millionth time, tempted to punch the wall just to see if I could make a hole through it without breaking a nail.

My frustration shrieks―and perhaps my wall-smashing―woke up Carlo, who came to after an hour of comatose lying on the sofa.

“Sorry. Must have been the jet lag,” he said, blinking into consciousness.

“Yeah, nothing to do with the ghosts, I’m sure,” I said. Laura and Lucille had retreated back into the closet, upset by his reaction.

“You think you’re so funny, don’t you? But why exactly do you have to keep them here? Are you going to offer haunted house tours? Or are you trying to increase the resale value of the property?”

“I don’t keep them. They just won’t leave.”

“Okay, can we go to the pizzeria now, and you can discuss the ghosts on the way there?” asked Alice. “I’m super hungry, and I think it’s dark enough for you, isn’t it?”

We took a taxi to Trattoria di Luigi, and Alice and I waited outside while Carlo went to check whether a cousin of a cousin of a cousin worked there.

While we were still outside, Mark and Minnie arrived in a cab, and I asked Alice to hide with me behind a corner to spy on them. A soft balminess filled the chilly, early spring air. The air got warmer, and oddly enough, I could have sworn the warmth was coming from Minnie.

“That woman...” Alice said. “I’m almost sure she was flirting with Carlo this afternoon.”

“Minnie?” I asked. “She’s my ex’s new girlfriend. I doubt it.”

“To be fair, I wasn’t paying much attention to the women, and there were a few. I was too busy getting Carlo out of the pub before he told everyone vampires exist.”

“We’ll ask him later.”

Mark and Minnie disappeared into the building, but this time they didn’t stay long. When they came out, a warm breeze followed them from the deepest corners of the Italian restaurant―a breeze that carried a scent I hadn’t met for a long time and made me sway under the weight of memories. Memories of my past life... memories of my children. I held onto the wall behind me, struggling to regain my composure as the familiar aroma slowly vanished.

“We need to go in right now,” I whispered into Alice’s ear. “I think... I think we have found my kids.”

Chapter 12

Clarence

“Fine cabernet sauvignon with a dash of raspberry,” Jean-Pierre said, smacking his lips as he kicked the two unconscious hikers behind a bush. We had encountered them while flying over a small forested area west of Emberbury, where we had made a brief halt for refreshments after paying a brief visit to a certain corrupt police officer.

“If you say so,” I grunted. Discussing our food in such detail always made me uncomfortable, but Jean-Pierre, like a good Frenchman, was an avid fan of cuisine and would take any chance to show off his sommelier talents. In his monk times, he had been infamous for stealing sweets and wine from the kitchen of the monastery, and the whip scars on his back bore mute testimony of those long-gone days of modesty and scarcity.

“It’s fine, it’s fine, I know you aren’t interested. I suppose you are too busy thinking about the little witch,” Jean-Pierre said as we marched toward the remains of The Cloister and I updated him on our misadventures in the French Pyrenees. “Vampire-witch, I should say! Well, lucky you, now you get to keep her forever. Not a bad turn of events, is it? I’m slightly jealous, my friend...”

We reached Saint Anne’s, and I ambled among the burned tombstones in silence, unwilling to discuss the matter any further. I had told him about Alba’s turning, but not about my failed marriage proposal. Her rejection still hurt too much to talk about it, and I feared having ruined everything we had with my rushed, thoughtless offer. I wondered what might await me back in London, when we met again, and what would become of our titleless relationship after my dreadful faux pas.

“Let’s go see if we can get into the archives,” I told Jean-Pierre, eager to change the subject. “We’ll have to remove the rubble that blocks the passages.”

We got in through the side entrance, and together we managed to push aside the heavy boulders which had been blocking the access to most of our former residence.

As expected, most files had burned to ashes; and the ones which had not were scattered randomly all over the room, jumbled and covered in debris. We crouched over the broken tiles and threw the intact papers into a metal box, with the intention to sort them later. There weren’t many, and it did not take us too long. After that, we headed to the library. The door was useless, and we had no choice but to charge against the wall with a bronze statue to create an opening large enough to enter. Jean-Pierre’s favorite chamber had turned into the gloomiest sight: a book graveyard of torn, burned tomes which lay derelict under piles of dirt and bricks.

Jean-Pierre leaned against his former desk, which was charred but still stood in the middle of the room, silently mourning the loss of the most majestic vampire library. It would take us all a long time to make peace with the extent of this calamity. When one lived for so long, tragedy became a recurring theme; however, it wasn’t always viable to turn a blind eye to its sinister, cyclic presence.

“I would like to check my room,” I told him, willing to allow him a moment of solitude. “I will be right back.”

Jean-Pierre nodded, leafing through the torn books with despondency. “Yes, yes, I will be here... let me see what can be saved... if anything.”

***

A WOODEN BEAM HAD FALLEN over the door to my room, barring the entrance, but I managed to walk in through a crumbled wall section. The ceiling had collapsed over my bed, and most of my paintings were gone―perhaps for the best. Those paintings, just like the ones in the underground gallery, held memories of a past I did not want to recall, and were better-off lost forever. I came across a few old letters under a dresser, and I threw them into a black silk pillowcase, together with several of my forged personal documents. Those would be useful, with their assorted names and birth dates. I also found a driver’s license photograph of Alba: her last photograph ever, possibly. It saddened me to think how her beauty would remain forever unseen by cameras all over, and what for, I wondered? All because of me, when she did not even want me.

As I was about to leave, I spotted a small, lighter-colored canvas leaning against the wall. It used to live inside my closet; but the mayhem must have sent it into a visible corner, otherwise intact. I lifted it, knowing what it contained: a portrait of three people I cherished more than my own life; one of the many I had started, but never finished.

“Clarence?” came Jean-Pierre’s voice from the other side of the hall. “Are you done there? I found something interesting.”

So did I, I thought, wrapping the portrait in a charred rag. “Coming,” I said, and left behind forever the sea of ruins and recollections which had once been my safe haven.

Chapter 13

Alba

Laura and Lucille whirled past Alice and me with a joyful chortle and perched themselves on the sign that read Trattoria di Luigi. The little girl grinned and swung the mother’s head in her hand, holding it like an old rag doll. I flung them a warning glance, hoping they would stay away while we inspected the pizzeria. The scent that had wafted out of it had been unequivocal, and babysitting two bored ghosts was the last thing on my mind when I might be this close to finding my daughters.

Alice and I crept into the dining room, paying attention to all the little details. Carlo was sitting close to the entrance, absorbed in a heated conversation in broken Italian with one of the waiters. At first glance, one would have thought they were arguing; but my days in Italy had taught me that this was the normal tone one would use during a friendly chat. I waved at him and walked straight to the restroom, following the trail left by Mark and Minnie on their way out. My daughters’ smell was very faint: either it was too old, or someone had masked it on purpose.

“Magic,” Alice said, touching the air. “Can you feel it?”

Standing by the door of the bathroom with my eyes closed, I sensed a force field coming from behind us, creating a wall of energy.

“What is it?” I asked. “Is it coming from the kitchen?”

“I’m not sure... maybe a masking spell, but it could be something else too.”

“Come sit with us!” Carlo called us from his table, “have some chianti!”

Chianti. With all those people around me, the last drink on my mind was wine.

“I’m sorry, I need to use the restroom for a minute,” I told him.

Alice winked at him. “We girls like going to the bathroom together!”

“Okay...” He shrugged. “...whatever.”

We locked ourselves in one of the stalls and I started to sniff every single corner. I soon realized that this wasn’t the best thing to do in a public bathroom, but by then my stomach was already turning in protest.

“Can you locate them?” Alice asked, excited.

“No,” I replied. “The scent is too faint, and there are too many... interferences here.”

“It’s coming from the kitchen, or somewhere beyond it. Can you hear what they’re saying through the wall?”

I closed my eyes and listened. There were voices speaking a mixture of English and Italian on the other side, but all I could catch was meaningless small talk about food and patrons.

I shook my head. “Nothing useful.”

I was about to unlock the door of the stall when a loud cry startled me. It was a child screaming, coming from the other side of the wall, but sounding very distant.

“Wait,” I said, raising my hand. “I heard a child.”

“Where?” Alice seemed surprised. “The kitchen?”

“I’m not sure... maybe.”

“Okay, I have the perfect spell!” she said mysteriously. “Actually, I can teach you...”

“Yes, please! What is it about?”

“A magical window. It will allow us to see what’s on the other side. You chant the spell, then you draw a little opening on the wall and sprinkle it with holy water to activate it. I’ll teach you the words...”

“Alice,” I interrupted her. “Where am I supposed to get holy water in a pizzeria?”

She scratched her head. “Good question. I don’t know, just use normal water, I guess.”

When I thought I had understood all the steps, I raised my hands and chanted the spell. A purple fog lifted from the floor, and a dot of violet light appeared on the brick wall.

“Wow,” I gasped.

“Don’t talk!” Alice scolded me. “Water, fast! Before it goes away!”

I staggered out of the bathroom stall, right as a loud group of women was coming in.

“Damn!” I muttered, rushing back into the cubicle and closing the door. “What now?”

Alice glanced meaningfully toward the toilet.

“No way,” I said. The purple dot flickered and got dimmer.

“It’s not like bacteria can kill you...” Alice pointed out, shrugging.

With a huff, I reached into the toilet bowl. “This is absolutely disgusting.”

Before I could touch the water, a beautiful, crystalline spiral raised up and created a flower-shaped fountain. Each petal exploded into a tiny, colorful jet, spinning and splashing all over the cubicle.

“Stop that!” Alice shouted. “It’s too much, you are going to melt the whole wall!”

She took off her scarf and wiped all the walls with it, while she struggled to stop my waterworks with the other hand.

“I asked you to sprinkle it, not to tsunami it,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Never mind, I’ll do it myself.”

She restarted the spell, drawing a small rectangle with her finger on the wall in front of us. After that, she scattered a few drops of water over the rectangle, which turned into an opening in the wall. The restaurant kitchen appeared in front of us, and the face of one cook stared straight at me without seeing me. He grabbed a bottle of chocolate syrup and decorated some desert with it, completely unaware of our presence.

“Can they hear us?” I whispered.

“No, don’t worry,” she replied. “Everything looks the same from their side. They have no idea we’re here.”

All I could see were normal people working, wearing white clothes and chef hats. On the other side of the room there were two metallic doors, seemingly a storage room and a refrigerator chamber.

“Maybe the voice came from another building,” I told Alice. “This looks like a normal kitchen to me.”

Alice nodded. She traced the edge of the window in the opposite direction, and it started to disappear. In the meantime, the refrigerator door opened, and a man entered the kitchen. He was wearing elegant, dark clothes, and walked over to a counter, took a knife, and disappeared once again into the metal door.

Alice and I looked at each other. She covered her mouth, her eyes wide open. “He looks just like...” she said.

“I know,” I interrupted her.

The man we had seen in that kitchen could only be Clarence’s father.

Chapter 14

Clarence

Jean-Pierre was kneeling on the floor of the library, clutching a torn leather-bound codex. He stared at the pages, scattered around him like a half-scorched jigsaw puzzle.

“Troyes. 1788,” he muttered. “You see this tome? I copied it with my own hands. I worked from dawn to dusk. When I fled France, this book was all I carried with me.” He dropped it into a box. “My former life. Gone. Nothing left. Like it never happened.”

“It did happen, brother.” I lay a hand on his shoulder. “Material things turn to dust. But memories always remain. As long as we will them to.”

He nodded.

“Let us leave,” I said quietly. “This place is no longer our home.”

“You are right.” He stood up. “But before that, let me show you my discovery.” He took a small, circular object from the desk and turned it in his hands. “Look at this.”

It was a large pendant, shaped like a dragon and enclosed in a braided circle of solid silver. The passage of time had blackened the hollow parts of the jewel, and it emitted a faint, unnatural glow.

Jean-Pierre handed it to me, and I hesitated before touching it. It looked like a magical object, and its presence in The Cloister could hardly be accidental.

“It’s safe,” Jean-Pierre said.

“The Order of the Dragon,” I muttered, feeling the metal against my skin. It showed no fingerprints or marks of wearing.

“Someone wanted to leave their signature here...” Jean-Pierre said, echoing my thoughts. “...a message.”

“Yes, but... who? Vlad the Impaler himself?” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. I did not believe in such adult bedtime stories, written by humans with a vivid imagination... and poorly erased memories of the undead, most likely.

“Perhaps,” Jean-Pierre said. “Dracula’s children, if you will... the nemorti.”

“Dracula is nothing else than a made-up tale.”

“So are we.” He chuckled and started to arrange random papers in piles on top of the ashy desk.

“Regardless, The Order of the Dragon does not exist anymore, and if it does, it bears no connection to our kind.” I returned the pendant, feeling instant relief. Its touch made me restless. “You know what I think? I believe this is a trap. Someone is trying to outwit us and redirect our attention.”

“Possibly. But nevertheless, you know where Anne came from, or have you forgotten?”

“Anne?”

Jean-Pierre smiled faintly. He knew all about my past. After all, he had been my only true friend for a century.

Anne Zugrabescu had been my sire and my first love. If nothing else, I had mistaken a deep obsession for love back then. She had settled in London in the 1800’s after murdering her wealthy husband back in Moldavia, a faraway region now belonging to Romania. Whether she had been a vampire before her arrival in England, or she had been turned after, was something she never revealed to me.

Jean-Pierre took the metal box containing his salvaged books and papers and made his way back to the main hallway. I followed him, pensive.

“What if someone wanted to make their presence known?” Jean-Pierre said, pushing aside a fallen chandelier. “What if they were claiming this territory for themselves?”

“Nonsense.”

“Predators are territorial,” Jean-Pierre said with defiance. “Perchance our comfortable, secluded life spoiled us into believing a blissful existence of wining, dining and enjoying carnal pleasures perpetually was possible. As a former monk, I know everything about living in denial of the harsh realities of the world. But that is not how nature works.”

“Vampires don’t belong to the natural world,” I pointed out. “According to scientific laws, we shouldn’t even exist.”

“Please.” He laughed. “Science. Religion. Don’t pretend now you believe in any of that human blather.”

“I hear my father still believes.”

“I hear he was never too sane to begin with.”

Accurate.

“The day humans prove magic and, eventually, our existence, will be most unfortunate for us,” Jean-Pierre said as we reached the glistening cherry amber tunnel. “Let’s just hope that day comes as late as possible.”

Long suppressed memories of the tortures I had suffered in Venice as a prisoner of scientists rushed back after his comment, causing my stomach to twist in knots.

“Yes, we can only hope so,” I said, and started to crawl along the narrow tunnel and toward the silver moonlight.

Chapter 15

Alba

“I’m going into that kitchen right now,” I told Alice, kicking the stall door open. She grabbed the back of my jacket, a deep frown flashing on her face.

“That’s a terrible idea,” she said. “We don’t know who those people are. That man looks like Clarence’s grandson, yes, but he seems to be acquainted with Mark and Minnie, so I wouldn’t trust him blindly...”

“Grandson!” A hysterical bout of laughter overcame me. I couldn’t get over the shock of seeing Clarence’s twin: the likeness was eerie. “He’s not his grandson. He’s Clarence’s father!”

“Father?” Alice repeated in confusion, then understanding lit her features. “Oh! You mean he is...?”

“Yes,” I whispered. “A vampire.”

Alice leaned against the doorframe, blocking my exit.

“Well, even more reasons not to rush into that kitchen without a backup plan. If he’s Clarence’s father, we can conclude he’s much, much older than you. Which means you can’t just barge into his den and hope to knock him out with one blow. Let’s face it, he’s probably two-hundred and fifty years old, and you have been a vampire for like... five minutes.”

“But we’re witches,” I protested. “You know spells!”

“Exactly. I know spells. What about you?”

I squinted at her, frustrated.

“Your eyes turn a weird green color when you do that,” Alice said. “It’s a bit creepy.”

“Sorry,” I mumbled, wishing I could see them. “I can’t control it.”

We walked over to Carlo’s table. He was enjoying a family-sized pizza all on his own, and I took a reluctant seat by his side, unable to sit still and watch him eat.

“Can you believe that the waiter’s father and my dad met one summer in Sicily...?” he said, melted cheese trickling down his greasy fingers.

“Carlo, I need you to kill a vampire for me,” I uttered without further ado.

“What?” The pizza fell off his hands, landing face-down on the plate. He turned to Alice, his lip twisted with suspicion. “What were you doing in that bathroom? Has she bitten a crackhead?”

Alice grinned and shrugged, then stole a slice of pizza from Carlo’s plate.

“It’s Clarence’s father!” I whisper-shouted, glancing meaningfully toward the kitchen. “He’s here. And my children too, I think. Please, help me!”

Carlo leaned toward me. I could tell the prospect of killing someone related to Clarence was extremely appealing to him, if he couldn’t get rid of the man himself. “You want to kill your lover’s father? Tell me more...”

“You two are ridiculous,” Alice interrupted, slamming on the table. “There are at least thirty people in this restaurant, plus the staff. You can’t just walk into a kitchen and kill a man, vampire or not. Can you imagine the media uproar? Also, you don’t really know what you might find there. There could be a whole coven, for all we know. Rushing in would be stupid, and suicidal.”

I crossed my arms, knowing she was right.

“We need a plan, a spell, and reinforcements. And probably some stakes...” She glanced at Carlo, who was about to devour a whole slice of pepperoni in one single mouthful. “Funny you left all your vampire-hunting gear at the apartment tonight.”

“So, what do you suggest?” I asked. “We need to act fast. The kids might be here tonight, but they could take them somewhere else anytime.”

“I understand, but I need to check my spell books first,” Alice said. “Maybe I can find something useful.”

***

THE THREE OF US SAT in the living room for the rest of the evening and found ourselves immersed in a disturbing―though enlightening―debate on the possible ways to kill a vampire―hopefully, not me.

“Okay, so there’s this one where you fill a vampire’s sock with graveyard dirt...” Alice said, leafing through the pages of a grimoire which suspiciously resembled a picture book.

I rolled my eyes. “I know that one. Clarence was making fun of it. Don’t you have anything more... deadly?”

“I only trust stakes and silver daggers to the heart,” Carlo said, dismissing Alice’s suggestions. “Silver bullets can stun them for a while, and tungsten chains will hold them if you tie them well. I hear witches have curses and such, but apart from that, nothing really works. Apart from frying them in the sun, but that’s hard to execute...” as he continued, the memory of the outcast vampire made me shudder. “It’s always important to wait and see if they start to heal or they actually croak.”

“And how do you know that?” Alice asked, intrigued by Carlo’s vast knowledge of vampire slaughtering.

“Well, if you kill them properly, they start to age until they crumble into dust. That’s the only sure sign they are dead-dead.”

I grimaced.

“Sorry,” he said, opening his third bag of chips. “But you asked.”

“I mean, we could cast the Fulminatio,” Alice said, pushing up her thick-rimmed glasses. “But we would have to do it the right way in order to kill such a powerful creature. One witch for each element, the way it’s supposed to be done.”

“Hmm,” I mumbled. “You are the only witch I know. What’s your element?”

“Air. Now if only we could find a fire witch and an earth one...” Alice murmured, leafing through her books once more.

“So there are four?” I asked.

“Four elements?” Alice hesitated. “Yes, you could say so. You have probably heard about the fifth element, but that’s irrelevant in our case.”

My phone rang, an unusual occurrence so late in the evening. It was Minnie, sounding agitated.

“Alba!” she shouted, cars rumbling in the background. “Can you come to Big Ben?”

“Now?” I asked with suspicion. “Why?”

“It’s about the kids,” she cried, “I think I found something. Please, meet me here as soon as you can!”

“Okay. I’ll be there.”

After everything I had seen in that restaurant kitchen, and knowing Minnie had spent many hours hiding in there, it was extremely hard to trust her. Still, I would have risked everything in exchange for a clue about Iris and Katie.

Alice and I took the subway to Westminster and agreed she would remain hidden, watching my back. Laura and Lucille stayed home, flying through walls and enjoying their new favorite game, which consisted of kicking the neighbors’ ornaments off the shelves and laughing at their reaction.

When I arrived, Minnie was leaning against the green balustrade of the Westminster bridge, staring at the black waters of the Thames with a blank expression. She was still surrounded by the same warmth I had noticed earlier, only now it felt drier when it hit me, like a gush of desert wind.

As soon as she heard me, she turned around and pointed at the clock tower.

“Twenty minutes to midnight,” she said. “Perfect.”

“Perfect for what?” I asked, suddenly reluctant to get too close to her. She felt different... dangerous. “Where is Mark? What have you found out about the kids?”

She smiled, closing her fists: this was a knowing, wicked smile. When she opened her hands, there were two small balls of fire glowing inside them.

Witch.

Clarence had been right.

I stared at her, paralyzed, and considered pushing her into the river. But no, that would have been a waste. I needed to know the truth about her, and I had a feeling I was about to find out.

“Do not dare take one more step,” she warned me, the sweetness of her voice fully gone. “I know what you are. You can’t fool me, Alba Lumin, and I’m not afraid of you. They saw you tonight snooping at Luigi’s restaurant... I guess now we both know each other’s secrets, don’t we?”

I swallowed, calculating how long it would take me to turn into a panther and bite through her neck. “What are you talking about? What secrets?”

The crimson balls of fire hovered over Minnie’s palms, and she gave them a playful push, letting them bounce against her hands like ping-pong balls.

“Would you meet me here tomorrow morning?” She laughed. “No? I wonder why.”

“Of course I would,” I lied, pretending not to see the magical fire in her hands. “Are you going to tell me why you called? Because otherwise I’m leaving. It’s late, and I’m sleepy...”

She cackled so loud at the word sleepy that my sensitive vampire eardrums buzzed.

“Don’t worry, Mark doesn’t know, and neither should he,” she said, lifting one arm, as if offering me her fiery ball. “Take it. Let’s play.”

I stepped back.

“It’s fine, it won’t burn you.”

“Thanks, but no thanks.”

“I’m here to offer you a deal,” she said, snapping her fingers. The fire retreated back to her fingertips, and she used her index finger to draw a fire circle in the air. She noticed me checking our surroundings, and she added, “Nobody can see us. I took care of that too.”

She took care of that too? I looked at her with new eyes. Not only was she a witch, but she seemed to be a powerful one on top of that. Alice, I screamed internally, wishing I had the gift of telepathy, Where are you?

“Here’s the deal,” Minnie said. “Your lover in exchange for your daughters.” I stared in horror, and she added, “What kind of mother would refuse such an offer? I suppose you wouldn’t sacrifice your children for a man, would you?” I didn’t reply, and she continued, “You know how men are. One day they promise you the world, the next day they treat you like an option... or a perfect stranger.”

She waved, and images started to flash inside the circle of fire. The clock chimed a quarter to midnight, and she showed me Clarence in a silent movie, sharing a bed with an unknown red-haired girl, licking the valley between her breasts as she twisted with pleasure under his expert hands. I turned away from the disturbing sight, refusing to watch such deception.

“That’s an illusion,” I said. “Just a cheap trick.”

“Believe whatever you want.” She smiled and pulled the circle of fire into her fist, making it disappear. “Bring him here. I give you one week. Tell him his father challenges him to a duel at midnight.”

She dropped a sealed envelope at my feet, forcing me to crouch in front of her to pick it up.

“And if he agrees, will you return my children?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“How do I know you are not lying?”

“You will have to trust my word.”

“You know I can go to the police right now and report you, don’t you?”

She arched an eyebrow, her blond hair floating over her shoulders as if held by an invisible breeze. “Can you?” She laughed. “Anyhow, I wouldn’t if I were you,” she added and walked away with a sneer.

Chapter 16

Alba

Minnie sauntered into a side street, followed by her desert wind aura. As soon as she disappeared, Alice raced out of her hiding spot and threw herself at me, squeezing my forearms.

“What are you doing?” I asked, shaking her off me.

“I just wanted to make sure you were still in one piece,” she replied and performed a bizarre dance, waving her arms in the air with her eyes closed. I stared in silence, used to her unusual rituals. “I’d swear she was a fire witch,” Alice declared, opening her eyes again. “But fire witches are so rare.” She took a tissue out of her pocket and wiped the balustrade Minnie had been leaning on. It came out covered in sparkling red dust, resembling glitter. “See this? An ordinary fire doesn’t leave glittering ashes.”

I nodded. I had never seen anything like that. They were actually pretty.

“I knew there was something off about her.” Alice folded the tissue and tucked it into her pocket. “If you had told me she was a witch, I could have cast a protective spell on you.”

“I had no clue she could do such things,” I said. “I feel stupid now, thinking of the many times I visited their house and didn’t suspect a thing. She was always a bit mean, but didn’t seem particularly clever...”

“Well, she’s either very clever or had a fantastic teacher.”

“Clarence noticed she might be a stray witch, but I didn’t think she knew at all.”

“You know what’s funny,” Alice said, ambling pensively toward the subway. “It felt to me as if something, someone... was helping her. Although I can’t sense anything or anyone else around us.”

I closed my eyes, relying on the rest of my senses to search for clues. “I don’t know,” I said, giving up. “I can’t feel anything.”

An empty tourist cruise sailed under the bridge, leaving a golden, wavy wake behind it ―Juliet was its name. It brought back thoughts of my very own Romeo and his awkward proposal, and I shook my head to get rid of them.

“I wish the Goddess would send us a sign.” Alice murmured, looking up to the sky.

“What Goddess?” I asked. I halted in front of the underground station, which was already closed. We would have to walk home, not that I minded.

“What do you mean, what Goddess?” Alice sounded scandalized. “What kind of witch are you?”

“Um... a stray one?” I volunteered, then grinned. “With fangs?”

Alice rolled her eyes. “Never mind, witchpire. I think you are a hopeless case. Let’s walk faster, I’m getting cold.”

***

WE STROLLED ALONG PARLIAMENT Street, all the way to Trafalgar. A statue of a man on horseback reigned in the middle of the square, and I wondered who it might be. Alice, once again, read my mind, and she promptly informed me it was King Charles I, who had ended up beheaded after being the first English king trialed in court. I should ask Laura later, in case all beheaded ghosts had a secret society and they knew each other.

“How do you know all that?” I asked, a bit surprised to find she was such a talented tour guide.

“I’ve been to London many times,” she explained. “But also, there’s a plaque behind that statue that marks the center of the old city. Which, besides, is a very powerful energy spot for us witches.”

I opened my tourist map, scrutinizing it with curiosity. “Trafalgar doesn’t seem to be in the middle of my map at all,” I declared, wondering how accurate Alice’s statements were and whether she had made up the beheaded king story too.

“Well, it is the center, or at least the energetic center. And if you don’t believe me, just stand by that statue on any given day, and you’ll feel all the power converging under your feet. Just not tonight because I’m freezing.”

I nodded. “Okay. Some other day. Now I’d rather figure out what to do next,” I said, leaving the statue behind. “Should Clarence accept the challenge, or would it be better to capture Minnie and force her to talk?”

“I would love to get hold of that bitch, but she looks skilled and is associating with a very old vampire.” She raised her hand, a fresh idea brightening her features. “Wait! What became of your friend, Julia? The one I saw in Turanna’s mirror once... she was a fire witch too, right?”

I slumped against an iron streetlamp, defeated. “I don’t know. I think she’s being held captive in Natasha’s lab in Paris.” I felt a sudden chill remembering the tortures they had been inflicting on vampires in Natasha’s laboratory: tortures Alice’s coven was aware of yet had turned a blind eye to, thanks to the scientist’s briberies. “We should have helped them, but then my kids disappeared.”

Alice remained silent for a moment.

“I should read my cards tomorrow morning. We have so many things to ask.”

We turned into an elegant, wide street, where a long row of night buses waited in front of a stop. Most of them had billboards advertising a temporary exhibition on ancient Egypt, with a large picture of Isis in the middle.

“Look, your Goddess,” I said to Alice. “Is this your sign?”

“You shouldn’t make fun of The Great Mother like that,” she scolded me, studying the billboards. “And no, I don’t think so. These posters are all over London.”

“I wasn’t making fun of her,” I protested.

“Whatever,” she replied wearily. “I don’t feel like arguing. I just want to go to bed.”

Chapter 17

Clarence

“So, tell me, Clarence,” Jean-Pierre said. We were waiting at a traffic light on our way back to Westside Avenue, blending in with the other humans who populated the streets of Emberbury in the evening. “What are your plans with Alba, once things get back to normal? Will you two settle in Europe? It would probably be the wisest option, at least until the situation with Elizabeth improves...”

I crossed the road, leaving him behind and pretending I hadn’t heard his question. He did not get the hint and rushed after me instead, forcing me to face his uncomfortable enquiry.

“Clarence, what is the matter?” he asked, holding me by the arm.

“Nothing. But I would rather not discuss this now. That’s all.”

We passed by a quaint bookshop, a large sign by the entrance reading, “Witches or vampires, which fictional creature is your favorite?”

Witches, my mind replied automatically, much to my chagrin.

“I see you are distressed. Is there anything I could do to help?” Jean-Pierre asked with worry.

“I doubt there is anything you can do.” I made an effort to sound as civil as possible. It was not his fault Alba had rejected me, after all. “I just think she is not as interested in me as she used to be, now that she is a vampire.” Jean-Pierre’s eyes widened with incredulity, but I continued, “She can have anyone she wants now. Why would she limit her options, particularly this early on?”

“Nonsense.” He patted my back, a smile growing in his bearded face. “She will come to her senses, you will see. Just give her time to adjust.”

“We shall see,” I replied dryly.

“Look who is waiting for us,” Jean-Pierre said, waving at Francesca. She was sitting on the steps and blocking the entrance to the townhouse, with an impatient frown on her face. As soon as she saw us, she gestured toward a side street, asking us to follow her.

She led us to a parking lot behind the courthouse, a secluded place under the shadow of tall, glass buildings; bustling in the mornings, but completely deserted in the late-night hours.

“What’s the matter?” I asked, alarmed by her troubled expression.

“As you know,” Francesca said, taking a white envelope out of her corset, “a while ago I asked a law firm to do some research for us, hoping they’d help us recover Elizabeth Swamp Enterprises. Today I received this.” She took a few papers out of the envelope and handed them to me. “Have a look, please.”

I unfolded the pages carefully. The first one was a formal letter addressing Miss Francesca Belak, and the second one included a table listing all sorts of assets: real estate all around the country and abroad, most of them in Lillian and Alonzo’s names.

“So?” I asked, puzzled, returning the documents. “Seems Lillian and Alonzo have been managing their finances much better than the rest of us. I am pleased for them.”

Francesca rolled her eyes and pointed at the properties on the list. “The Playa Dorada hotel in Acapulco, Clarence! Do you not remember Elizabeth’s struggles to acquire it at an auction, ten years ago? Do you think she would have gifted it to Lillian just like that?” She showed me another line, frustration increasing in her voice. “And what about this? The office building in Seventh Avenue, Manhattan? I was with her when she signed the deed. I still remember how much it cost us. How did it end up being Alonzo’s?”

“Your guess is as good as mine...” I said, unwilling to be the first to make an accusation.

Jean-Pierre shook his head. “Shady,” he declared. “Very shady indeed.”

“Perhaps they had a private agreement. We should not make assumptions before asking Elizabeth,” I warned them.

“In her current mental state, she might not even remember her own mother’s name,” Jean-Pierre said.

“But we should try, if nothing else.”

“Fine,” Francesca conceded, “but I don’t trust those two. Never did, and now even less.”

“Are they home?” Jean-Pierre asked, sauntering back to the main street.

“I don’t think so,” Francesca replied. “They flew away around noon, and I haven’t seen them since.”

“Perfect,” I said. “Let us talk to Elizabeth before they return.”

When we reached the house, the door was ajar, and a foreign scent infused the air inside, mixed with Lillian and Alonzo’s. We glanced at each other, silently confirming that the main door had been locked a few minutes earlier.

“Seems they are back.” Francesca sighed, entering with a whirl of heavy skirts. “And may I add, judging by the smell, they surely brought snacks. Such audacity... seems our rules don’t apply to them anymore.”

She disappeared into the dark living room, and the sound of metal sliding against a soft surface rekindled lost memories of my first vampire days, when daggers, stakes and fights for survival were an everyday occurrence.

Jean-Pierre blocked the door with his arm. He had heard it, too.

“Wait,” he mouthed, producing a small, ornate handgun out of his pocket.

I nodded with approval. I would have never expected him to carry silver bullets these days. We didn’t need them for humans, and we rarely met other supernatural creatures anymore.

We slithered into the house, all senses alert, with Jean-Pierre leading the way. Even though it smelled strongly of humans, I couldn’t hear any breathing.

“Francesca?” Jean-Pierre called. She had vanished into her chambers, and the house was in complete silence.

“I’m upstairs,” she replied quietly. “I just need to change.”

“I think everything is fine,” Jean-Pierre said, lowering his weapon. “They probably disposed of the humans, but the smell lingered. We have been on edge lately, with everything that happened.”

“I do not blame you,” I replied, taking off my coat and folding it over my arm. I was on my way to the stairs when the door of the kitchen screeched, and two masked figures pointed at us with guns.

“Don’t move,” one of them commanded, “and nobody will be harmed.”

I raised an eyebrow and sought Jean-Pierre’s gaze. Mortals’ guns were such annoying toys. Those poor burglars didn’t know they had picked the wrong house.

“Who are you, and how dare you enter our dwelling without permission,” I said calmly.

“Surrender right now, or we’ll be your death,” the man replied, making me snort at the dramaticism.

“Oh, in that case, please be welcome, my old friends,” I said with amusement, reaching for the cabinet by my side. “Let me offer you a glass of Port wine.”

Several more men poured into the living room, coming from the basement stairs. They were armed with guns and carried chains that shone with an odd glow. I glanced at the clock on the wall.

“Such a nuisance, at this hour,” I said to Jean-Pierre, leaping to the right side of the room, then shouted, “Guard my flank!”

I knocked out the closest two invaders, while the others shot their guns at us. A bullet hit my arm, sending a burning pain up my shoulder, and my flesh hissed with a melting sound.

Silver bullets.

Oh well.

These were not ordinary burglars.

“Hunters,” Jean-Pierre murmured, raining his own silver bullets on the aggressors. “It’s been a while.”

A century, I reflected, striking one man with my knee and another one with my elbow.

Francesca appeared on the stairway, alerted by the commotion. She sprung from the landing, straight onto the closest attacker’s throat, with her hair waving behind her. In a matter of seconds, she managed to reduce the man without a single stain in her pure white nightgown.

In the meantime, I was dealing with another two, and Jean-Pierre sank his fangs into an attacker while shooting at the rest with his free hand.

However, these hunters were worse than cockroaches. They kept trooping out of the basement, dressed in black, like an invasive pest flooding our home. How could a whole squad of armed men have entered the house without anyone noticing? Where were Lillian and Alonzo?

Francesca grabbed the fireplace poker and swiveled, beating several men at once. A shot struck her in the middle of the abdomen, bringing her down on her knees. They took the poker from her and stabbed her.

“Jean-Pierre!” I shouted, too busy with two assailants of my own. The attackers had started to tie Francesca with their glowing chains―they looked haunted. Why tie her, I wondered, when they could have staked her at once? Since when did hunters spare a vampire’s existence?

Lillian and Alonzo came into view, leaning over the stairs railing.

“Alonzo! Help Francesca!” I shouted. He pretended not to hear me, an arm around Lillian’s shoulder and his gaze fixed on the fight with absolute detachment.

Francesca screamed and Elizabeth breezed in, flying over the two impassive vampires in her tattered nightgown, pushing Alonzo out of her way. She looked a true banshee, her ghastly expression framed by a dark mass of curls in disarray. She clawed her way to Francesca’s side and pulled at the chains. The veins in her neck bulged as she fought to free the other woman, and the hunters shot a hail of bullets at them―but always avoiding their hearts. Despite their ominous greeting, it was clear they wanted us alive.

A man approached Elizabeth, holding a silver dagger. With a growl, she threw herself at him, her eyes glaring bright in the half-darkness. She had turned into a wild, instinct-driven beast. All the dormant anger and frustration that had been building up since the ruin of The Cloister were being released at once, as she found revenge in the anonymous hunters.

Lillian and Alonzo remained upstairs, watching the fight like mere spectators.

“Alonzo!” Jean-Pierre roared, shaking off a man armed with a long, pointed stake. His face was splattered with blood, and his black shirt torn.

A chain lassoed my feet, making me trip and fall. Someone else tied my hands, securing them behind my back.

“What’s wrong with you two?” Jean-Pierre yelled, kicking and biting.

Lillian and Alonzo glanced through us, pretending we were invisible.

“We let in a Trojan horse,” I murmured, cursing the day Elizabeth had taken in the taciturn couple. I twisted and snaked on the floor, trying to get rid of the bonds: tungsten chains, for certain; the kind one single vampire could never break unaided. “You let the intruders into The Cloister too, Alonzo, didn’t you?”

I turned into a raven, escaping the chains as my body shifted into a smaller form, and I flew over the room, hoping the others would see me and follow my example.

Shift, everyone, abort mission.

We need to flee this place.

Jean-Pierre shifted after me, and we circled over Elizabeth and Francesca, who had remained alone with the last four assailants.

Elizabeth’s eyes flipped up for a second.

“No,” she muttered. A man approached her, and she bit off part of his shoulder like a wild beast.

Francesca, please, come with us, I screamed in my mind, hovering in circles over her.

“I can’t shift, Clarence!” Francesca shouted, still entangled in her chains. “Leave, Elizabeth!”

“I will never―” she shouted as she spat the man’s flesh on the floor, her face smeared with blood, “―never abandon my clan!”

“Elizabeth!” Francesca urged her, baring her fangs at a man who was trying to drag her toward the door. “Please!”

“I will never desert The Cloister!”

“The Cloister is gone!” Francesca yelled.

Elizabeth’s eyes were clouded by madness. A bullet passed right through her chest, but she didn’t budge.

I dove down, followed by Jean-Pierre―we needed to help Francesca. Her wounds must be worse than I thought if she wasn’t able to fly away. Lillian and Alonzo blocked our way, beating us with an armchair. Alonzo hit my wing, throwing me against the fireplace.

Bastards.

Elizabeth growled, biting and hissing. A man lifted a large silver stake and directed it at Francesca. She was on her knees, with her back toward the attacker. I dodged Alonzo’s second strike and aimed at the man’s eyes. More attackers came out of the basement, carrying flaming devices I had never seen before. They missed us, but the curtains caught on fire, and it started to spread along the rim of the carpet.

We really need to get out of here.

The attackers went for Francesca once again, raising the stake over her. Elizabeth jumped in front of the weapon, blocking its fatal course. Francesca wriggled herself free from the chains and jumped on top of the men like a giant spider.

The living room was on fire. The assailants started to flee, and Lillian and Alonzo shifted and flew up the chimney.

Francesca knocked out the very last of the attackers, a triumphant glint in her eyes―a triumphant glint that did not last for long.

Elizabeth lay in the middle of the room, a growing red stain in the middle of her chest.

Her eyes were not glowing any longer, and the beastly fury was gone. A sudden peace fell upon her features as her eyelids drooped. Her fingers twitched, reaching to grasp a fallen silver dagger by her side.

The crackling fire consumed the curtains, spreading to the paintings on the walls.

Jean-Pierre shifted back into human form and knelt by the queen’s side. I did the same and rushed to hug Francesca, checking her wounds. They were deep, but she would heal.

“My Queen,” Jean-Pierre mumbled, reaching for the stake wedged in Elizabeth’s chest. “Let me help you. Let us take you somewhere safe.”

“Leave,” she commanded. “Now!”

“You cannot stay here, my Queen,” Jean-Pierre protested, glancing at the growing flames which now licked the wallpaper. “We must draw out that stake.”

Elizabeth’s hair started to turn gray and shrivel.

“Can you not see?” she laughed bitterly. The fire crawled up the beams on the ceiling, threatening the stability of the house. “It is too late for me. Leave before you die here too!”

Smoke had filled the room, making it hard to see. Jean-Pierre sank his knees on the floor, his head low. Francesca stood behind him in silence, holding her wounded side with glassy eyes. Elizabeth’s hair turned to dust, her skin yellowing and shrinking over her cheeks.

“I understand,” Jean-Pierre said, recoiling with a bow. “I shall respect your wishes. It was my pleasure being a part of The Cloister, and you were a good queen, Elizabeth. You will never be forgotten.”

Francesca stepped forward and kissed Elizabeth’s forehead without a single word. The queen’s youthful visage had turned unrecognizable, the signs of aging creeping all over her body and revealing her true age.

“We need to go,” Jean-Pierre said, holding Francesca’s hand. “Or else we’ll burn alive in here.”

“Clarence,” Elizabeth said, her voice gurgling in her throat, “stay.”

The bronze chandelier swung abruptly and fell, turned into a ball of fire. The flames danced on the carpet as I knelt by Elizabeth’s side. I would burn by her side if she so requested. She was my queen. Would always be.

She had no hair left, and her irises had turned white. Extending a shaky hand, she grabbed mine with surprising strength.

“Clarence,” she wheezed, “Son.”

I squeezed her hand, unable to speak.

The heat was almost unbearable.

“Rebuild The Cloister for me,” she said. “Do not let them defeat us.”

I nodded; my throat constricted with grief.

“We need to stand together, or we shall soon be extinct. The hunters are back. You are my successor. Everything of mine is yours now. Find my will. It’s all yours.”

“Thank you, Elizabeth,” I murmured.

“And Clarence...” her skin had become transparent, overstretched over protruding cheekbones. She struggled to open her eyes, looking at me one last time. “I know... I know about Alba... I know what you did...”

“Elizabeth, forgive me...” Tears welled up in my eyes. I would not be able to hold them back much longer.

“No,” she said, her voice firm again for a fleeting second. “No. I am proud of you. You did the right thing. Sometimes it is wise to disobey, and only a genuine leader knows when it is the right thing to do so. She is going to be useful for our cause. I know it. I just... know.” A fit of cough shook her body, smoke getting thicker in the air. “I was wrong about her. You two will reach greatness together.” Elizabeth’s bony fingers crumbled into ashes on my arm, and I gasped as she uttered her last words. “Go with my blessings, Son.”

Chapter 18

Alba

After the stressful encounter with Minnie, I was on the verge of dying of thirst. I left Alice at the apartment, haunted by the memories of all my catastrophic solo hunting attempts. I stepped back into the night, desperate enough to try again, even without Clarence’s support. Hopefully, the nearby park might provide me with a lonely wanderer willing to be my next meal. It was either that or devouring Carlo in his sleep, and as annoying as he could be at times, that seemed slightly extreme.

A drunk man staggered toward me, his eyes fixed on my cleavage as he walked down a deserted path. Long greasy hair, short beard. Not my type, but with a pulse... I’d take him.

Deep breath. Here we go.

“Hey gorgeous,” he slurred. “Isn’t it dangerous for a pretty girl to stroll alone so late? Wouldn’t you like some company? My name’s Oliver, by the way.”

“Hey... hi Oliver. Why not... I wanted to go for a drink, actually.” Not a lie.

“Nice accent! Where are you from?”

“Transylvania,” I said, resisting the urge to zip up my jacket up to my teeth. He stank of beer and sweat and wouldn’t stop looking at my boobs. Please, unknown man, let me do my thing, and I’ll make you forget as quickly as possible.

“Transylvania!” He laughed, getting closer; the thirst became unbearable. “Isn’t that where vampires come from?”

“Quite sharp for a drunkard,” I complimented him, the scent of blood making my head spin. Okay, just one more step so I can push you into the bushes. “That’s right!”

“Oh,” he groaned, “I work at a graveyard... I know all the scary folk tales. Do I get a prize now?”

“Indeed you do,” I replied and sank my fangs into his throat before he could say anything else, letting his sweet taste wash away the stress of the night.

***

I STROLLED BACK HOME with a wide smile on my face: for the first time ever, I had managed to find dinner on my own and tidied everything after without causing a mess.

Maybe I would get the hang of this vampire thing, after all. Perhaps I would even manage to do the vampire thing and the witch thing together... it could not be so hard... could it?

Two very agitated ghosts received me on my arrival to the apartment, hovering over my head like puppies greeting their owner.

“Hey,” I said, taking off my muddy shoes. “What’s going on here?”

“Someone was asking for you, Miss!” Lucille, the little ghost, announced from the top of a coat closet.

“Me?” I asked with dread. Please, not Minnie. Nobody else knew me in London, after all.

“Yes, you! It was the prettiest lady! Polka dot dress and blond hair, with lots of waves!”

Lucille twirled with a dreamy expression, dancing in an imaginary gown, and I stood frozen by the door, still holding my jacket over the coat rack.

“I do know someone by that description,” I said, recovering my composure. “Was she a vampire, perhaps?”

“I don’t know Miss. You will have to ask Maman.” She turned around and shouted, “Mammaaan!”

Lucille flew through the kitchen wall, and I noticed a splatter of blood on the back of my hand. Licking it off, I tried to remember whether I had erased Oliver’s memories after biting him. Hopefully I had...

But anyway, who could have been asking for me? Perhaps Julia? My heart jumped at the thought, although I didn’t want to get my hopes up too much. I still remembered the thick layer of blood that had covered her cell in Natasha’s laboratory. We had abandoned her and Ludovic to their devices, rushing to London in search of my daughters, but there was not a single day I didn’t think of them and felt guilty for not having done more to help.

Then again, if Julia had shown up in London, she must be alive and safe. That would have been great news because we were in dire need of a witch... particularly a fire witch like her.

My slippers weren’t in the hall, and I remembered I had lent them to Alice. There was another pair in the other guest room, so I tiptoed toward Carlo’s room. The lights were off inside―perhaps it would be best to creep in and get my stuff quickly instead of waking him up.

The sight presented to me when I opened the door was definitely not what I had expected. Carlo was reading one of Alice’s grimoires by dim candlelight, and in front of him, his underpants hung over the edge of the desk, held by a thick candle on each corner. Judging by the not-so-subtle smell wafting all the way to the corridor, it wasn’t his cleanest piece of underwear either. Next to the candles, there was an open notebook with some words scribbled in red ink, and he was using an old restaurant receipt as a bookmark.

I blinked, taking a second look to make sure this wasn’t a hallucination: I may be a lousy witch, but that looked a lot like a spell. Either that, or Carlo’s ways to do laundry were extremely innovative.

I must have chuckled a little because he turned around with a scandalized expression, causing me to slam the door shut with a mumbled apology.

I still needed my slippers, though, so this time, I decided to knock and pretend I hadn’t seen anything.

“Sorry, Carlo, my slippers are in your wardrobe,” I whispered through the door. “Would you mind if I come in for a minute? I thought you were sleeping...”

“I’ll get them for you,” he snapped. After a few noises, he opened the door just enough to squeeze the slippers through the slit, then shut it again in my face.

Well, that was weird.

I really needed to tell Alice about this when she woke up.

In my bedroom, the ghosts were already waiting. The little one had managed to shrink enough to fit into a spherical glass lampshade, and she stared at me, expectant.

“Oh! A glowing lamp with eyes!” I said, feigning surprise, and the child ghost giggled with delight.

Her mother was lying on my bed, her head placed strategically on the pillow so it looked almost as if it were attached to her neck. Studying both pieces together, I realized she must have been beautiful once.

“Bonsoir,” she said, patting the space next to her for me to sit down. “As my daughter already told you, a lady came asking for you while you were gone. Her name was Julia.”

“Julia!” A sigh of relief escaped my lungs. “I’m so glad to hear she’s alive.” Both ghosts exchanged a worrisome glance. “Because she’s alive, right?”

“That is a good question,” Laura said. “Because I had never seen a creature like her. She seemed to be one of us. But then again, she had vampire fangs and introduced herself as a witch. A strange hybrid.”

“Yes! That’s her! She can do astral projection.” Or at least she could, before Natasha’s experiments depleted all her energy.

“It didn’t seem like she was projecting, but who knows.” Laura rolled onto her side, manually moving her head to follow the body. “Anyway, she said she had an urgent communication which could only be delivered to you...”

“Did she say if she’d be back?”

“No. But she asked me to deliver the following message: Solar Crown Mirror, Friday, twenty minutes before closing time.”

A meeting, I thought with excitement. Now I just needed to figure out where.

“What is the Solar Crown Mirror?” I asked. “Do you know where it is?”

“I wouldn’t know, Miss. She appeared in your vanity mirror, so I am guessing she’s a mirror traveler.”

“Yes, that sounds like her. Thank you so much, Laura,” I thanked her, writing the name on a piece of paper. I had a few hours before Alice woke up to do some research online, and I really wished the ghost would get out of my bedroom to get down to business. “Would you mind sleeping on the couch tonight?” I asked her with a wide smile, aware ghosts didn’t need to sleep.

“Maman likes your bed,” Lucille explained. “Reminds her of the one she had before Antoine killed us.”

I gave her an empathetic smile. “Oh, I see,” I said. “I’m sorry that happened.”

“It’s fine, Miss. He killed himself right after. But we don’t know why he crossed over right away, while we were cursed to remain here forever. He was bad, and we were not, and I miss my dad so much. I wish you would send us back to him.”

“I know, sweetheart.” I sighed. “I promised I would, and I will, as soon as I find the way.” Her little face lit up with hope, making me feel guilty again. “What happened to your dad?” I asked her. The mother had closed her eyes and was humming a French song, clearly uninterested in joining the conversation.

“He died when I was four, then Maman married Antoine. But Antoine was...”

“Enough, Lucille!” Laura said, getting up abruptly and forgetting her head on the pillow. “Antoine is dead and forgotten, and so he shall remain, ma Cherie.”

“Oui, Maman.” The little ghost shrugged and threw me an apologetic glance.

“I’m sorry,” I said, “I shouldn’t be prying. Anyway, you will have to excuse me now. I have lots of work to do before sunrise.”

Chapter 19

Alba

With sunrise came the concierge, carrying a big, heavy parcel addressed to me. There was no return address, but the postal declaration read, “Home decoration” and “Gift.”

I brought the box to the kitchen, where Alice and Carlo were arguing over the last slice of bacon on a plate.

“I bought it!” Alice yelled, stabbing the meat with her fork. “It’s mine!”

“You’re getting chubby!” replied Carlo, pushing the plate toward him. “I’m eating it for charity!”

“Screw off, Carlo!” Alice shouted, pointing a knife at him like a magic wand.

“Hey,” I interrupted them, worried they would kill each other over a foul-smelling slice of bacon. “Look what just arrived.”

They weren’t paying any attention, so I took the bacon and threw it into the trash; with this, their appalled eyes finally turned to me. There was a double gasp, but after that, they stopped bickering and acknowledged my presence.

“That was rude,” Carlo said, eyeing the trash can with longing.

I shrugged, placing the parcel on the table between them, and got out my claws to open it.

“Handy,” Alice said with approval, checking out my retractile nails.

“I know, right?” I said proudly.

After removing several yards of bubble wrap, we found four identical kitchen containers in the box and an envelope taped to one of them. The containers were made of white ceramic, with reliefs of candy and sweets on the front, and had a lid secured to the top with clear tape to withstand the journey.

“Sweet jars?” Carlo took one and shook it, then did the same with the rest. “Weird! Feels like a powder. Can I open them?”

“Yes, of course,” I nodded. “I didn’t order this, and I have no idea what’s inside.”

I let him deal with the tape, and I opened the letter in the meantime.

“Well, whoever sent you this gift hasn’t seen this apartment,” Alice commented, pointing at the expensive art covering all visible surfaces. “These cheapo jars don’t match the décor at all, don’t you think...?” She leaned toward me, waiting for an answer, but I was too shocked to reply. “Hey!” Alice called me, “what’s wrong?”

I handed her the small piece of paper, which read:

“Their last request was for me to send you this, and I always honor the wishes of the departed.

My condolences, I know you loved them.

N.

PS: The two empty ones are for you and your companion of choice, so you can have your own little family pantheon.”

I put down the letter, horror spreading through my whole being. In the meantime, Carlo opened one of the white jars, and a light beige powder spread in a dusty cloud over the kitchen table.

Alice gasped and jumped back, and Carlo grimaced, shaking the ominous dirt off his hands.

“Ashes!” Alice shrieked, waving her hands in some sort of protective spell.

“Ew,” said Carlo, heading to the sink to wash his hands. “Whose?”

I leaned against the wall and slid down as my brain worked overtime to decipher the message.

Two small urns.

Two people I had loved.

Please, not my children.

The kitchen started to spin, and before I knew, all judgment abandoned my body.

I leaped on the counter and swiped left and right with black, furry paws, leaving behind a track of destruction, broken crockery and torn fabrics piling up everywhere I stepped.

Carlo’s blood lured me, calling me like a siren’s song, and I chased him until he fled the apartment screaming, while Alice shielded herself from my madness behind a disjointed door. She muttered an incantation, blocking the main door with one of Carlo’s stakes. Smoke clouded the air, and the piercing pain of the stake on my back paralyzed me.

A blow on my head, and nothing else but blackness remained.

Chapter 20

Clarence

London, January 1845

When my father blinked awake, his eyes were blazing embers.

I sat on the highest branch of the nearby oak tree, a wry smile on my face, and watched quietly as he bolted to the graveyard chapel, led by the scent of the two closest humans. The screams were ear-piercing as he pounced on his first unsuspecting victims: the priest and his housekeeper. He drained their veins up to the very last drop of blood, finally discarding their inert bodies by the gate.

A pang of guilt bubbled deep inside my chest, threatening to come to the surface, but I pushed it down hastily. Yes, I could have stopped Victor from killing them, but why should I? After going through purgatory myself, I was too eager to feast my eyes on my father’s perdition. A few collateral casualties were to be expected.

Father trudged out of the priest’s house, the first inklings of consciousness making their cautious appearance after quenching his first, most vicious thirst.

By the time he reached Mother’s tomb, he was crawling, overcome by the weight of guilt, and prostrated himself by her headstone, lost in a hopeless prayer.

“Forgive me, Oh Lord...”

Tears ran down his cheeks, drawing white rivers on the dark red stains that covered most of his skin.

I jumped quietly to the lowest branch of the oak tree, and from there to the ground. Arms crossed over my chest, I stood behind him. The skin over my hands was still gray and reminiscent of a corpse’s after my years-long struggle against worms and beetles. My mind was not in a healthier shape, but at least it was not so apparent.

Father covered his face with his bloodied hands, howling like a wounded wolf. He was becoming aware of what he had done... of what he had become.

My ghastly masterpiece.

All this time, I had dreamed of turning him into the creature he feared and hated the most. A self-proclaimed man of God, he had always loathed those like me. He had buried me alive to remain pure and holy, convinced his faith would secure him a seat above everyone else in his imaginary Heaven. In his mind, prayer would erase all the vile acts of his past, and generous donations to his church would easily pay for all the lives he had ruined, including my mother’s and mine.

What would he do now, I wondered?

Would he inflict upon himself the treatment reserved for the spawn of the devil?

I was hoping so.

Yet, and oddly enough, as I watched the collapse of the man I had once feared so, there were no traces of the pleasure I had anticipated. I still felt empty, and the hurt was still there, as alive as ever.

Nothing had changed inside me.

“Please, Lord, forgive me,” Father wept, staring with horror at his soiled claws. “Guide me back to the light... take me to my beloved wife...”

A flapping of wings stirred the air, and a sultry female voice interrupted his pleas.

“You are wasting your breath.”

The Dark Lady had found me, and she did not seem pleased with my actions in the slightest. She breezed by my side, throwing me a fleeting, scornful glance, and planted herself between my father and I. Even though she wasn’t particularly tall, her presence was majestic, with her skirts cascading over the damp graveyard grass and her hair tied in hundreds of tiny braids, forming a crown over her head.

“Who are you?” Father asked, getting up from the ground.

“I am someone who has lived enough to know your God will not answer you,” the Lady replied. Father tried to object, but she raised her hand to silence him and continued, “And no. Not because of what you have become. But because of what you did while you were alive.”

“Am I dead? Am I in hell?” he asked in a shaky voice.

She smiled, pearly white fangs peeking through her red lips.

“Not yet. But I am pondering whether to send you there myself or leave you here to find the way on your own.” She bit her lip pensively. “What’s your name?”

“Auberon,” Father replied. “Victor Auberon.”

“Victor,” she repeated, then turned to me, pointing at the crumbling skin on my forearms. “Is this the man who did that to you?”

I nodded.

“Should I kill you both?” she asked, no inflection in her voice. “Or just you?”

“As you wish, my lady,” I replied, being completely honest. After this, I had nothing else to do in this world, and I would surrender to whatever she determined.

She glanced at the purple glow in the horizon, signaling the forthcoming dawn, then swiveled abruptly and tore a thick branch from the closest tree. In one swift, clean move, she stabbed Father’s stomach with its sharpest end, nailing him to the ground among dreadful screeches.

“Excuse me, for I had no cross to nail you on,” the Lady said to Father. “But I hope this patch of holy ground will be to your liking.”

Father groaned and closed his eyes, dark blood pooling around him.

“You,” she said then, looking at me. “I am not done with you.” She wiped her hands on a delicate handkerchief and waved dismissively toward Father. “As for him, may the morning sun burn him, if mortals don’t find him sooner.” She puffed. “Whatever his fate, I am certain he will have paid for his sins by sunup.”

Chapter 21

Alba

“It is done, it is done, it is done,” I heard Alice say. Her voice sounded distant, but I could make out her silhouette, sitting on a divan in the half-darkness. “Awaken now.”

I tried to speak, but only a soft roar left my throat. I stretched on the bed, comforted by a pleasant feeling as I arched my back up and down. My fur was missing on one spot, and I curled up to lick it as my brain puzzled together my last recollections.

“You need to shift back so we can talk, Alba,” Alice said. She was holding a black candle in one hand and a kitchen knife in the other, and there was no trace of Carlo. I growled instinctively, feeling threatened, and my tail flapped furiously on its own. “Calm down, please,” she continued without lowering the knife. “I have good news, I think. I noticed the parcel was stamped in Paris. Somewhere near the airport, look. I googled it.”

She got up and approached me very slowly, like you would a dangerous beast, then dropped a piece of cardboard on the other side of the bed and retreated swiftly. It was a torn side of the parcel I had opened in the morning, and the stamp on it said Roissy.

“What I mean is... it’s probably not who you think,” she added in a reassuring tone.

I concentrated as hard as I could, calling forth the familiar sensation of inhabiting my human body, and soon, I was back to my normal self, still wearing the same clothes from one night earlier.

“That’s better,” Alice said with a sigh, finally setting the knife on the sideboard next to her. “Are you okay?”

“I think so,” I replied without much conviction. “What time is it?”

“It’s evening already. Sorry about staking you, but I had no idea what to do. You were about to attack Carlo again, and I was worried you would run into the city like that.”

“It’s okay,” I said, rubbing my lower back. A faint pain remained, but I had thought it was due to sleeping in a bad posture. “How is Carlo?”

“He’s staying in a hotel for now.”

“I can’t blame him.” I stood up and walked over to Carlo’s room. He had packed his things and left, but there were traces of wax on his desk. “Alice,” I called her, remembering what I had seen the night before. “Why would Carlo light candles around his dirty underwear?”

Alice blinked exaggeratedly. “What?”

“I caught him doing that last night. I think he was using one of your books.”

“What an idiot!” She laughed and disappeared into her room, then came back holding the same book Carlo had been using and pointed at one page. “It’s a love spell!” She was cackling. “But for whom? Also, what made him think he could cast a spell?” She stopped on her tracks, then stared at me. “Wait. What if he likes you?”

“Me?” I snorted. “Well, in that case, his spell is definitely not working.”

Alice’s stomach roared, and I glanced toward the kitchen, noticing with dismay that the door was full of scratches and lying against a wall. “Hungry?” I asked, and she nodded with eagerness.

“Yes, but I think I will have to go out to eat... I didn’t dare leave you alone while you were sleeping. There are no plates left, and the fridge is empty.”

The floor and counters were still covered in shards, and I felt a wave of embarrassment raise to my cheeks. Oddly enough, the four urns had remained intact on the table, still surrounded by a heap of ashes.

“We should put this away,” I said. “Whoever it was, I don’t think they would have wanted their ashes scattered in Elizabeth’s kitchen.”

Laura and Lucille flew through the refrigerator, the little one pretending to shiver.

“Did you decipher the ghost lady’s message?” Laura asked, snatching her head from her daughter’s shaking hands.

Oh, yes, Julia.

I had almost forgotten.

“Yes, I think so. The Solar Crown Mirror can be visited at a temporary exhibition at the British Museum right now, which means we should meet her there on Friday, twenty minutes before closing time.”

“What are you talking about?” Alice said, carefully scooping the ashes back into the urn with a teaspoon.

“I think Julia is coming to London this Friday,” I replied. “Or at least visiting through a mirror. That’s my friend... the astral traveling fire witch, remember?”

Alice’s eyes widened with excitement. “That would be amazing!” She put the lid back on the urn, wiping the rim with a washcloth. “With her help, we could cast such a strong Fulminatio, we could pulverize Minnie and any vampire trying to protect her. You are a water witch, and I would cast for the element of air. And then your friend would stand for fire, and we would just need an earth witch...”

“We don’t know any earth witches,” I pointed out.

“Don’t worry, we will find one.”

“Before next Saturday?”

“I’ll do my best.”

“I know one!” the little ghost said, and all eyes turned to her. “Yes, yes, the lady who came with you the first time!”

“Francesca?” I asked, raising an eyebrow at Alice.

“Francesca is not a witch,” Alice laughed. “She’s a vampire.”

“So is Miss Alba,” the little girl complained.

“No, but she can’t be a witch,” I explained. “She’s hundreds of years old. Had she been a witch, we would know by now.”

“Witch smell gets diluted when you drink other people’s blood,” Lucille said mysteriously as she sniffed me.

“Don’t talk nonsense, Lucille,” Laura interrupted us, grabbing her daughter by the back of her dress and pushing her behind her. “Excuse my daughter. She has a vivid imagination.”

“It’s fine,” I said. “She just wanted to help.”

***

“YOU FORGOT TO ASK YOUR cards about Minnie,” I told Alice after changing into clean clothes in order to go get some dinner―for her.

“I didn’t forget,” she replied, lacing her combat boots. “But they didn’t tell me anything useful. I kept seeing the number five. Four plus one, five times five...”

“Does number five have some sort of meaning?” I asked, putting on my coat.

“Five...” She reached into her bag, taking out a deck of cards. “Look. This one, for example. Five can be a chaotic number... it mostly represents an urgent need for change.” She showed me another card. “This is the fifth major arcana. It shows a spiritual leader... someone who is in control.”

“Definitely not me.” I laughed, locking the door behind us. “But interesting.”

As we ventured outside, it was raining copiously, with unpleasant gusts of wind which got us soaked in five minutes despite our umbrellas.

“Spring in London,” Alice whined. “Even worse than Milano.”

“It bothered me at first, but now I kind of like it,” I said. Playing with raindrops was fun, and not feeling the cold made the experience much more enjoyable for me, probably. “Where would you like to go?”

“Whatever is closer, and definitely not the vampire pizzeria.”

“Actually, I would like to drop by if you don’t mind, just to see if I can hear my daughters again,” I said. “But we don’t have to go inside.”

“Okay. I’ll just grab a sandwich on the way,” Alice said, pointing at a fast-food place.

I waited outside, enjoying the sprinkles of rain on my skin, and she came out holding a huge baguette and a glass of cola. As soon as she crossed the door, the wind turned her umbrella inside out and slapped her straight on the face with a piece of wet paper. “For the Goddess’ sake,” she growled.

“Here,” I laughed, removing the paper from her face and helping her fix the umbrella. Upon closer examination, I noticed it was a promotional leaflet for the Ancient Egypt exhibit at the British Museum. Again. “Look at this,” I said, showing it to her. “Is it a sign from the Goddess, or still unconvinced?”

She rolled her eyes. “I’ll think about it.”

We ambled along the street which led to Trattoria di Luigi. Alice was busy with her sandwich, so I entertained myself by changing the angle of the rainfall. After two failed attempts, I got the hang of it, and the drops obeyed me. “Left... right... stop!” I murmured, guiding the rain with just my eyes. All my commands worked, except for the stop one. Nevertheless, it was an oddly satisfying pastime, and I kept increasing the difficulty level, excited each time I got results.

When we reached Trattoria di Luigi, the rain had turned into a heavy downpour, and the Italian flags over the door flapped like dead seaweed in the wind. Alice murmured something about her bread turning into soup and threw away the rest of her sandwich in a nearby container.

“I really wish it stopped already,” she complained, raising her voice to be heard above the clatter of the rain on the sidewalk.

“I’m trying!” Closing my eyes, I repeated my command, this time louder, “Stop!”

The rain stopped abruptly, and Alice stared at me with approval. “That was great! Well done!”

“I know!” I lowered my voice in case there were vampires nearby. “I love it.”

“I told you, you are a water witch. You should try this more often.”

“You know what’s funny?” I said, turning into a side street to check out the back of the pizzeria. “As I was walking, I could feel my power growing. Almost as if there was something about this street that strengthened my magic.”

“That’s interesting,” she observed. “It’s possible. We should check out if there are any ley lines running through this area. We could make use of that.”

“What lines?”

“Ley lines. Lines of energy. They usually connect historical landmarks and ancient sites.”

“Ancient, like Trattoria di Luigi?” I asked with a smirk.

“For example.”

As we reached the back side of the pizzeria, I found there couldn’t be enough space behind the kitchen for an extra room where they could be keeping my children, which meant they were either upstairs or in a basement.

“I say basement,” Alice said gloomily. “It’s always the basement.”

The first and second floors seemed to be occupied by a small law firm and a dentist office, both in darkness after closing hours.

“You are probably right,” I agreed.

I tried to listen for a while, but I didn’t hear anything but kitchen noises. No traces of my children or Clarence’s father.

“I think we should leave,” I said finally. “I wish Clarence was here. Actually... I should message him again because I told him about Minnie, and he never replied.”

I took out my phone and stylus and typed,

Please come back as soon as you can, something unexpected happened. We need you in London before next Saturday.

To my surprise, his reply flew back in a matter of seconds:

Dearest Alba,

I am on my way, carrying bad news.

Hoping to see you soon.

As ever yours,

Clarence

Alice had found shelter under a canopy roof and was comparing something on her phone and a tourist map of London with a deep frown on her forehead.

“Everything okay?” I asked.

“Yes, yes,” she replied, folding the map and sticking it into her back pocket. “I was trying to find information on energy lines, but I think I’m going to need my books and a computer. I suspect there must be a confluence of several power centers around Westminster, where you met Minnie, and this could have made it easier for her to cast such potent magic on you.”

“And I’m guessing it’s the same here?” I added, pointing at the pizzeria behind us.

“I think so. Although that doesn’t explain why we didn’t sense her magic when we met her the first time.”

“In any case, we should avoid meeting her again near these power spots, I suppose.”

“Hmm...” Alice locked the screen and wiped the raindrops on her jeans. “But if the energy from the environment was making her stronger, it should work for us too. So, why did I feel weaker that night in Westminster?”

I threw a sideway glance at the rain pouring down the side of my umbrella, and the drops spiraled like purple crystals before disappearing into the air. “It seems to be working for me tonight. But yes. When I was standing in front of Minnie, I felt completely powerless. This had never happened to me, and I had seen her a hundred times before.”

“It’s so unusual,” Alice agreed. “Particularly because water witches should be able to control the fire ones. Think about what happens when you pour water over a fire...”

“It douses the fire,” I said with a nod, checking the name of the street to figure out the right way back to the apartment.

“Exactly! In normal circumstances, you should have been able to defeat her with little effort, particularly if she is an untrained stray.”

“Well, someone must have given her a crash course in magic because I’m not sure even you can wield magic like hers.”

“Next time, we’ll make her meet us somewhere else. Then we’ll see what happens.” I stared at her with horror, but she shrugged. “What? If she has your daughters, you won’t be able to avoid her forever.”

Chapter 22

Alba

During the following days, Alice explored the most obscure libraries in London, researching ley lines, ancient sites and magic epicenters in and around the city. She made little progress, and by Friday afternoon, she was worn out, frustrated and in a terrible mood. Carlo was still avoiding me, holing up in his hotel room, either dabbling in his underpants spells or sharpening his stakes in case I tried to assault him for a third time.

“I should ask Valentina...” Alice grunted, stabbing the umbrella stand. It had been raining for days, which made her even more grumpy. “I’m sure she would know.”

“Valentina, the one who kidnapped me, then tried to sell me to a scientist for research?” I asked with incredulity. Valentina was the High Priest of Alice’s coven, and our last encounter hadn’t been too friendly. “You must be kidding.”

“She doesn’t know I’m here with you. I told her I was going to Salem on an exchange program for witches.”

I huffed and put on the kettle while she sat at the kitchen table and took off her damp socks. “That’s the most ridiculous lie I’ve heard in my life.”

“Well, she believed it. She’s a powerful witch, but she’s almost one century old. I told her it was an internet thing, and that was enough to convince her.”

The sound of a key turning in the lock alerted me, and I stood up abruptly. I rushed to the door with my claws out, followed by Alice, who was armed with a teaspoon.

Laura and Lucille came out of wherever they had been hiding and dashed over our heads whispering gibberish in French.

As the door opened, Clarence’s tall figure filled the hall, and I fell into his open arms with a gasp, forgetting to retract my nails. He withstood my embrace stoically, and it wasn’t until I released him that I noticed his blood on my claws.

“Sorry!” I exclaimed, rubbing the ruined back of his coat. “I’m just so happy to see you!”

“Are you?” he asked, a cold undertone in his voice.

“Of course I am, what’s wrong with you?” I stepped back, taking in his weary appearance and the extreme paleness of his lips. “Are you okay?”

“I am fine,” he replied, although his eyes were screaming, I am not.

I heard Francesca walking up the stairs, and beside her, a voice I hadn’t heard for what seemed an eternity.

“Jean-Pierre!”

I ran to him, overjoyed to finally see my old vampire friend.

“Ma belle,” he said, stroking my hair with fondness. “He was right.” He nodded toward Clarence. “You are even more beautiful than you used to be.”

“Thank you, Jean-Pierre,” I said, kissing the side of his snow-white beard.

“Mercier? Is that you?”

Laura was hovering headless between us, her voice coming from the other side of the corridor. Jean-Pierre didn’t seem to understand until little Lucille rushed to her mother and held Laura’s head over her neck―at that moment, recognition flashed in the vampire’s eyes.

Jean-Pierre blinked and gaped at the ghost in front of him. He closed his mouth and reopened it, no sounds coming out of it until he said one single word:

“Laurette?”

“Jeannot!”

Laura strove to hug him, but her translucent arms passed through the vampire’s shoulders over and over.

I stood in a corner with Clarence’s arm around my shoulder, watching this unexpected encounter with growing interest while Alice and Francesca were too busy kissing behind the coat rack.

“You know each other?” I asked Jean-Pierre, hoping he didn’t mind the interruption but too curious to remain silent.

“We grew up in the same town,” he replied, examining Laura’s headless figure with a pained expression. “Last time I saw her, my parents were sending me to the monastery, and she was engaged to marry someone else.”

And she had a head, my brain added.

“I can’t believe it’s you,” Laura murmured, taking her head from Lucille’s hands and putting it back in its place. The ghost girl fluttered away, burrowing herself into my arms. “You weren’t in the monastery the last time I visited. I heard you died during the revolution.”

“You visited me?” he asked, surprised.

“So many times... I watched you pray.”

“I prayed for your soul...” He smiled, but his smile quickly faded. “...until I realized no God was listening. Had there been a God, He would not have allowed this.” He waved toward Laura’s severed head, and she glanced down with sadness.

“Perhaps He had other plans for me and Lucille,” she said. “Or perhaps He wanted you and me to meet one more time.”

Jean-Pierre’s eyes turned glossy, and he turned his back to the rest of us, his fingers passing through the ghost’s face. “Laurette... I can’t believe it’s you...” he whispered. “Much time has passed, but I never forgot about you... je n’ai jamais cessé de t’aimer.”

I never stopped loving you.

Clarence squirmed, and I steered him quietly toward the door. “I think we should give them some privacy,” I whispered into his ear. He nodded, the Victorian in him clearly overwhelmed by the overt display of feelings.

“Yes,” he said stiffly. “I agree.”

***

“ALBA AND I NEED TO leave soon,” Alice said to Francesca, joining us in the living room. The rest of us were sitting comfortably around the coffee table, with Lucille hiding under it, while I explained to everyone about my last encounter with Minnie.

“How so?” Francesca asked, making room for Alice in her armchair.

“We are supposed to meet Julia this evening...” Alice replied, pouring herself a glass of sherry.

“Julia!” Francesca squeezed the witch’s hand. “Where?”

“At the British Museum. Would you like to come?”

“Absolutely! She is my sister-in-law. I have been worrying about her and my brother so much.”

“Then come with us,” Alice said. “What about you, Clarence? Are you staying here with Jean-Pierre?”

“Maybe you should,” I suggested.

“I am so pleased to learn you are better off without my company,” he said flatly. He was being so difficult since his arrival that it was starting to get to me.

I took a deep breath. “Look, I just don’t want to attract too much attention to us. There will be mirrors, cameras, hundreds of visitors...” He held my gaze, unconvinced. “And also, your father is challenging you to a duel this Saturday, Clarence. It’s better if you stay with Jean-Pierre and try to figure out a plan to get out of it. Because I suppose you won’t accept, right?”

He straightened his back, fixing his jacket lapels. “I certainly will. A gentleman cannot refuse a challenge.”

I stared at him with disbelief as he carefully opened the red wax seal on the envelope Minnie had given me.

“Are you crazy? I’m sure they’re planning to ambush us. We should outsmart them and attack before they do...” I trailed off, realizing he was gazing at me like I was a monster.

“I shall not compromise my honor.”

I threw my hands in the air, unable to cope with his stubborn mood any longer. “Why have you been like this since you stepped into this apartment? Did you have a fall out with Elizabeth or what?”

Francesca had been talking with Alice, but she stopped mid-sentence when she heard me. Clarence, on the other hand, stood up and left the room, clearly offended by what I had just said.

“What now?” I asked Francesca. “What’s going on with him?”

“Alba,” Francesca whispered, making sure Clarence couldn’t hear her. “We need to talk.”

Chapter 23

Alba

The thought of The Cloister being gone was paralyzing, but the death of the vampire queen was simply unfathomable. How could she be gone forever? How could someone who had fought so many epic battles and defeated hundreds of powerful opponents be slain in a matter of minutes by simple vampire hunters?

“She had lost the will to live,” Francesca had said. “She let them kill her... to save me.”

Lost in my thoughts, I stood in front of the imposing entrance of the British Museum shortly after sunset. Alice and Francesca walked holding hands a few steps behind me, immersed in a private conversation. I had been silent since leaving the apartment, struggling to process the news of Elizabeth’s passing.

Alice tapped on my arm, her voice bringing me back to the present.

“So, the exhibit we’re looking for is called Isis, Mother and Creatrix: The Mysteries of Egyptian Magic,” she explained, reading from a leaflet. “A one-of-a-kind temporary exhibition that takes a comprehensive look at Egyptian Magic and its influence on modern witchcraft...”

“Fascinating,” Francesca replied, eyeing a quote on the large, white floor tiles which read:

“And let thy feet
millenniums hence
be set in the midst of knowledge.”

“Now let us hope we will not be disappointed” she mumbled, “for knowledge is precisely what we came to seek here.”

“Okay, where is the Solar Mirror?” I asked Alice, checking the time on my phone. We were early, but I always seemed to miss Julia whenever she visited. “Is it where the Egyptian mummies are? I remember seeing those with my dad.”

“No,” Alice said, opening her plan of the museum. “This way.” She disappeared among a large group of tourists, and I held my breath to pass through them. We found her waiting by a large marble statue, looking concerned. “I truly have no idea how we’re going to connect with Julia in front of all these people.”

I had been wondering about the same, too.

We followed Alice up to a gallery on the furthest end of the museum, with a matte glass door and black flooring. A long banner by the door marked it as the right place.

Alice pushed the door open and held it for us, revealing a smaller room with stone and metal sculptures to the right and assorted Egyptian artifacts in showcases to the left. A large, marble statue of a winged Isis stood on a pedestal, welcoming visitors to her dedicated space. Sitting on a bench in front of Isis’s statue, an elderly couple talked in a low voice. As soon as we entered, they stood up and left, and the gallery remained empty and silent, a smell of chemicals and dust lingering in the air.

The first display showed a few translated pages of the Book of the Dead. There was one dedicated showcase on amulets and magical stones, and even some Egyptian spells.

The origins of Egyptian magic date back to a time when humans kept calling upon the gods to help them with their worldly problems. Unable to hear them all, Ra created magic to provide humans with the ability to solve minor troubles on their own.

I recognized a Tyet pendant, similar to the ones Alice’s coven used to wear back in Como. There were smaller figures of Isis, with and without wings; sometimes she appeared nursing Horus, or bringing Osiris back to life.

Isis, mother, wife and healer, understood those who suffered with the loss of a loved one, for she had to fight to return her murdered husband to life. She would never turn away from the pleas of those who called upon her from a place of true love, and would cast her magic and protection to assist them in finding a loving reunion or a peaceful crossing to the hereafter.

“Not a bad place for a reunion,” Alice commented.

“This place gives me a funny feeling,” I said, suppressing a shiver. It was colder than the rest of the museum, and our steps echoed in the odd quietness. “Not bad, but... strange.”

“I know,” she said. “I feel it too.”

Even Francesca snuggled up in her shawl and walked away.

“Come here,” she said, pointing at one of the glass displays in a corner. A round, hand-held mirror stood in the middle of the showcase with a handle shaped like Isis’s throne. The label read:

Solar Crown Mirror

Description: Bronze mirror with Isis handle

Found: Egypt

Period: Ramesside

Isis’s crown, engraved in the mirror’s handle, is also known as the Solar Crown, depicting the star Sirius, also known as “the Sun behind the Sun.” Representing Isis’s husband, Osiris, who died and resurrected, Sirius was the brightest star in the sky and, just like Isis, would be called upon to assist souls in their passing to the next realm.

“What now?” I asked Alice.

“We wait.”

“I’ll stand guard by the door,” Francesca offered. “I am sure I can find ways to keep visitors away from this exhibit.”

“Are we supposed to light three candles to summon Julia?” I asked Alice, glancing at the smoke detectors. “Also, what about the cameras...”

“I brought this,” Alice said with a smirk, producing three battery-powered tea lights out of her pocket. “And I wouldn’t worry about the cameras. I don’t think they can detect paranormal activity.” She gave me a candle. “Here, hold this one. Just flip the button on the base.”

“When is closing time?” Francesca asked from the door.

“Seven thirty. In twenty-five minutes.”

I couldn’t hear anyone in the area, and it was so late that, hopefully, nobody else would show up for the day. I said a little made-up prayer so nobody entered the gallery until we were done with our magical zoom meeting.

“I’m going to chant the summoning spell,” Alice said and started to sing in a low voice.

The mirror shone with a soft green luminescence, and a violent gust of wind sent all the exhibition leaflets flying out of their shelf as Julia’s voice came from inside the showcase.

“Julia!”

She was here!

“How are you?” I asked, pressing my hands and face against the glass like a tank-cleaning fish. “How are you? What happened after Venice?”

“No time for pleasantries,” she replied.

Her reflection blinked from the other side. There were dark circles under her eyes, and her cheeks seemed oddly sunken.

“I have an urgent message for you,” she said. “If I’m not fast enough, I might remain stranded between worlds for the rest of eternity.” She looked around and nodded at the bronze statue in the middle of the room. “Hopefully Isis will plead my case and allow me and Ludovic to cross over despite this delay.”

“Cross over?” I asked with worry.

She ignored my question and continued, “Listen up and memorize what I’m about to say: you are about to face forces much stronger than yourself, and only an elemental spell will save you all from a certain death.”

Julia waved her hand, and a black and white map of London appeared on the glass with little dots of light blinking at different locations.

“You already know one of the most powerful Great Spells, but you will need to cast it right. Procure yourself four witches, each at the right location. Then open a magical circle the way I am going to teach you. Don’t change a thing, and ingrain this opening spell in your mind, otherwise it will be lost forever.”

She waved, and a golden circle appeared in the middle of the map as she chanted:

“A magical circle

Above and below

From synergy, power

The one born of four.”

Alice grabbed a leaflet and started to scribble, while several spheres of light appeared around the first one, creating a cross shape over the map of London as Julia spoke:

“Witch of Earth,

North she stands,
with Isis’s protection
keeps our souls safe;

Witch of East;

Master of Air,

Sharp as a sword,

Gifted and fair;

Witch of Fire,

Volatile flame,

Burning all bridges,

South is her realm.

Witch of Water,

A heart most blessed,

Turns ache to magic,

Lady of West.

One by one: nothing,

Together, prevail.”

The dots joined and expanded, forming a bubble of light that spread all over the map. Finally, the image vanished, bringing back Julia’s troubled reflection.

“I don’t understand anything, what are we supposed to do with this?” I groaned.

“I’ll tell you later,” Alice hushed me, finishing her notes in a hurry, “it’s an elemental circle of power. Just remember the lines. Now we only need a Fire witch and an Earth witch.”

“You have everything you need,” Julia interrupted her. “I passed on half of my earthly powers to your acquaintance, Wilhelmina Heider, right before my ultimate death...”

Francesca gasped. She was standing behind me, her eyes wide open.

“Your death?” Francesca repeated with horror.

“Wilhelmina?” I shrieked at the same time, quickly realizing who she meant. “Minnie?”

Julia nodded, answering both questions at once.

“No! No! That was a terrible mistake!” I yelled. “She’s dangerous! You need to undo it!”

“All will be well,” she replied calmly, extending her palm toward us. A green light sparkled on it, and she blew us a kiss, making the sparkles land on Francesca. “I bestow the other half to you, my dear sister Francesca.”

“Wait, Julia!” I shouted, seeing her slowly vanish. “Don’t leave yet! We need you! What happened to you and Ludovic?”

“Ludovic is waiting,” she replied. “I need to go with him.”

“Ludovic...” Francesca was so pale that the marble statues around her seemed dark in comparison. The sparks swirled around her, creating a green magical halo over her head.

“The ashes,” I said, understanding flushing through me like a tidal wave. “It was you... you and Ludovic.” Her eyes confirmed my suspicions. “You asked Natasha to send them.”

“Yes. We’d like our remains to rest in The Cloister, with Elizabeth’s blessings. Please.”

“Julia... this is ...” My voice broke before I could finish the sentence. How to tell her there was no Cloister, no Elizabeth, nowhere to scatter her ashes and nobody to get a blessing from anymore. My knees faltered. Everything was going wrong. Completely wrong. “The Cloister... Elizabeth...”

Francesca pushed me aside, interrupting me. “He can’t leave me! I can’t lose him again!” She shouted, facing Julia with defiance. “You are a witch! Do something!”

“I did the best I could,” Julia said softly. “I found peace for us the only possible way. You will never lose him, Francesca, just your time hasn’t come yet. This is not a goodbye.”

Julia shook her head and disappeared, and only the matte bronze surface of the mirror remained, covered in a foggy haze.

“Julia, wait!” I called her. “Minnie... that was a mistake. She’s a monster. She...”

“One by one, nothing,” her voice echoed from far away, “together, prevail.”

“No!” Francesca roared. She raised her fist to punch the showcase glass, and I rushed to stop her before she set off all the alarms in the museum.

Francesca turned around, her eyes blazing. The green halo still hovered over her head, but it had suddenly taken an evil turn. A rumble spread all over the room, starting under her feet, and made the ground tremble.

Alice and I were catapulted against Isis’s statue, and perhaps it was my imagination, or perhaps she closed her wings and held us against her heart for a second, whispering, “I will assist you, my child.”

The earth shook again, and Isis’s wings fell off, crushed into gravel.

“Earthquake!” I shouted, pushing Alice and Francesca toward the exit. “Run!”

The alarms went off, and the large floor tiles cracked under our footsteps. By the time we reached the Great Court, the whole museum was shaking, objects falling off shelves and centuries-old statues toppling over. Visitors ran out in screams, their voices muffled by the shrieking sirens. We made it through the main exit, but the earthquake followed us, creating a deep crack in the asphalt behind us.

As we ran, nothing else existed: no logical thinking, just fleeing the hungry earth trying to swallow us. It wasn’t a problem for me or Francesca, but Alice struggled, holding her hand against her chest until she was forced to stop and catch her breath.

Francesca let out a deep wheeze, followed by a choppy inhale.

The earth stopped shaking, and the cracks in the ground healed.

Tears flowed freely down Francesca’s cheeks, and she broke into uncontrollable sobs. She quivered violently, as if the earthquake had made its way into her instead of simply receding.

I held her, allowing her grief to spread from her tiny body to mine. Her whole world was crumbling, mirroring the earth around us. In a matter of days, she had lost her only home and all that was left of her family.

“I’m so sorry, Francesca,” I whispered, wishing I knew a magical word able to heal her sorrows.

Alice trudged toward us and embraced the two of us, her arms large enough to hug both at the same time.

“Amore,” she panted. “Thank the Goddess you managed to stop that earthquake.”

Francesca stopped crying, wiping her eyes on her shawl.

“I did nothing,” she said, her breath still labored.

Alice smiled weakly. “You were born into a family of witches, weren’t you? Streghe.”

“I certainly wasn’t,” Francesca replied, escaping Alice’s embrace. “I have a...” She closed her eyes. “I had... a brother... if you remember.”

“Yes, but Ludovic is your twin brother, isn’t he?” she insisted. “Your mother died in childbirth. It all makes sense.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked, confused.

“Julia’s idea...” Alice said. “It was absolutely brilliant...”

“No,” Francesca growled, furious. “I want nothing to do with any of that.”

“You held a crumbling house with your bare hands back in Venice,” Alice insisted. “No vampire could do that. How? Did you say any special words?”

Francesca paused before answering, “I used nothing. It was just sheer willpower.” She paused, throwing me a piercing glance. “I just wanted to help someone else achieve their dreams, if I never got to be happy myself.”

“You were the only one in The Cloister able to use the gift of compulsion.”

“Occasionally.”

“Francesca...” Alice took Francesca’s hands in hers and squeezed them. “Julia chose right, and I think you just needed a little push.” She pointed at the green halo of light over her head, now almost imperceptible. “Perhaps being a twin weakened your magic... or perhaps you despised that part of yourself so much, you fought your whole life to keep it buried. But we are going to need it... we are going to need you.”

Chapter 24

Clarence

“Will you be my second?” I asked Jean-Pierre. We had strolled to a nearby park in search of supper, for I would need all the strength I could muster to survive the duel.

“I should be honored,” Jean-Pierre replied, eyeing a group of stout men throwing stones into a pond. “Even though I hardly trust Victor’s intentions.”

“Despite his depravation, he was always a man of honor...” I reassured him. “His interpretation of it, at least.”

Father’s morals might be twisted, but he had always carried himself as a gentleman―or better said, what he believed a gentleman to be.

I was confident in my decision and unwilling to allow anyone’s doubts to dissuade me; but nevertheless, Father’s letter weighed heavier than a boulder in the depths of my waistcoat. I slipped the envelope out of my pocket once again and examined the ornate writing under the moonlight: he had set the time of our contest for Saturday midnight, and the location at a small clearing by a Greek mausoleum, not far from mother’s tomb.

“A challenge at night,” Jean-Pierre said, shaking his head. “Such improper etiquette.”

“It is understandable that, in our world, certain exceptions must be made. None of us wish to face sunrise.”

“Yes, I suppose. Have you thought about your weapon of choice?” Jean-Pierre asked, creeping toward our unsuspecting victims and crouching patiently behind a bush. They were discussing vampire tales among riotous laughter, with one of them claiming to have been bitten once and the others chuckling at his story. I smirked at their disrespectful attitude; very soon, one of them would leave the herd and reconsider his careless derision.

I shrugged. “Swords? What do you reckon?”

Jean-Pierre pursed his lips and frowned. “When was the last time you wielded a sword, if ever?”

“Does it matter? I need to choose something. Or should we engage in a fist fight like common criminals?”

He reached for the envelope in my hands. “You seem a tad bit overconfident to me,” he declared, opening it.

“No,” I retorted. “I have been waiting for this moment for decades. I have followed my father’s trail of death all over Europe, desperate to fix the worst mistake of my existence. He has caused so much damage, and it all weighs on my shoulders. It is time to put an end to this maddening chase, Jean-Pierre.”

He nodded, studying Father’s letter.

“Clarence...” he said, pointing at the broken, red wax seal. “Look at this.”

He produced a round, silver pendant from his pocket and set it side by side with Father’s letter. It was the one we had found among the ruins of The Cloister, with a fierce dragon enclosed in a braided circle.

“The seal on the envelope is an exact reproduction of the emblem of The Order of the Dragon,” Jean-Pierre observed. “Can you think of a reason why?”

Apart from the preposterous alias Father had taken up after his turning, I could not infer any connection between him and a defunct Transylvanian society. “Perhaps to mislead us?”

Four well-built men left the group by the pond, and Jean-Pierre crouched down low, getting ready to pounce on them.

“Oliver!” one of them shouted, bursting again into laughter. “Be careful, mate! We don’t want the vampire lady to bite you again while you’re pissing!”

“If only you knew, mate,” Jean-Pierre whispered, returning Father’s letter. “Let’s go now, Clarence. Dinner is ready.”

Chapter 25

Alba

It was seven in the morning on the day of the duel, and I had spent most of the night staring at the grandfather clock on the wall, wondering where to get a fire witch and worrying about Clarence and Jean-Pierre, who had gone out to feed in the evening and should have returned hours earlier.

The coffee machine rumbled in the kitchen. Alice hadn’t slept much either, browsing frantically through her magic books and writing down complex magic verses in Latin. She had been on her phone from the moment daylight had started to seep through the rolled down blinds, making phone calls in Italian in the hopes of finding out more about Julia’s spell and how to suppress Minnie’s powers so she wouldn’t turn against us. Wishing to ask about her findings, I walked over to the kitchen, doing my best to block out the revolting smell of coffee.

“I can’t reach Valentina,” she whined as soon as she saw me. She was pale and disheveled, and dark circles peered out from below her black glasses. “She’s sedated, in the hospital... she had a job injury while leaning over a boiling cauldron.”

Shame she didn’t fall inside and drown, I thought, remembering everything she had done to me during my stay in Italy.

“Have you seen Francesca?” I asked, changing the subject.

Alice shook her head, taking a sip of the bitter beverage.

As soon as we had returned from the museum, Francesca had crept into a wardrobe and stayed there all night, grieving the loss of her brother and perhaps coming to terms with Julia gifting her half of her magic. I still wasn’t over the fact that she could have been a stray witch in a past life―it was well known that most witches died after being turned, consumed by their own power; and yet she, like Julia and me, had been able to withstand the process and thrive.

“Look at this,” Alice said, showing me a diagram she had been working on. She had drawn dozens of lines over a map of London, marking four spots in red ink. “I have been studying the ley lines in the area, and according to Julia’s spell, the lines of power should converge here, over Trafalgar Square. Remember the plaque behind that statue?” I nodded, and she continued, “Okay, so that should be the center of the circle, and then we have the British Museum to the north―an Earth element powerhouse. Explains why Julia would want to meet us there, apart from the fact she was seeking the Goddess’s assistance.   The next one is right by Westminster Abbey, where we met Minnie that night, and of course that’s where most of the Fire lines converge. To the east, we have lots of Air element: this would be more or less over Victoria Embankment. And the last one is close to Saint James’ Park, not far from the vampire pizzeria.”

“THIS MAKES SO MUCH sense,” I said, tracing the spots on the map with my finger. “No wonder my power felt stronger here.” I pointed at Saint James. “And weaker when I met Minnie.”

“Someone must have told Minnie about the power spots,” Alice continued, “I don’t discard Julia telling her. I have no idea how Minnie tricked her into believing she was on our side, but this is going to be a problem.”

“It’s so strange,” I agreed. “And she warned us to follow her instructions to the letter. What now? Are we going to cast the spell with only three witches?”

Alice frowned. “I don’t know, but I don’t think we have another choice.”

“And there’s one more thing,” I continued. “Each of us must work from a completely different location. How are we going to coordinate that?”

Alice shook her phone in the air. “Technology, I guess? The fact that we are witches doesn’t mean we need to behave like it’s the Middle Ages, you know...”

“Oh,” I replied, a bit embarrassed. “Of course.”

“I mean, we could use a mirror spell and travel from one spot to another, but why waste all that energy when we can just text each other...?”

A knock on the door startled me, and Alice went to check who it was. Peeking behind her shoulder, I spotted Carlo Lombardi in the hall, wearing a whole garlic plantation around his neck and enough stakes hanging from his belt that he could have built a solid picket fence around The Cloister.

“Oh, Carlo, I’m so sorry about the other day...” I said; but instead of responding, he sprayed the air―and my face―with a bottle full of a stinky clear liquid. “What the hell are you doing?” I shouted, wiping my face with my sleeve. Whatever that was, it smelled of moldy churches and left a disgusting patina on my skin.

“Holy water,” he grunted. “I can’t risk getting attacked again.”

“Then why did you come?” I yelled, rolling my eyes as I fled the horrid holy water smell. He followed me to the living room, glancing left and right, as if expecting panthers and lions to pounce on him at every step. To his defense, his fears weren’t entirely unfounded.

“She called me,” Carlo said, pointing an accusatory finger at Alice behind him.

“To help with a love spell?” I scoffed. I sat on the couch as far from Carlo as possible, in case he got into a spraying mood again.

He stood, petrified, with his mouth wide open. “What?”

“Busted!” Alice laughed.

“We caught you trying to cast a love spell!” I snorted. “But don’t worry, your secret is safe with us. Although, Carlo, you are not so bad-looking... why don’t you get yourself a girl... the normal way?”

“It’s not what you think,” he grumbled. “But you always have to make fun of me, don’t you?”

I sighed, ignoring Carlo’s temper tantrum. I didn’t have the mental capacity to deal with that on top of everything else.

“So why did you call him?” I asked Alice.

“We’re going to need someone to stay with Clarence and Jean-Pierre and keep us informed of whatever is going on at the graveyard. I thought Carlo could do it. It’s a very simple task even a five-year-old could do.”

“Go where?” he asked, squinting.

“Just go watch a vampire fight in a graveyard and keep us posted.”

He raised an eyebrow, his hand brushing against the tip of his longest stake. “Watch a vampire fight? Just... watch?”

“Yes. Easy, isn’t it?” Alice said, patting his back. “I’m sure you can do it. And you might have fun, even. Just carry your...” She glanced at his outlandish attire. “...your gear. So you’re safe in case anyone gets hungry.”

“And don’t forget your spray bottle,” I added, annoyed by the stench of stale nunneries still lingering in my hair.

The main door squeaked, and soon Clarence and Jean-Pierre joined us, both extremely disheveled and looking like they had spent the night wallowing in a muddy ditch.

“Hey!” I said, springing from the couch to kiss Clarence. He returned my kiss and hugged me from afar, careful not to stain my clothes. “Where were you?”

“We had a small altercation with... our supper,” he replied, taking off his coat. He sniffed my hair and grimaced but was too polite to comment on its odor. “We had the misfortune to pick a gang of violent undertakers armed with silver daggers, and the evening turned into... quite a profitless endeavor.”

“We also spent some time researching the duel location,” Jean-Pierre added, scratching a stain off his jacket. “Just checking for traps or unexpected obstacles. Everything seems fine over there; it was just a bit muddy.”

“Exceedingly muddy,” Clarence agreed, taking a seat by my side.

“But it’s a proper place otherwise,” Jean-Pierre reassured me. “You have nothing to worry about.”

Laura and Lucille darted into the room, and Laura sat on the back of Jean-Pierre’s armchair, holding her own head with as much elegance as one could do such a thing. She gave him a ghostly kiss on the upper corner of his ear, and the vampire shivered, his lips curving upwards just slightly.

“If I understand correctly,” Clarence said, “Katie and Iris should be back with us tonight.”

“That’s what Minnie said,” I replied, trying to ignore the invisible claw crushing my heart from the inside when I imagined my daughters held hostage by malicious strangers.

“My father will keep his word,” Clarence said, loosening his cravat. “If he is behind this, the children will be safe.”

“I hope so,” I muttered.

“I know so,” he assured me, taking my hand in his.

“You have a lot of faith in a man who has been murdering innocents for more than two centuries,” Francesca’s voice rumbled from the corridor.

At least she was out of the closet, which was an improvement. She stood in front of Clarence with her hands on her hips, her eyes red-rimmed after hours of crying.

“Francesca, dear,” Clarence whispered, standing up to greet her. “Are you well?”

“No, I am not,” she roared. “My brother is...” She sucked in a deep breath before continuing. “He’s dead. And so is Julia, and Elizabeth!” Her voice made the ornaments tremble on the shelves. “And why? Because we never managed to kill your father. Victor, Vlad, whatever he calls himself now. He’s the devil himself. He’s not to be trusted, and he has no honor whatsoever. You are deluded, Clarence!”

Silence fell over the room, the gloomy news of Julia and Ludovic’s passing adding to everyone’s distress.

“Wait a minute,” I said, suddenly connecting the dots. “Are you telling me Vlad and Victor are the same person...?”

The other vampires ignored me, glaring into each other’s blazing eyes. Francesca’s small body slumped with exhaustion, and Clarence sat her by his side, passing an arm over her shoulders.

“Promise me you will kill him,” she said, sobbing. “Promise you won’t spare his life, even if he asks for mercy.”

Clarence closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“Clarence!” Francesca shouted, slamming her palm against the armrest.

“Fine.” He exhaled. “I give you my word.”

After that, he disappeared into the bedroom, claiming he needed to rest before facing Victor. I watched him leave, trying to figure out whether his dejected mood was a consequence of Elizabeth’s passing or my rejection of his rushed marriage proposal. Whatever it was, he clearly didn’t want to talk to anyone about it, or at least not to me. Unwilling to add to his stress, I let him be and decided to keep myself busy for the rest of the afternoon.

“Can I keep you company?” asked Lucille, following me to the kitchen. “Maman is busy talking to Monsieur Jean-Pierre.”

“No problem. I was about to check on Carlo before I start practicing my shifting skills. We don’t want him to faint again.”

She giggled and did a somersault over my head, landing on top of the kitchen table, where Carlo was sorting and cleaning his vampire hunting arsenal.

“What are you up to?” I asked, impressed by the sheer amount of weapons he had on display. He had even added some cutlery from the kitchen drawers.

“Just making sure I survive the night.”

“That’s a lot of weight to carry for one person, isn’t it...”

“I don’t like that,” Lucille murmured, pointing at a small axe on the counter. “Put it away, please.”

“Don’t worry, Lucille,” I reassured her. “None of those can harm you.”

The little ghost’s eyes blazed, and a cold draught made the half-burnt curtains swing. “I said put it away,” she repeated in a deep, eerie tone, which sounded like an echo straight from the depths of a tomb. “Now.”

I had never seen her like that, and her sudden change alarmed me. I grinned at Carlo, hoping he would be willing to cooperate. He was used to the ghosts by now, and had realized they weren’t dangerous after all. Or so we thought.

“You have lots of other stuff anyway...” I said.

“Are we listening to six-year-old ghosts now?” he complained, although he looked frightened too. He held onto his crucifix, eyeing the door with wariness.

“I’m not six,” Lucille replied in the same deep, unusual tone. “I’m two-hundred-and-forty-five. And I can explain, if anyone wants to hear why.”

The cold draft shook the jars on the shelves, reflecting the ghost’s distress.

“Yes, of course,” I said, willing to appease her. I pulled up a chair next to Carlo while holding his arm so he wouldn’t run away. “Tell us.”

Lucille sighed and returned to her normal, innocent child attitude. The curtains stopped swinging, and she sat by the coffee pot. “There was this man,” she started, glancing nervously around her. “When Papà died, Maman started seeing Antoine. Very good-looking, like Monsieur Carlo here.” Carlo smiled proudly, but she shook her head. “He was a butcher and brought us fine meat every day... Maman was so happy to have food on the table.” She paused, biting her lip. “But Antoine did... he did terrible things when Maman wasn’t around. One day, he followed me to the fields behind our house. I screamed, but nobody heard me. That night, I tried to tell Maman, but she would not listen. She loved him, and she thought I wanted her just for myself.” She glanced down. “I was very sad.”

I studied Lucille’s delicate features, holding back a shudder. She couldn’t have been older than Katie, my own daughter.

“Maman and Antoine got married, and we moved into a bigger house,” she continued. “But soon, Antoine started to get jealous of Maman talking to other people. One day, she was laughing with Monsieur Dubois from the shop, and Antoine went out of his mind. They got into an argument, and he threatened us with...” She pointed at the axe on the counter. “...with one of those. Maman and I ran away to the forest, but he found us.” She hovered over the table, then sat by my side. “And that’s how we died.”

“That’s... that’s just dreadful,” I murmured, remembering Laura’s words, which now made more sense than ever: Antoine is dead and forgotten, and so he shall remain. I stared at Carlo, silently begging him to leave the axe where he had found it. “I’m so sorry to hear that, Lucille. I understand.”

“Please don’t tell Maman I told you this,” she whispered. “I think she still hasn’t forgiven herself for what happened.”

I nodded, just as Laura’s voice came from the corridor.

“Lucille?” she said, floating under the door lintel. “What were you doing?”

“Nothing, Maman!” the girl chirped. “Just helping Alba prepare for tonight.”

I spent the rest of the afternoon trying to call Minnie, wishing to confirm she would bring the girls to the duel location, but she didn’t bother to pick up. It was long past dark when she finally called back, and I threw myself on the phone when I saw her name on the screen.

“Hi,” she said in a friendly tone, as if she hadn’t threatened to kill me one week earlier. “I understand Mr. Auberon accepted the challenge?”

“Yes,” I snapped. “You will bring Katie and Iris, right?”

“We’ll all be at the graveyard, as agreed. Ten minutes to midnight.”

“You better be telling the truth, Minnie,” I warned her. “Otherwise, there won’t be enough magic in the world to save you and your vampire friends from my wrath.”

“Okay,” she snorted. “I’ll keep that in mind. See you later.”

Chapter 26

Alba

“We need to leave,” Jean-Pierre said, pulling a pocket watch out of his black velvet waistcoat. Laura had perched on a sconce behind him and peeked over his shoulder with concern. “It’s getting late.”

“We’re ready,” Alice said, leaning down to kiss Francesca’s cheek. The vampire girl nodded, tying up the bow of her cape. “Carlo, are you coming with us?”

Carlo came out of the bathroom, zipping up his pants in front of everyone with careless abandon. “I guess you don’t get to watch a vampire match every day,” he grunted, fixing the garlic garlands around his neck. “There are worse ways to die.”

“Remember to stay hidden at all times,” Alice warned him. “And don’t do anything stupid. Where is Clarence, by the way?”

“He’s still in the bedroom,” I replied. “He’s been there for hours.”

“I think he’s getting dressed,” Lucille said, flying through a wall with a mischievous grin. “I was just helping him pick a bowtie. It’s pink!”

“I’ll go have a look,” I said. “I need to change my shoes anyway. You all go downstairs; I’ll be with you in a minute.”

I knocked before entering, and the awkwardness of waiting outside like a complete stranger made me shudder.

“Come in,” he beckoned me.

When I opened the door, he was buttoning up his white shirt with admirable dexterity. All judgment swiftly left my brain as soon as I spotted his faultless chest under the half-open shirt, and I fought hard the urge to tear off those buttons to prevent the fabric from hiding such heavenly perfection. He must have noticed my stunned face, open mouth and all, because he smiled for the first time since his return from Emberbury.

“Were you looking for something?” he volunteered. By then, I was sure he wasn’t doing up those two last two buttons on purpose.

“Ah... yes,” I replied, glancing away―it was getting late, and there was no time for sightseeing. “I need my sneakers. I can’t walk around graveyards in high heels... been there, done that.” A nervous laugh escaped my lips, and he simpered, clearly remembering the times he had solved the matter by carrying me over his shoulder. “They should be in the closet...”

I bent down to reach for the lowest pull-out tray, and he trailed after me quietly. He was standing so close that I could feel his hips right behind me, mere inches away. I swallowed, concentrating on the task at hand. White sneakers, white sneakers... his body felt like a magnet, and somehow, I drifted backwards, colliding softly with him. He breathed out a soft chuckle, tying his arms around me in a tight, firm embrace. Rising slowly, I shivered as his chin found the perfect spot under my nape; that cozy nook I was sure had been made for that very purpose only.

“Why do you do this to me?” he groaned, the tip of his nose digging in my hair.

“Do what?” I muttered, secretly wishing his lips would find their way to my neck.

“Overrule my common sense.”

I turned around to face him. “Common sense would be to kiss me now, before you leave for that absurd duel,” I said, cupping his cheek in one hand.

He glanced toward the clock on the wall. Ten past eleven.

“We need to go,” he grumbled, making my stomach sink.

“Not even a kiss?” Dismay washed over me as I watched him close his eyes and step away from me. “But... why? It’s like... you don’t even want me anymore.”

Clarence raised his eyebrows. “Want you?” He huffed. “Want you! There is nothing else I want more. Yesterday, now, ever.”

“Really?” I inhaled, trying to calm down my nerves. “Well, right now, it doesn’t feel like that at all.”

“You really cannot see it,” he muttered, shaking his head with incredulity.

“See what? All I see is the man I meant to be with forever about to engage in a foolish―and unnecessary―match to the death, when we could have ambushed Victor and fled with the kids instead. So what now? What if I never see you again? What if my forever ends tonight?”

“Nothing is forever,” he said grimly. “Only death is, and even that is uncertain.”

“My love for you is,” I snarled. “And yet you deny me a proper goodbye.”

We stared at each other, tension filling the air like the static charge build-up before a storm.

My cell phone vibrated on the sideboard, and I glanced at it with fury. Clarence turned to reach for it, but I raised my hand before he could, and the phone flew onto the settee, silenced at once.

He smirked, pleased as always by my random magic abilities.

“You are right,” he said, nodding. “Uniqueness like yours does merit a proper goodbye.”

He pivoted on the spot, his hips meeting mine in one clean swivel against the wardrobe door. Our lips crashed with desperate thirst while our hands sought each other’s body, striving to map out every single curve in a race against time, before forever turned into yesterday, when all hopes of love might wither and perish.

His sharp fangs traced a path down my neck, and I breathed into the nook on his chest, right beside his heart, as he unzipped my leather trousers and tossed me onto the bed with the passion of a warrior who might never return from the battlefield. Rational thought fled my body while I licked my way up to his shoulder and sank my teeth into his neck. I drank from him while he drank from me, joined into one single burning, pulsating entity―this felt like the deepest, most sacred form of union, and the words last time flashed in my mind, pushing me down the cliff of sanity as we exploded at once into a fireball of overflowing passion.

“Alba! Clarence!” Alice called from under the window, bringing me back into the present moment. “Why don’t you pick up the phone?”

I licked my lips, relishing those last, otherworldly drops of him, and he kissed my forehead with his eyes closed.

“Time to go,” I muttered, twisting under his weight to get one last, smoldering kiss. “They must be wondering what is taking us so long.”

“Let them wonder,” he said with the most seductive glance. “Although those panther growls of yours might have enlightened them.”

“If I wasn’t so worried, I would laugh,” I said, barely mustering a miserable grimace.

He nudged my cheek with his nose and got up, getting back into his trousers with lightning speed.

“One day,” he murmured, standing in front of the mirror as if he could see anything, “sooner than you think, all these troubles will be but washed-out memories. And that day, I will fulfill my promise and take you to the opera, then we shall retire to our hotel room and make love from moonrise until sunrise. The proper vampire way,” he added enigmatically, tearing a sad smile out of me. “We just need all this to be over, but trust me, it will soon be.”

Francesca knocked on the door just after I managed to zip up my pants, and I rushed to open it, holding my sneakers with innocence.

“I am sorry but we really need to go,” she apologized, glancing at my half-tucked shirt.

“Yes, thank you Francesca.”

I kissed Clarence once more and left him to deal with his―fairly pointless―pink bowtie. “I will wait downstairs with the others. Hurry up.”

Francesca disappeared down the stairs, but Clarence called me once more from the bedroom.

“Alba?” he whispered, and I turned around.

“Yes?”

“Whatever happens tonight...”

“Yes...?”

“Please, never forget that I loved you...” He shook his head. “That I loved you more than I ever loved anyone.”

Chapter 27

Alba

Alice was tapping her foot nervously when Clarence finally showed up, impeccably dressed and looking like he was about to attend a gala dinner at a duke’s residence rather than a sword fight. Carlo had already left in a taxi, and Jean-Pierre was chatting with Laura, beaming with adoration at whatever the headless ghost was saying. Alice agreed to wait around Waterloo bridge, her energy spot according to Julia’s instructions, and the rest of us walked in silence all the way to the graveyard.

Carlo was already sitting by the closed gate when we arrived: the image of a textbook vampire hunter. We jumped over the fence, and Clarence and Jean-Pierre guided us among the tombs to the Greek mausoleum mentioned in Victor’s letter: a large white marble construction held by classical columns with voluted capitals and a pediment adorned with mythological reliefs, far-off beyond the first rows of tombs and trees. The elegant temple-looking construction had been the final resting place of a well-off Greek-English family for a century, and it was set by a beautiful garden area not far from Rose Auberon’s grave.

As we approached the agreed meeting point, it started to drizzle. Carlo held onto his biggest stake with both hands, the unusual paleness of his cheeks giving away how utterly terrified he was. He tripped in the darkness and reached for his cell phone flashlight, but Francesca frowned, gesturing for him to put it away.

“No,” she commanded. “We must walk in darkness.”

“Why did I agree to this madness?” Carlo whined. “A pitch-dark cemetery and surrounded by vampires... I think I’ve changed my mind; I’m going back to my hotel.”

“Just give me your hand, I will keep you safe,” Francesca said sweetly. He scooted away from her, hugging the stake tighter against his chest. “Very well then. Trip over fallen branches and break that soft skull of yours. There won’t be any leftovers, rest assured.”

I grimaced at the visual as we circled around the Greek mausoleum.

Mark and Minnie were sitting on a bench on the other side of the small classical construction. They were as far away from each other as possible and had probably been quarreling. Minnie ignored his presence, holding a mirror to fix her lipstick with absolute self-assurance. When she saw Carlo, she blushed like a schoolgirl, to which he replied with a droopy eyelid glance and muttered, “Hey gorgeous.” I blinked, trying to decipher their awkward interaction, but Carlo disappeared into the shrubbery and Mark stood up from the bench, scanning the rest of our small group with suspicion.

“What’s going on, Minnie?” he asked. “You said we were meeting the kidnappers here tonight.”

Minnie disregarded his question and set the mirror aside. “You are early,” she said to me. “I thought...”

“Why aren’t the girls here?” I interrupted her.

Mark stared at us, clearly puzzled.

“They are on their way,” Minnie replied with absolute calm, unfazed in the presence of four vampires.

“You knew Alba was coming?” Mark snapped. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“There are many things you don’t know about, honey,” Minnie replied sweetly. “But all will be clarified tonight... look, there’s Ursula with the kids.”

“Who’s Ursula?” he insisted, but his question answered itself when an exotic lady with flowing, hazel hair appeared behind the tallest tombstones, holding my daughters by the hand.

I gasped and raced to meet them, dropping to my knees on the grass in front of them.

“Mommy?” they shouted, trying to set themselves free from the hazel-haired lady.

“My girls!” I cried, hugging each one with one arm and ignoring the woman in the middle, who refused to let go of their little hands. “I have missed you so, so much.”

“Mommy, you look weird,” Iris said, shrinking into herself, “and your hands are very cold.”

“If you excuse me,” the lady said, pulling them away from me and heading straight to the bench where Minnie was sitting.

Ursula was a vampire, no doubt about it. I could tell by the perfect glow of her olive-tinted skin and the soft blue sparkles in her eyes, together with the unmistakable faint scent of blood that enfolded her.

“What pretty dresses you have!” I said, admiring Katie and Iris’s lacy gowns. They were also wearing gold necklaces hanging over their chest. “And those beautiful necklaces... where did you get them?”

I reached to touch Katie’s, which had a large pendant shaped like a little bottle; it sparkled and burned my skin, making me recoil.

Katie glanced at Minnie, who replied with an overly sweet smile. “Minnie’s friend... she gave them to us.” She rubbed her eyes, looking drowsy and flustered; not surprising at such a late hour, well past her bedtime.

Francesca stepped between Minnie and Ursula with a defiant stance. “If you don’t mind, I will take the children home now,” she said. “Unless Alba wants to do it herself.”

Katie and Iris’s eyes illuminated with joy as soon as they saw Francesca, and even more after hearing her suggestion, but they didn’t escape Ursula’s grasp.

Should I take the children home myself? Leaving Clarence made me feel uneasy, and I would have trusted Francesca with my own life. I wasn’t sure what to do, but before I could make a decision, Minnie interrupted my ponderings.

“These children aren’t going anywhere,” she said, grabbing little Iris’s shoulder. “You don’t understand: they will stay here until the end of the duel. If Mr. Auberon Jr. wins, you can take them with you. If not, well...” she lowered her voice so the kids wouldn’t hear her, “in that case, you got to say goodbye in person. A creature like you should never be allowed to be a mom, anyway.”

Mark had been watching our exchange in absolute silence, which was quite an unusual behavior for him. Judging by his bewildered expression, he wasn’t aware of Minnie’s involvement in the children’s disappearance; nor could he decide whose side to take now. A few steps further, Clarence and Jean-Pierre stood guard, listening to our every word and ready to pounce if I asked them to. Mark approached the children, crouching to shake Katie’s hand.

“Hi Kate,” he said cautiously. “How have you been?”

Katie eyed him with distrust. “We were with Minnie and her friends, Dad.” She sounded like a tiny adult. “I thought you knew.”

A clock struck midnight in a faraway chapel, and a frosty breeze swept over the graveyard. The agile rhythm of vampire footsteps announced the arrival of Victor Auberon, followed by another man I had never seen before.

Clarence stepped forward to meet his father, greeting him with a curt head bow.

“Father.”

“Clarence.”

The two men stood in silence, staring at each other. A soft buzzing surrounded them, oppressive like a looming thunderstorm; the barely contained energy between them revealed untold stories of centuries-long offenses about to culminate tonight.

Jean-Pierre cleared his throat. “Gentlemen, before we commence, would you consider a peaceful settlement while there is still a chance...?”

Clarence held his father’s glance, waiting for an answer.

“No,” Victor said. “Too late for that.”

Clarence nodded. “Let this be our last settlement, then, Father.”

Victor’s eyes glinted with fiery sparks, identical to his son’s. They were both eerily similar; both being tall, charismatic and attractive. Victor was older, yet in his immortal agelessness, the age difference had blurred. The disparity was only apparent in the way they moved, spoke and gestured; or perhaps it was just a difference in their aura: something about the way Victor carried himself made him look deadlier and much more dangerous than his son.

“Wilhelmina.” Victor beckoned her with one finger, while Clarence and Jean-Pierre retreated to the background to check their weapons.

Minnie rushed to Victor, and he grabbed her waist abruptly, whispering something inaudible into her ear. She listened, limp in his arms, then nodded obediently.

“Keep her in sight, too,” Victor added, glancing at me and making sure I could hear him. After that, he bent just enough to kiss her, keeping his eyes wide open and set intently on Mark. There was no passion whatsoever in that kiss; it was just an ownership statement, sparkled with a dash of mockery.

Victor’s act of defiance worked, and Mark’s swearing boomed across the whole graveyard. I watched, almost amused, as he strode in a fury toward Victor and pushed the vampire on the chest, ready to defend his wounded manhood.

“What do you think you are doing, you English snob?” Mark blurted. Victor didn’t react; instead, he studied Mark, smirking with the curiosity of a scientist about to dissect an insect.

“Foolish, but audacious,” Victor said, glancing alternatively at me and Minnie. “Just like most humans who fall for witches’ charms, if I may say so.” His arm remained around Minnie’s waist, and Mark’s eyes were about to bulge out of their sockets. “The witchlings’ father, isn’t he?”

Minnie nodded. “Yes, Victor, I’m sorry... I shouldn’t have brought him. But Denis can make him forget when we’re done, if you don’t mind the hassle.”

“Minnie,” Mark growled. “You have so many things to explain.”

Victor snapped his fingers, a sign for Mark to go away. “Now please step aside, boy, and allow us to carry on before someone gets harmed.”

Knowing Mark, it wasn’t hard to guess what would ensue: an angered reaction which would provide the perfect opportunity to grab the girls and run. Francesca was standing behind Ursula, and I sought her gaze. She nodded, silently agreeing with my plan. She was ready, and so was I.

As expected, Mark exploded and aimed a sudden, low kick toward Victor, throwing a punch to his head at the same time.

In the meantime, I threw myself at Ursula, bringing her down, while Francesca picked up Katie and Iris and ran toward the exit. She had barely taken a couple of strides when Denis flew after her and blocked her path. Francesca set the children on the ground and jumped on Denis, biting his neck while I fought to restrain Ursula.

“If I were you, I would stop,” Minnie yelled, rushing toward us before Clarence and Jean-Pierre could help. “Those necklaces―they’re hexed. One wrong move, and your children will be dead.”

Clarence and Jean-Pierre stepped in, and I was holding my fist over Ursula when Minnie’s words brought our fight to an abrupt halt.

“Lies,” Francesca spat, clutching Denis’s neck with blood on her lips.

“No. It’s true,” Minnie said, sauntering around us and taking the children’s hands. “I think Alba noticed, didn’t you?”

I exhaled, hardly coping with the rage boiling inside my chest. I hated Minnie; I hated her so much. She was right, and those glass pendants had felt off in my hand.

Mark howled, and I turned around to look at him: he was lying on the ground, Victor’s perfectly polished shoe resting on his bruised face.

“Do we still need him?” Victor asked Minnie, wiping a speck of dust off his jacket.

Minnie shrugged and glanced at me.

“Do you want him back?”

Horror must have been apparent on my face because she burst into laughter. Even as a vampire, I’d rather burn under the sun than go back to Mark. And seemingly, now that the trial period had expired, Minnie shared the sentiment.

“It’s fine, Victor,” Minnie said. “We have the kids, and your son is finally here. We don’t need Mark anymore. Do as you please with him.”

Victor clenched his jaw and waved at Denis, while Mark wriggled like a worm at his feet.

“Dispose of the human, please,” he ordered, too refined to soil his white-gloved hands with a lowly human’s blood.

Denis nodded and rolled up his sleeves, ready to break Mark’s neck right in front of his own children. Little Iris started to cry, and Katie’s face turned ashen with fear. Minnie didn’t even have the decency to take them somewhere else.

“Wait!” I shouted, running toward Denis as if propelled by an outer force. “Just make him forget but let him live, please!”

Everyone stared at me. Particularly Clarence, whose eyes widened with shock―he knew most of my story and was aware of all the physical and emotional tortures Mark had submitted me to during the years I had been his. For years, I had wished for Mark to suffer the same pain he had caused me; and yet, suddenly, the tables had turned, and he wasn’t but a frail human facing a sure death: someone in the wrong place at the wrong moment. Suddenly I, his former victim, had the power to save him... if I wanted to.

“Please,” I repeated, trying to block the gruesome sight from Katie and Iris, “spare his life.”

Victor shrugged. “As you wish.” He kicked the back of Mark’s skull and knocked him out. Denis, compliant as always, rushed to pick up Mark’s body and threw it behind the rosebushes. “Fine, gentlemen, shall we begin?”

Chapter 28

Clarence

Jean-Pierre assessed the swords, checking the blade and the hilt; any defects in either might prove lethal once the combat started.

“All good,” he declared, keeping one and handing me the weapon I had been assigned: a sophisticated sterling silver sword with Victor’s emblem on the hilt, for I had none of my own.

“Thank you,” I said, tracing the cross and the coiled snake around the hilt―the marks of a former physician, and once a devout man of the church. Out the corner of my eye, I spied Jean-Pierre making a veiled Catholic sign of the cross, an old habit of his that made me smile despite the circumstances―it was fascinating how, in times of hardship, everyone―including vampires―would find comfort in rituals salvaged from a more peaceful past.

I checked the surroundings once more, making sure I had not neglected any important details. The mausoleum to my right, a forested area to my left, and smaller tombs everywhere else. Behind me, snuggled together on the bench, Alba’s children sat peacefully, flanked by Minnie and the unknown vampire lady. Katie’s eyelids fluttered with drowsiness; her younger sister, though, was engrossed in a sketch she had been drawing. Alba and Francesca stood behind them, their knuckles white against the backrest.

Father’s henchman wished him luck and stepped away, his back still bent in a bow as he retreated to his place next to Jean-Pierre.

“Good luck, Vlad!” Wilhelmina said, blowing a kiss to my father.

I huffed, just like every single time everyone referred to him by his fictitious name―a name he had assumed to detach himself from the vampire status I had inflicted upon him. In his delusion, he had probably convinced himself that Vlad could be a temporary designation; the moniker of a sinner and detached from his pure, real self. To this day, Victor Auberon still believed he would morph back into the man he once was, and God would free him of the bloodlust curse―if only he could prove his virtue and superiority. Who knew―perhaps ending my life for good was also part of his atonement.

Notwithstanding my personal views on Our Lord, I would not have blamed Him for being skeptical regarding Father’s virtue and suspending whatever deal they had, for I, too, had been testimony to his many decades of felonies.

Jean-Pierre’s voice put an end to my philosophical musings. Victor or Vlad, that man was there to kill me, unless I did it first.

“En garde.”

We assumed a fencing position, and Father’s maroon eyes glinted with defiance.

“Prêts?”

The tips of our swords touched, expectant.

“Allez!”

Victor made a lunge for my heart even before Jean-Pierre voiced the last command. I jumped and swiveled to dodge the blade, charging back at him with all my strength. He fled, jumping onto the roof of the mausoleum, and I followed with a single leap. Our swords clashed above the graveyard, but Father’s skills were better. He kept gaining terrain, forcing me to recoil. I stepped on the loose edge of the roof, losing balance; I straightened up, but not fast enough―he pushed me off the roof, into a narrow ditch by the side of the mausoleum. While I crawled to get back on my feet, his second, Denis, kicked me in the kidney, prostrating me once more.

“That’s a violation. Improper conduct!” Jean-Pierre roared, raising his hand at the grievance.

Victor ignored him and jumped off the roof, landing on my abdomen. He swept left and right with his sword, trying to chop off my head. I parried the blow, then rolled sideways and away from him.

Denis attempted yet another illicit attack, and Jean-Pierre howled, enraged; he had had enough and jumped to my defense, engaging Denis in a secondary fight.

Father carried on with the intense, quick blows from different angles. His fencing technique was impeccable and hard to counter for me: I hadn’t held a longsword for a century. I concentrated on the spot over his heart and charged once again, hitting the mark this time. But my sword bounced against his body with a loud clank, and a slow smirk appeared on his face.

“A shield?” I said, staring at my bent sword with perplexity. Father’s chest was rock hard, the polished metal of a breastplate shining under his torn shirt. “I would have never expected such degradation from you, Father.”

Victor chuckled, crouching to evade my next blow. This time, my blade left a shallow mark on his cheek, missing his eye by an inch.

“All is fair in love and war,” he said, springing on a low tree branch. “Remember what you did, Son? Was that fair play, perchance?”

The memory of that doomed night, at that very same graveyard, paralyzed me with guilt. My stupor lasted a mere second, but it was enough for Victor to strike and sink his blade into my right side. The sword fell off my arm, pain radiating all over my body.

“You brought this upon yourself!” Victor shouted. “I should have never been here! I should have never been... this!”

Jean-Pierre threw me his own sword, scurrying away from Denis’ advances. I grasped it mid-air and fought Father with my left hand, struggling to keep him and the pain at bay simultaneously.

“If you hated it so much, why did you keep living?” I asked him, pivoting and slashing with my sword. “Why did you keep murdering innocents, collecting disposable lovers and vassals as if you owned life itself... why... Father... or should I call you... Vlad?”

He pushed me against a tombstone, making me trip and fall on my back.

“What I call myself is not a concern of yours, Son,” he replied, about to pounce on me.

“I know why you carried on!” I bent down to elude his blow, wincing under the pain of my wounds. “Because you actually enjoyed it... because being a vampire allowed you to play God with the lives of others, did it not?”

I grabbed his leg, and we rolled on the ground together, my sword tucked along my body. His weapon fell behind, and I propped myself on top of him with a final push. I held him under my knee with my blade raised, ready to sever his head.

“Your mother would have been so proud,” Father sniggered, gesturing to her headstone behind him. I hesitated, thinking of my mother and overwhelmed by this bitter twist of fate, and lowered the sword.

“No!” Francesca screamed, gathering her skirts to rush towards us. “Remember your promise!”

She was right: I had to do it, or else Vlad would terrorize everyone I loved for the rest of eternity; he would never stop haunting us, never give up.

Yes, my mother would have been proud.

I raised the blade once more, using my left hand and staring into Father’s maroon eyes. His dignified lack of emotion was admirable: there was no fear in his eyes; just expectation. He lifted his arm, requesting one last word. I must allow him that. I nodded, still holding the sword.

“Wilhelmina,” he commanded, “it is time.”

Minnie hurried to his side, holding her handheld mirror and dragging Alba’s children with her; Denis and Ursula followed; a peculiar entourage of children and vampires reunited to bid farewell to Dr. Victor Auberon.

Francesca growled and stood guard beside them with distrust, while Minnie knelt down and took Father’s hand, kissing it.

“Everything is under control, Sir,” Minnie whispered, lifting the mirror over the motley crowd. Green lighting exploded inside the glass, making them all disappear in a bright flash of light. All that was left behind were tendrils of crimson steam, smoking over my mother’s grave.

Chapter 29

Alba

I screamed with horror as my daughters disappeared into Minnie’s mirror, racing―too late―toward the spot where Victor had lain. Clarence was still kneeling by his mother’s tomb, a silver sword in his left hand and blood running down the right one. Remorse and desolation hazed his eyes, and his shoulders slumped, powerless, when he heard my cries.

“I should never have agreed to this madness,” he muttered, tearing a piece of his shirt to stop the bleeding. “You were right.”

“No,” I collapsed by his side, and Francesca hugged me in silence, looking even more shattered than I was. “But we were so close. So close...”

My phone started buzzing in my pocket: it was Alice, calling me from her spot in central London.

“Alba, I finally managed to speak to Valentina,” she said. “She’s awakened from her coma, and things are even worse than we thought.”

“What’s wrong?” Talking seemed like an enormous effort, even without the added hassle of breathing.

“So, basically, Vlad... what he wants is...” she hesitated.

“He wants what?” I yelled. If she didn’t tell me fast enough, I might crush yet another phone into dust. Alice remained silent, upset by my reaction. “Sorry, Alice. I’m a mess. Minnie just disappeared with the kids...”

“Oh, Alba, that’s exactly what Valentina was talking about,” she interrupted me. “They used the children as bait to lure Clarence to the duel, but in truth, it’s the witchlings they want. They’re the main reason everything happened, starting with Mark leaving you.”

“What are you talking about? This is about Clarence and his father. My children have nothing to do with their centuries-old grievances.”

“According to Valentina, Vlad had been searching for two little witchlings since he found an ancient Egyptian text on the properties of witch blood in the 1900s. He found you even before Clarence did, and enlisted Minnie to go after Mark when you two were still married. This way, she managed to infiltrate your family and have access to the children.”

My whole life flashed before me, and all of a sudden, I saw the events of my past in a completely new light.

“Alba? Are you still there?” Alice asked. I stared at Mark, who still lay unconscious among the bushes, where Jean-Pierre was busy erasing his memories.

“Yes... sorry. It’s a lot to process.”

Alice swallowed on the other end. “Victor is trying to attain eternal life. But not as an undead. He despises living in darkness. He wants immortality, but with human benefits. And witch blood is the key to achieve it.”

“There are hundreds of witches in the world,” I said quietly, sliding down onto Rose Auberon’s grave. “Why would he want my children? Why can’t he just use Minnie, or some other witch?”

“He tried, but adult witches didn’t possess the spark anymore. Children are pulsating entities of life; there’s a magic that keeps them growing: an expanding energy made out of the purest life-force that exists. Combine that with the bursting magic latent in witch children, and you got the missing ingredient for Vlad’s experiment...”

“What... what experiment?” I asked in a trembling voice.

“A spell to breathe life into both the dead and the undead. High level necromancy mixed with cutting-edge scientific discoveries.”

I closed my eyes, holding the phone with weak hands. Clarence walked to my side, and I put Alice on speaker so he could hear what she was saying.

“There’s lots going on in Vlad’s house here in London,” Alice continued. “They hired a mixed team of witches and scientists for the research, and our coven was part of the experiment, although only Valentina had all the information. She was in charge of the magical side of things, while Natasha was the head of the scientific team. When Valentina found out where this research was heading, she refused to cooperate any longer and threatened Vlad with exposing him to all the other covens. That’s why they pushed her into a boiling cauldron; they made it look like an accident and left her for dead.”

“But she survived,” I finished the sentence for her. Clarence sat by my side, and I hugged him. My hand felt sticky: the wound on his side was still bleeding.

“So... you think they’re still in London?” I asked Alice.

“Yes, I think so. The witches created an enchanted house for him in the middle of Saint James Park many decades ago. You can enter through a magical portal, and the ingress is hidden in that pizzeria. Valentina was there; she told me about it.”

“Okay,” I said, watching little Lucille swing her feet over Rose’s tombstone. “We’ll head there right now. Stay where you are, Alice, and be ready because I’m going to need you.”

Chapter 30

Alba

Cars and pedestrians turned into a blur as we breezed along the road for miles, striving to reach Central London before it was too late for Katie and Iris. I asked Carlo to stay behind, with instructions to alert us if Victor returned to the graveyard. The rest of us, four vampires and two ghosts, rushed back to Saint James, too concerned about my daughters’ lives to pay attention to random onlookers and whatever their impressions of us might be.

I ran by Clarence’s side, followed closely by Jean-Pierre and Francesca, while Laura and Lucille hovered over our heads. Even though he didn’t say a word, I knew Clarence was in pain: so much, he wasn’t able to fly with the others.

The door of the pizzeria was locked, but Clarence produced a small lock pick from his pocket and unlocked it for us. I smiled, grateful for his ever-useful petty theft talents. We trooped into the kitchen, straight to the walk-in freezer.

“The entrance has to be here,” I said, pulling the handle of the stainless-steel door, “I saw Victor disappear into this chamber.”

“I will go first.” Clarence said. I rolled my eyes a little, but I let him.

As I had expected, there was nobody inside. The space was a small rectangular room, with its walls covered in industrial shelves holding different kinds of meat, vegetables and frozen dough. There was nothing unusual about any of the walls, apart from a thick layer of frost. Laura fluttered all over the room, looking for signs, but after a quick check, she flew back to Jean-Pierre and announced there was nothing remarkable about that freezer apart from too many expired groceries. While everyone was busy looking for a secret door, little Lucille got stuck to the top left corner and started to shiver, unable to come down.

“What’s wrong, ma cherie?” Jean-Pierre asked her, waving his hand to move the air around her. The small current helped her descend, and she curled up on Jean-Pierre’s back, lacing her arms around his neck.

“I don’t know,” she said, still shivering, “but something felt off up there. It wanted to suck me in.”

Francesca and I looked at each other―that was the clue we had been looking for.

I slid my hands over the frosty wall, feeling the subtle variations in its energy. Lucille was right: something felt different in that corner.

“Did Alice tell you how to open the portal?” Francesca asked, sniffing the wall.

“No, I don’t think she knew. But she once taught me a spell to see through walls. I could try that first.”

I asked everyone to step back and turned off the lights to concentrate better. Raising my hands, I muttered the words Alice had taught me and watched with relief as a purple fog lifted from the chilly floor. I touched the wall, and a small dot of light appeared, blinking. Now the water, I muttered to myself. Extending my claws, I scratched off a bit of frost and sprinkled the icy dust over the wall, making the blinking dot grow to the size of a ping-pong ball which traveled over the surface and drew a tall rectangle on the ice: just like a door.

“Open,” I muttered, and the light traced a circle, resembling a doorknob, and stopped.

The portal appeared right in front of us, its outline shining with purple light in the darkness. Thrilled, I pressed the glowing handle, and the beginning of a tunnel was revealed, together with a low buzzing sound. I tried to see beyond the portal, but endless swirls of green-white fog obstructed the view. I took a tentative step toward the other side, but Francesca stopped me, blocking the passage with her minute body.

“Stop. This doesn’t feel safe,” she said. “For all we know, this tunnel could send us straight into the lion’s den. Don’t you find it suspicious that nobody was guarding the entrance?”

I pondered for a second. “No. The only person who knew of its existence was Valentina, and they left her for dead.”

“I think it’s a trap,” Francesca insisted. “Don’t go in there. It won’t end well.”

“What else can I do?” I asked, and she remained silent. “You stay here,” I told her. “Go to the museum and wait for my sign. We’ll cast the spell as soon as I find Victor. If I need anything, I’ll send the ghosts to alert you.”

Clarence and Jean-Pierre looked at each other, hesitant.

“Alba, please,” Clarence said, glancing into the stirring lights. “She might be right. What if we call Alice and wait for...”

A sharp pain hit me behind the breastbone, vanishing just as fast. I could feel Iris and Katie, calling me from the other side.

“You don’t understand,” I replied. “This can’t wait. They need me now.”

Leaning back, I got a running start and snuck under Francesca’s arm before any of them could stop me.

I fell into the brightness. The ground was soft and fluffy, and it gave in under my weight. Just like a waterslide, it sent me flying into a world of magical cotton candy. My friends’ smells and voices disappeared, and I descended smoothly for a few seconds, until the mist cleared and the stars shone brightly over me in a clearing surrounded by trees. My feet touched soft grass, and a rose arch opened over me.

“Welcome to Tenebris Estate.”

A firm, chilly hand helped me into a standing position.

Denis.

Beyond the trees, the twinkling lights of a luxurious Georgian villa revealed the location of Victor’s enchanted home. The entrance, framed by fluted Greek columns and statues, was preceded by tall marble steps. Behind me and encircling the house, a black and golden gate separated our reality from everyone else’s; I remembered strolling in that park many times before and never noticing the majestic villa. There weren’t many people in the park so late in the evening, but the few I could see walked straight through the house like ghosts, unaware of the witchcraft masterpiece right in front of them. If Natasha’s underwater laboratory in Venice had been a shocking work of magical architecture, Victor’s London house was simply breathtaking.

“And so, the sparrow flew straight into the cage,” Denis said, clicking his tongue. “I’m not even going to restrain you, and please don’t try to attack me because you are one against... many.” I glared at him. Had he read my mind? “Just follow me; we were expecting you. Is anyone else coming?”

Before I could answer, Clarence and Jean-Pierre emerged from the rose arch behind me, stumbling messily on top of each other.

“Oh, here they are.” Denis chuckled.

Jean-Pierre recognized Denis and immediately charged him, eager to continue the fight he never got to finish. But Denis stood there, impassive, and took the blow with a smirk.

“It was very foolish of you to come here,” Denis said to nobody in particular. “Now that you are in Vlad’s realm, it would be wiser to keep your fists in your pockets.” Jean-Pierre growled, his eyes glinting as he recoiled. “Thus, without further ado, please follow me, lady and gentlemen, and behold the most important discovery in the history of vampirehood.”

***

WE LEFT THE TALL MULBERRY trees behind and followed Denis across the flawless lawn, up the steep marble steps that led to the two-story villa. Everything and everyone beyond the enchanted gates of the mansion looked hazy, like a vision in a dream, making me wonder which of those two worlds, inner or outer, magical or ordinary, might be the real one―if there was at all such a thing as a one and only reality.

“Of course he would build his house right across the Royal Palace,” Jean-Pierre drawled. “Victor Auberon and his undying delusions of grandeur.”

Another vampire, dressed in black from head to toe, received us by a front door taller than two men. Denis saluted him, and they guided us along the halls, up to the rear side of the house. We stopped in front of a milky glass door which opened into a conservatory behind the residence, and both vampires disappeared inside, leaving us alone.

“Where is Francesca?” I mumbled into Clarence’s ear, noticing the soft waft of lotus and plumeria fragrance seeping from the other side of the door.

“We persuaded her to remain behind,” he replied, taking my hand in his. “For everyone’s safety.”

“Persuaded,” Jean-Pierre pointed out, “is a very mild way to put it.”

It wasn’t hard to imagine Francesca wouldn’t have stayed behind of her own accord, but I was grateful Clarence and Jean-Pierre had made her stay. We might very well stay forever trapped in Victor’s house, and having an ally outside might end up being our only hope to get out.

“What about the ghosts?” I asked.

“They could not cross. The magic didn’t allow them to step into the portal.”

The glass door opened again, revealing an indoor jungle of exotic flowers, birds and butterflies. A curtain of ferns and orchids separated the entrance from the rest of the conservatory, and Minnie’s voice greeted us from the inside, muffled by bird chirps and the sound of trickling water.

“Please, come in,” she said, pushing the lavish vegetation curtain aside. “We knew you would come.”

The scene on the other side was breathtaking. Besides the abundance of ferns hanging from the wooden beams, lush vines with blue leaves and silver, glow-in-the-dark circular blossoms climbed over most surfaces. The farthest glass wall was the only see-through one, and it overlooked a tranquil lake that glimmered under the moonlight. Close to its edge, there was a pool which was either lined with glossy, red tiles or filled with thousands of gallons of blood.

“Welcome to my humble orangery,” Victor greeted us, pressing Minnie against his side and waving toward the glowing flowers around us, “I see you appreciate the nocturnal passion flowers as much as I do. They glow only after dusk, but we are blessed with an everlasting night over Tenebris... a generous present from the witches who conceived this estate many decades ago.” He picked one flower and twirled it between two fingers. Its color was unlike anything else I had ever seen: reminiscent of blue, pink and purple, without being either of them. “Ultraviolet specter,” Victor explained. “There are certain colors only vampire eyes can perceive.” After a couple of seconds, the flower’s glow died out, and he discarded it. “But only witches can hold them. They die in everyone else’s hands. A perfect symbol of the delicate symbiosis between our people, don’t you think?”

Victor’s voice faded into the background, my attention focused somewhere else: behind him stood his minion, Ursula, and next to her was a woman with straight, blond hair cut sharply along her jawline. They were both peeking into a large box covered with a black velvet sheet and had their backs to us when we arrived. When they finally turned around, the sight made my hair stand on end.

“Natasha Grabnar,” I growled, holding the blonde woman’s piercing blue gaze. “Self-appointed scientist, former coroner, and...” I paused, remembering the urns full of ashes and the callous note she had sent me. “Coldblooded murderer.”

“If someone has cold blood here, it’s not me.” She grinned. “Definitely much colder than the last time we met in Venice, isn’t it? But I would lie if I said I hadn’t expected this.”

The panther inside me snarled, fighting to come out, and Clarence held me against him.

“Don’t,” he whispered, and I knew he was right: it wasn’t a great idea to attack Natasha with all those vampires―and Minnie―surrounding her.

I was still taking deep breaths to calm down when Victor approached me and kissed the back of my hand with old-fashioned chivalry, all while holding Clarence’s enraged gaze.

“Miss Lumin,” he said, taking my hand delicately, “please allow me to show you the fruits of Mrs. Grabnar’s work, the culmination of a decades-long cooperative project between science, vampires and witches.” He beckoned Clarence and Jean-Pierre to come over. “Accompany me, you two. But do not make a fuss, please.”

“We still have outstanding matters to solve... Father,” Clarence said.

“All in due time, Son.”

On top of a marble plinth lay a large rectangular box, covered with black fabric. Victor pulled at a corner of the velvet sheet, revealing a glass box with golden, metallic edges. Around it, and all over the plinth, scattered petals of red hibiscus and nocturnal passion flowers scented the air, and inside it...

I gasped.

Inside it slept Katie and Iris, their little chests raising and falling with peaceful breaths. Green, spider-like rays of light bounced against the inner glass surfaces, like tiny, enclosed lightning bolts. They started from their hearts and shot to the golden edges of the box, their light ending up in the vials they wore around their necks.

I watched the process, mesmerized, as the small bottles became fuller and the children’s breathing slower. The bottles flashed green, purple and golden, and reminded me of a mass of radioactive material. As the procedure progressed, they turned more and more golden.

I growled again, this time so loud, everyone turned around; but by then, I couldn’t care less; I had to get Iris and Katie out of that box, and quickly. My claws came out, and my fangs pierced my tongue. I crouched a little, feeling the taste of my own blood as I got ready to smash the glass and run. Where to, it didn’t matter. My whole body was shaking. I was about to explode. Thinking was getting harder.

Victor took my hand by the fingers, observing the extended claws, and looked into my eyes seductively.

“Delightful,” he declared. “My son always had an impeccable taste for women...” He lowered his voice. “...and he has had many.”

I swallowed, eyeing his throat and the glass box.

I would not be able to restrain myself for much longer.

“Do not do it,” Victor whispered, caressing my hand sensually. His fingers, his whole hands, even his touch felt so similar to Clarence’s, the likeness making him even more repulsive. “If you stop the process halfway, you will kill the children,” he continued. “We just need to fill the vials with their life-force, then you can have them back. They should be fine. I thought you would enjoy witnessing the experiment.”

He kissed my hand once again, and this time, it was Clarence who couldn’t bear it any longer: he pushed Victor away from me, his eyes on fire. “Do not touch her,” he rumbled. “Ever. Again.”

“Fine,” Victor said with a grimace, dropping my hand with disgust. “Keep her. Anyhow, I would never grovel the way you do. Witches are filthy creatures, unworthy of our kind.”

Minnie huffed beside him.

“Just like napkins,” Natasha commented with a smirk, tapping on the glass coffin where my daughters slept. “Convenient, but worthless once they’ve served their purpose. Use them, compost them, next!”

Rage consumed me from the inside, dimming my wits. My heart pounded, announcing my imminent transformation.

“No,” Clarence muttered, grasping my forearm. “Calm down, please.”

In my tunnel vision state, all I could see were Natasha and the glass coffin.

“Someone got offended by my comment.” She laughed.

The thunder inside my chest was getting out of hand, and a booming growl escaped my throat. Clarence and Jean-Pierre held me, alarmed, but it was too late. I had no control over my mind or my actions. I was just a wild panther, ready to kill. Detaching myself from both men, I pounced on Natasha and sent both of us flying through the wall of the conservatory, landing by the edge of the blood-red pool among sharp shards of glass.

She screamed for help and took a dagger out of her trousers, as if that would deter me. Behind me, resounding steps just reminded me I needed to kill her faster.

“Stop the witch!” Victor shouted. “Only Grabnar knows how to operate the machine!”

I turned around. An altercation had started inside the house, vampires against vampires, with green flashes of light from and around Minnie.

Natasha took advantage of the distraction and tried to stab me in the heart, but she missed and stabbed just my flank. I roared; the pain was blinding. She stood up and took a step backwards, closer to the red pool.

“They won’t survive the experiment,” she said defiantly. “Victor lied. Consider your daughters dead.”

I jumped on her and bit the main artery on the side of her neck, killing her instantly. She didn’t even have time to shout. We plunged into the pool, her blood spreading like an ink blotch inside the dark waters.

Jean-Pierre and Clarence ran out of the house, trying to stop me, but it was too late. From the corner of my eye, I saw Minnie pushing the top of the glass coffin open; green lighting escaped through the half-open lid and diffused as it crashed into her body. The other three vampires followed Clarence and Jean-Pierre outside, just as I jumped out of the pool and shook the water off my fur. We fell into a mindless fight, and soon, the world was reduced to scratching, biting, and hopefully killing the others. All I could see was skin and blood, of others and my own. Only the instinct to survive remained: survive by killing everyone who was trying to harm my children.

My children...

I leaped over Denis’ and the unknown vampire’s inert body, leaving Ursula and Victor to Clarence and Jean-Pierre. Minnie had removed the shining bottles from the children, and the lightning inside the box had ceased. My daughters’ eyes were closed and their faces completely pale, with almost purple lips. I couldn’t hear their breathing anymore.

Minnie donned the vial necklaces around her own neck and grabbed her mirror and a heavy-looking plastic bag from a side table, rushing toward Victor.

“I have both. One for each,” she said, breathless. “Where to now?”

“To immortality, of course,” Victor said, kissing her.

After that, both of them disappeared in a flash of light.

My ears buzzed, and the awareness of the wound caused by Natasha’s dagger brought me back to the present. I reached for my flank, and I saw an arm, not a paw; my wounded body couldn’t sustain the panther form any longer, and it had morphed back on its own. Jean-Pierre and Clarence had knocked down the two remaining vampires and stood in front of the conservatory with their faces covered in bruises and blood.

I rushed to the glass coffin and reached inside, lifting one child in each of my arms. They were so light, so small; and their bodies were completely inert. The word crossed my mind, and I refused to say it, even to think it.

Clarence came from behind me and hugged me and my lifeless children just as an inhuman scream left my throat. I screamed and screamed for as long as I could, until my throat closed and I could not speak at all.

Clarence rocked me, trying to bring me back to my senses. “We’ll fix this,” he kept saying. “I give you my word. We’ll fix this.”

Jean-Pierre shook his head, grief filling his eyes. “Don’t make promises you cannot keep, brother.”

“We’ll recover those vials,” Clarence said, stubborn. “We’ll reverse the process... or die trying.”

I took a deep breath.

His words ignited a small ray of hope inside my shattered soul.

I wanted him so much to be right.

“Where did they go?” I muttered, struggling to talk after all the wailing. “He said, to immortality.”

“Back to the graveyard,” Clarence said, helping me carry Iris out of the conservatory.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Jean-Pierre replied. “He wants to become an immortal human and turn that woman into one, too. Why would they return to the graveyard?”

We walked back into the house, past the statues in the halls, until Clarence halted in front of a large portrait hanging on the staircase. It was his mother’s, and a large rose bouquet lay under it, not older than a day.

“My father might long to see the sun again, but there is one thing he wants even more than that,” Clarence said, smelling the roses and putting them back into the vase. “He spent centuries trying to find her in other women, to no avail. He never overcame her loss.”

Jean-Pierre and I stopped to admire the painting of a younger Rose Auberon, blonde and angelic, just like she looked in all portraits.

“I don’t understand why he would miss her,” I murmured, “when he treated her worse than a slave all her life.”

Clarence shook his head. “I know it is hard to understand. But it is true.“

“So, you think they could have gone back to Rose’s tomb?” I asked.

He nodded, turning his back to the painting.

“Okay, but wait a minute...” I said, rearranging Katie’s weight in my arms to avoid overloading my wounded side. “If he needs one vial for himself and the other for Rose... what on earth is he going to do with Minnie?”

“What do you think?” he said with a knowing nod, heading toward the exit while holding Iris against his bloodied shirt.

“I don’t know,” I said, kissing my daughter’s cold forehead as rage started to boil inside me once again. “But whatever it is, I hope it’s long and painful, and it kills them both once and for all.”

Chapter 31

Alba

The rose arch was still standing in the garden, right where we had left it. We didn’t even need a spell to cross the portal from that side: as soon as we stepped into the arch, a soft light surrounded us, and we fell once again into the tunnel. It catapulted us back to Trattoria di Luigi, where Francesca received us with a muffled cry and completely out of her mind with anxiety.

“What happened?” she asked, snatching Katie from my arms and gasping upon seeing her. “Why isn’t she breathing?”

Lucille peeked over her shoulder and examined Katie. “She’s not dead,” she declared. “I would know.”

“True,” her mother agreed. “She looks like a limbo wanderer. Not here, not there... not yet.”

Francesca glared at Clarence, who had just arrived from the other side, and took Iris from his bloodied arms too. “I told you to kill him. But of course, you had to be your ludicrous, magnanimous self... look at what that knightly attitude of yours brought upon us, Clarence! What now, caro mio? How do we fix this?”

“You have no idea how much I regret that moment of hesitation,” Clarence murmured, closing his eyes. “But I swear he’ll be dead before sunrise, even if it’s the last thing I do.”

“Nobody is allowed to touch Victor while he has the vials,” I interrupted them. “We can’t risk them getting damaged.”

Francesca walked out of the freezer, carrying the children to the dining room. I followed her, and we put together a makeshift bed out of chair cushions, where she lay Katie and Iris.

“We’re going back to the graveyard; we think Victor might be there,” I told her. “But it’s better if you stay in your position. As soon as I get back the vials, we’ll cast the spell on Victor. I’ll send Laura to alert you.”

“What about the children?” she asked. “You can’t take them with you. It’s too dangerous.”

“Jean-Pierre can wait here with them,” I said. “Laura, stay with him in case he needs to send a message. Lucille, you come with us.” Unused to leading others, I was surprised when everyone nodded in agreement, ready to follow my instructions without further questioning. “Okay,” I said, caressing my daughters’ cheeks once more. “Let’s go now.”

We ran under the rain, which was starting to pick up. By the time we reached the gates of the graveyard, it had turned into a rumbling downpour. Carlo had been sheltering from the storm under a bus stop by the road, and he came out to greet us.

“What’s up?” he shouted, making his voice heard over the heavy rain. His clothes were drenched, and there were dark, tired circles under his eyes; it was late, particularly for a human. “I was about to message you: I think Victor and Minnie are back.”

“Oh, great,” I said with relief. “That’s what we were hoping for. Do you want to come in with us, or would you rather stay here?”

“I don’t know, do you need me?”

I noticed the firm no in Clarence’s eyes; however, a nagging feeling in my chest told me otherwise.

“Yes, come with us,” I replied, ignoring Clarence’s dismayed look. “Bring the stakes too.”

We climbed the gate and took a narrow path among the trees, which led to the oldest area of the graveyard. In the meantime, I updated Carlo with everything that had happened in Victor’s house, and he nodded, as if he had been expecting it. Clarence walked a few steps behind us, unwilling to join in the conversation with Carlo.

“I heard them talking,” Carlo explained, plodding over the mud. His boots squeaked, spitting water with each step. “They were discussing some necromantic stuff. Your ex’s girlfriend, Minnie... she’s a witch, isn’t she? And you need her for that spell.”

I hesitated. “I’m not sure she’s a witch, but Julia passed on her magic to her, and now she’s going to use it to get Victor what he wants instead of helping us.”

“So everything is ultimately in her hands, if I understand correctly,” Carlo pondered.

“I suppose you could put it like that.”

“And if Minnie changed her mind, we would be able to stop Victor, right?”

“That’s extremely unlikely,” I replied, spotting the Greek mausoleum in the distance. “Not gonna happen.”

“What if I told you there’s a way?”

I stopped, turning around to look at him. “What do you mean?”

“Let’s say she likes me so much, I could convince her to do anything I want,” he said smugly.

“That’s absurd.”

“Is it? Well, remember that day I went to a bar with Alice and she kept whining about me talking to other girls? Guess who was there, completely wasted and in a very talkative mood, dying to hop into bed with yours truly...”

“You must be joking. How many men has Minnie been seeing simultaneously?”

Carlo shrugged, wiping off his soaked eyebrows. He obviously didn’t care.

“She told me lots of interesting things and, not surprisingly, found me extremely charming.” He grinned, showing off his perfect white teeth, and I tried not to roll my eyes. “She scribbled her number on a piece of paper and slid it into my pocket. When I saw her again at the pizzeria, she pretended not to know me. But she was with your ex that day.”

“Interesting.”

We reached Clarence’s tree, and I paused under the wide branches to wait for him.

“Yes. Anyway,” Carlo said, “I called her, but she blocked my number. Probably realized she had been too drunk that evening. But then...”

Clarence reached us and pointed at Victor and Minnie’s figures in the distance, standing by the tombstones.

“Then I found Alice’s book in her underwear drawer,” Carlo continued.

“What book?” I asked, ignoring the last part of his statement.

“The one with the love spells. One of them looked quite easy, and I told myself, why not try it? The ingredients were just a couple of candles, some undies and a handwritten letter from the person you wanted to charm. I still had the receipt with her number on it, so I used that...”

“Okay, wait a second...” I squinted, processing Carlo’s story. “You cast a love spell on the woman who dated my ex-husband, all while she was sleeping with Clarence’s father?” I stared at Carlo with admiration. Perhaps, behind that witless façade of his, a true genius had been hiding all this time. Even Clarence looked like he was about to burst into laughter, but he kept his composure, the good Victorian he was.

“Yes, I did, and I think it worked,” Carlo said proudly, crouching behind the tall shrubbery so Victor and Minnie wouldn’t see us.

“Well, it is a funny anecdote, but apart from that, how do you intend to use this to our advantage?”

“I’m going to convince her to desert Victor,” he said, throwing me a seductive glance. With his drenched dark blond hair, and the wet t-shirt enhancing all the muscles of his chest, he definitely didn’t look too bad; but Minnie didn’t seem to me like someone who would allow her heart―or any other parts of her body―to overturn her plans so easily.

“That would be amazing,” I said, shifting to get a better view of Victor. “But I doubt she’s with Victor for love. She’s probably after immortality and power, and he’s the only one who can offer her that.”

“Listen to me,” Carlo insisted. “The spell I used is called Persuasion Obsession. The description said the person would fall in love with you so madly, they would turn into an absolute fool.”

“That’s the most stupid thing I have ever...” I started to say, but then I remained silent. A sudden memory transported me back to the days when I thought marrying Mark was a good idea, and to the time when I had endured his recurrent mistreatment in silence, convinced that good wives everywhere were doing exactly the same. Whether it had been in the name of fear or love, it was hard to tell; but perhaps Carlo wasn’t entirely wrong in believing love could make us do―and endure―things we never thought we would.

“Okay,” I said, giving up. “I suppose you could try. I’ll cast a small protective shield on you, and if everything fails, we’ll be with you in a second.”

***

I ENVISIONED A BUBBLE of white light surrounding Carlo and snapped my fingers―I had never done it before, and I wasn’t convinced it would help much, but hopefully, the placebo effect would contribute to keeping him safe a little longer.

We sat behind the shrubs in the pouring rain, staying downwind to avoid being heard or smelled. I tuned into Victor and Minnie’s conversation, trying to spot a good moment for Carlo to step in.

They were standing in front of Rose’s tomb, engaged in an argument of sorts. Minnie’s long, blond hair stuck to her face in light brown, soaked tufts, and the vials dangled around her neck, glowing in the night.

“Where is the grimoire?” Victor asked, kneeling by the grave and trying to push the two-hundred-year-old tombstone aside. “And the candles?”

“Everything is in the bag, but you can’t expect me to take it out in this rain,” Minnie muttered, looking suddenly uncertain as she clutched the plastic bag against her chest. “The ink would bleed, and the candles won’t burn,” she added, noticing Victor’s irritated expression.

“Just cast a shield around us,” Victor said dismissively. The veins in his neck bulged as he pushed the tombstone, which finally gave in with a loud screech. “Or are you concerned about anything else?”

Minnie shook her head, avoiding his eyes. She left the plastic bag on the ground and raised her arms, mumbling a brief invocation. Soon, an invisible sphere enclosed them, reaching beyond the adjacent graves and noticeable only thanks to the gushing rain sliding down its transparent walls. Victor nodded, satisfied.

“Good girl,” he said. “Now close it so nobody can enter.”

“You know the words too,” she protested.

“I like hearing your voice,” he replied smugly.

Minnie obeyed, but it was obvious Victor’s behavior was starting to get to her.

Carlo squirmed by my side.

“That protective shield is better than yours,” he complained. “And you didn’t even let me take the axe from the kitchen.”

“Sorry,” I whispered. “I did my best. Now shut up, I’m trying to listen.”

Minnie picked up the plastic bag and pulled a tattered journal out of it, handing the rest to Victor.

“Thirteen black candles,” he said, inspecting the contents. “When they burn out, the spell will be completed, is that so?”

Minnie nodded, unsure. “Yes but... I don’t know, Victor,” she said. “Why are you so intent on bringing Rose back? Why can’t it be just us? Vlad and Mina, remember? You and I, Dracula’s true heirs, leading vampires under the sun to take over the world. That was the dream, wasn’t it? Invincible together. Why do we need Rose to interfere with our plans?”

Victor stood up, his hands covered in mud and moss. He wiped them on his expensive trousers and placed his hands on her shoulders. “Wilhelmina, darling, you have nothing to fear. You are my beloved, the only one I want to share my empire with, and you needn’t be jealous. Rose is just part of our experiment: a submissive human who will not turn into a nuisance after a couple of decades. If we can bring her back after being buried for centuries, there will be nothing we cannot do. We will be all-powerful. Together.”

Minnie flinched, gesturing toward the graves around her. “Fine, then let’s resurrect someone else. Everyone here has been dead for at least a hundred years. Just pick a random corpse, and I’ll do it for you.”

“Wilhelmina,” Victor hissed, running out of patience. “If we are to share immortality, I am expecting you to be capable of complying with simple requests, like a proper wife.”

“I am not your wife, Victor.” She crossed her arms, pressing the journal tighter against her. “Or is this a proposal?”

“Take it as you will.”

Lighting illuminated the sky, turning the night into day for a second.

“You change me into an immortal first,” she said. “And then, I will cast the spell for you.”

Victor stood tall and imposing, the tails of his drenched jacket fluttering in the strong winds.

“What do you say?” she howled. “Answer me, please.”

He shook his head. “No. Soon, the sun will come up. I cannot turn you tonight, for the outcome is always unpredictable when it comes to witches. Your reservations are an affront to my honor, Wilhelmina.”

Minnie’s lips trembled as she spoke. “You speak so highly of your integrity, Victor, but then you never hesitated to defraud your own son when the opportunity arose. Why should I trust you? There are only two vials. You say you will get a third one for me, but will you? When? Witchlings aren’t that easy to come by. If your promises of love were true, I would be your priority, and we wouldn’t be having this argument now.” She squinted at his late wife’s name engraved in the stone, hatred apparent in her delicate features. “Rose has been dead for a very long time. Why can’t this experiment wait?”

Thunder shook the air, highlighting Minnie’s words.

“I think this is a great moment for your stellar performance,” I whispered into Carlo’s ear. He stood up, ready to leave our hiding spot. I stopped him to have one last look at him: he might be the most annoying show-off I had ever met, but it took a good dose of courage―or foolishness―to step in front of a vampire as powerful as Victor Auberon armed with just a bunch of wooden stakes.

“Good luck, Carlo,” I said, and I squeezed his arm for good fortune. “Please, try not to get yourself killed.”

Chapter 32

Alba

Carlo sauntered out of the bushes, strolling around the old graves with such ease that he could have passed for a graveyard custodian or even another creature of the darkness.

Victor and Minnie turned to look at him, enthralled by his sudden―and incredibly confident―entry. If he was scared, he hid it to perfection.

“Hey, sweetie, is this man bothering you?” he shouted in their general direction.

“Oh my gosh, he’s so going to die,” I muttered, snuggling against Clarence’s side. “He’s an arrogant idiot, and I sent him to a sure death.”

Clarence shrugged. “Perhaps.” He might have added it wouldn’t be a huge loss, anyway, but thunder muffled his words.

Victor studied the newcomer with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. Minnie, on the other hand, stared at him open-mouthed and brushed her wet hair off her forehead.

“I’m...” She smiled timidly. “I’m okay, thanks.”

I couldn’t believe my eyes. Was it possible for a spell to turn Minnie into a coy schoolgirl in Carlo’s presence?

“Do you want to grab a coffee or something?” Carlo insisted, remaining a few steps away. I cringed. In the middle of a graveyard at 3 AM, that might have been the worst pick up line in history, yet it seemed to work for Minnie because she tilted her head with interest. “I just finished my shift,” Carlo added.

Minnie’s eyes traveled from Victor to Carlo, indecisive. Victor let out a soft growl: dawn was approaching, and he was growing impatient.

“You know what,” Minnie said, clutching the glowing pendants in one hand and the journal in the other, “Yes, I’d love to.” She turned to Victor. “Think about my offer. Soon it will be morning, we better postpone this till tomorrow.”

She muttered a magic word and stepped out of the protective shelter.

“No. We cannot waste time. Give me the vials, darling,” Victor said, seizing her arm. “And the grimoire.”

“Leave me alone, Victor!” She shook him off her, but Victor let out a beastly roar and pulled at the pendants around her neck, unclasping the chain. In a swift move, he pushed Minnie against the tombstone, dazing her, and at the same time he snatched Minnie’s leather journal.

“The vials!” I shouted, skipping out of the shrubs and making a beeline for Victor before he could run away.

“Alba!” Clarence shouted, rushing after me.

Carlo jumped in to help Minnie, and I found myself paralyzed in front of Victor, trying to decide whether to cast a spell or attack him with my claws. I wasn’t a great witch, but I was an even worse vampire.

Victor sneered and slipped the pendants into his waistcoat pocket, ignoring my presence. Clarence leaped over my shoulder, sending a blow straight to his father’s jaw. Victor stumbled back and growled, baring his fangs and going for Clarence’s throat. Clarence struck back, his claws tearing the fabric of Victor’s shirt but drawing no blood―he had forgotten about the metallic breastplate. Once he noticed the deception, his eyes glared with animal rage. Clarence attacked again, and this time, his blow flew straight to Victor’s side, too close to the pocket where he had stowed away the pendants.

“The vials!” I shouted, lunging in the middle of both men. Clarence’s blow hit me instead, making me bend in excruciating pain, clutching my stomach. Horror inundated Clarence’s face, and he hesitated between helping me and countering Victor’s offensive. This second of indecision was all Victor needed to produce a long dagger out of his trousers and stab Clarence in the middle of the chest.

Clarence’s gurgling scream chilled me to the core. I struggled to stand up, crippled by pain myself. Blood trickled down the corner of his mouth, and he collapsed on the grass, unconscious.

Victor threw me a dismissive glance, then jumped back into the protective bubble and muttered a magic word, closing the shield around him.

I crawled after him but crashed against the invisible barrier.

Victor smirked and opened the grimoire, leafing through it with utter calm.

“I need none of you,” he scoffed.

“Minnie!” I shouted, banging against the invisible surface of the shield. “Open this thing!”

Minnie blinked in Carlo’s arms, still stunned by the fall.

“Minnie, please! Don’t you see it? He’s been using you, you and everyone else! Help me!”

Minnie glanced toward Victor, then Carlo, rubbing her forehead. She had a cut over her temple, and a mixture of rain and blood dyed her golden hair crimson.

“Sweetie, please,” Carlo said in his most persuasive voice, wiping the blood off her face, “You know she’s right. He just wanted one thing, and he has it now. We need to stop him, or he’s gonna kill us. All of us.” His voice was warm, almost loving. “Minnie. Break the shield. Please.”

She shook her head, looking as if she were about to cry. “I can’t,” she said. “It can only be done from the inside.”

Stupid woman. My fangs descended, and before I knew, I had grabbed Minnie and slammed her body against Victor’s protective bubble. I entrapped her with my legs, holding her hands and covering her mouth so she couldn’t cast any spells on me.

“Open the shield, Victor,” I growled, my fangs just inches from Minnie’s neck. “Open it right now, or I’ll rip her to shreds.”

Victor set aside the grimoire and stared at us with curiosity.

“I mean it,” I growled. “I never liked her anyway. Come out here and fight, or she’s dead.”

Victor tilted his head. “Who knew I would acquire such an endearing little witch as a daughter-in-law,” he said, opening the journal once again. “But you can have her if you wish.”

Minnie gasped, and I set her free with a snarl. She ran back to Carlo, and I collapsed by Clarence’s side, noticing Victor’s dagger was still entrenched in his chest. I pulled it out, and his whole body shook with an abrupt spasm.

Victor watched the whole scene and snorted before going back to his reading.

“I don’t know what else to do,” I cried, pressing Clarence’s inert body against mine. I licked his wounds, and his eyelids fluttered, but he didn’t wake up. Rocking his body against mine, I allowed the song of the rain to lull him in his dreamless sleep. “I brought doom upon everyone. Julia, Elizabeth, my daughters... Clarence... what’s the point of me living? I should have died in that graveyard in France!”

Carlo grimaced, silent, and Minnie stared at me with a mixture of pity and scorn. None of them contradicted me until a little voice echoed out of a child-sized grave.

“That’s not true, Madam.”

Little Lucille flew out of the grave where she had been hiding from the chaos and hovered over my head, taking a seat on Clarence’s chest. She stuck her incorporeal finger into the bloody stain in his shirt, wincing. “You are not useless, Madam, and many people are glad you didn’t die that day.”

“Are they? Who?” I shouted, pointing at Clarence and the destruction around us. “Are any of them still alive? I failed everyone, including you and your mother. I promised to send you back to the afterlife, and did I do it?” Instead of replying, Lucille glanced down, perusing Clarence’s wound with renewed interest. I continued, “No! Because I’m utterly useless, just like Mark used to tell me. Damn, he was right! He was right all along!”

Carlo cleared his throat, interrupting me. “Please ignore that guy,” he said. “He just did it to feel better about himself. He must have known you were smarter... stronger than him.”

I sighed, surprised by Carlo’s warm words.

“Just cast that spell,” he continued. “Get rid of that asshole already.”

I shook my head, remembering the vials were still in Victor’s pocket. “I can’t. I will kill my daughters in the process. How could I forgive myself then?”

“They will be fine,” Lucille said. “And even if the worst happens... I died because of my mother’s mistakes, too. But I forgave her a long time ago, even though she still carries that guilt. But then again, I know she was only trying... trying to give both of us a better life. Your daughters need you... I need you... and nothing is worse than dying without having at least tried. How would you forgive yourself for that?”

Chapter 33

Alba

“Let me call Alice,” I said, drawing my phone out of my pocket. “She might know what to do.”

While the phone was ringing, I glanced at Victor. He had set up thirteen black candles in a circle around Rose’s coffin. Taking the vials out of his pocket, he held them over the candles as he lit them, muttering an incantation.

“Hi-ya,” Alice sang as she picked up. “I was waiting for your sign. I’m ready.”

“Alice,” I whispered. “Victor has the vials. How are we supposed to cast the spell without damaging them?”

“Hmm...” Alice pondered for a few seconds before replying. “What is he up to?”

“He’s lighting some candles.”

“Thirteen, I suppose.”

“Yes!”

“Yes, a typical necromantic spell. We have time until they burn out.” She paused, and I glanced at the thin black candles―they didn’t look like they would last much. “We should assemble our team as quickly as possible. Go to your position, and we’ll try to create a very sharp, powerful ray, and direct it at Victor’s heart. The key is avoiding the vials.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to picture what she was describing. “How exactly do we do that?”

“You will be in charge: just steer the ray toward him. Just imagine...” Alice hesitated, looking for a comparison. “Imagine it’s a water gun.”

I held my forehead. A water gun.

“I won’t even be able to see Victor if I go back to the pizzeria.”

A few steps away, Victor had finished lighting the candles and knelt over the edge of the casket, knocking on the lid.

“Okay, then stay where you are,” Alice suggested. “Use the power of intention to astral travel between locations.”

“The power of intention,” I repeated, unable to make sense of her cryptic words. “To astral travel between locations.” My brain had gone completely blank, and Victor was pulling at the lid of the coffin, about to tear it open.

“Yes,” Alice explained. “If your faith is strong enough, the Universe will manifest whatever you need.”

“Come on,” I growled. “Can’t you think of a worse plan?” My life history was proof that wishing for things to happen was more often than not a sure recipe for disaster. “Are you telling me we’re going to save my daughters using hope and a water gun? Is that the best we can do?”

“It will work,” Alice said with confidence. “But you need to believe. Be grateful it’s raining: the element of water will work to your advantage. Just flow with the storm. Become your element.”

“And if all that fails?”

Silence.

“Alice!”

“It won’t,” she said. “Trust me.”

***

MINNIE AND CARLO HAD sheltered from the rain under the Greek mausoleum and were chatting quietly under the small colonnade.

“Julia,” I murmured to myself as I walked toward them, “I really hope you knew what you were doing when you passed on your powers to Minnie.”

Wringing my soaked hair with both hands, I joined them under the awning and tapped on Minnie’s shoulder.

“Minnie...” I said, “I know our relationship was always a bit... rocky... but I need you to do something for me.” I paused, waiting for her reaction. She stared at me, expressionless, and I continued, “Julia gave me a spell to defeat Victor, but we need a fire witch to cast it. That’s the reason she passed on her powers to you before dying.”

Minnie glanced sideways. “Yes, I know. We made a deal.”

“You did? So... will you do it?” I asked with excitement.

“You tried to kill me less than twenty minutes ago. It’s funny you dare come for help now.”

“Oh, come on!” I retorted. “You know I wasn’t going to harm you!”

“Minnie, sweetheart,” Carlo said, placing his large hand on Minnie’s forearm. “We really need you.”

“And what do I get out of this?” she snapped, making me doubt the effectiveness of his love spell. “Victor offered me immortality.”

“He lied,” I interrupted. “I have nothing to offer you, apart from the clear conscience of knowing you saved two innocent children.”

“So easy for you to say that when you have it all,” she spat. “Magic. Eternal life. Love. Even a family of your own.” She laughed grimly. “You ask me to betray Victor, but what’s in it for me, Alba? He promised me true immortality without limitations, but what can you offer me?”

“He won’t keep his promise,” Carlo insisted.

Minnie remained silent.

“What was your deal with Julia?” I asked, eyeing Victor with worry. The candles were melting dangerously fast, and he had managed to open the coffin.

“If I help you, I get to keep her magic. If I don’t, I’ll lose it.” Minnie shrugged. “But in truth, I don’t care about Julia’s powers; I’m not interested in being a witch. What I want is eternal life.”

“Okay,” I snapped, knowing I was going to regret my words. “If you help me, I’ll turn you into a vampire. Then you’ll get to keep Julia’s magic and be an immortal, too. I can’t promise you’ll walk under sunlight, but you can trust me... unlike Victor.”

Minnie frowned, skeptical. “Are you serious?”

I sighed, glancing at Victor. The candleflames joined, creating an eerie fire wall around him and Rose’s coffin.

“Yes. You have my word.”

Carlo nodded with a rueful grimace. “She’ll keep her promise.”

“I know,” Minnie said. “I know her.” She let go of Carlo’s arm and offered me a handshake. “Okay. If you’re sure... it’s a deal.”

***

I TOLD MINNIE ABOUT her part of the spell while the night liquified into a full-blown thunderstorm. I made sure she knew all the words, then I instructed Carlo to call a taxi and get them both to Westminster.

“Lucille!” I waved toward the shy little ghost. “Go alert Francesca.”

“And what about you, Madam?” Lucille asked, glancing upwards. The orange glow of early dawn filtered among the black clouds, heralding the imminent, deadly sunrise.

“I’ll stay here,” I replied, then muttered, “...and hopefully, Clarence won’t die before dawn.”

“Oh, please don’t fret, Madam! It’s rare for people to die. They tend to do it just once... so the odds of it happening tonight are low!”

Victor had donned the vials around his neck, and the flames were dancing around him, making him look like a fire spirit.

“Okay,” I said, wondering how much life might be left in those candles. “Tell the others we’re starting when the clock strikes six.”

“I’ll make sure everyone is in place, Madam!” Lucille chirped, vanishing into the treetops.

I knelt by Clarence’s side, licking his wounds one last time. “You will be fine,” I whispered. “I promise.”

The clock in the nearby chapel struck a quarter to six, and I kissed Clarence’s cheek before leaving him asleep on the grass. The flames had turned Victor’s bubble into a glowing sphere of light, and he smirked at me from the inside, lifting the vials in a mock toast.

“Cheers, darling,” he laughed. His laugh echoed inside the invisible walls, making them tremble.

Ten to six.

I closed my eyes, calling upon the magic.

Then I sought my heartbeat, but all I found was an immense void.

“Julia?” I called, but there was no reply.

Okay. Follow the steps...

Imagine yourself in the right location...

Five to six.

The rain stopped abruptly.

No! I need it.

I need the water! Alice said it.

In the desolate graveyard, surrounded only by the sighs of the departed, deserted even by the storm, a deep sense of loneliness nested in my chest like a foul cyst.

Victor drew spirals with the flickering vials over Rose’s coffin, completely dismissing my presence―it was obvious he didn’t consider me a threat. He knew I was not a real witch, nor a true vampire: and it had become clear I could do neither right. The candle flames quivered, reflecting their light on the vials while melted black wax spread all over the tombstone.

I put all my attention on my drenched hair, on its grounding weight on my back, in an effort to overlook Victor’s contempt.

With my eyes closed, I saw myself soaring as an astral projection over London, and I allowed my spirit to drift over the city, leaving my body behind until it reached its spot in the west.

To the north, Francesca, blonde hair flowing in the wind, deceivingly powerful in her smallness;

To the east, Alice, standing over the Thames and surrounded by golden flashes of light;

And to the south, Minnie, her magic burning in scarlet red flames around her.

“Behold now, Alba Lumin, as I become the most powerful vampire in history!” Victor sneered as a myriad of green sparks emerged from the vials, clashing against the invisible walls of his bubble and concentrating over Rose’s coffin. “Not even the brightest star will have the power to destroy me anymore!”

Six o’clock.

I blocked out his words, and my soul left my body completely, turning into a purple mist. I exploded into a thousand droplets of pure light, observing the entire city of London from the air. A golden chain of light tied us four witches together; each of us shone like a sphere of light, with our arms raised to the sky.

As I chanted the Fulminatio spell, I could feel the energy gathering, firm and tangible, like physical matter. Aiming at Victor’s heart, I hurled the ray at him like a javelin. But the light bounced against his protective bubble and scattered in the air, bursting into hundreds of tiny, glittering particles.

My ethereal body wobbled, like a table missing one leg, and my hands started to turn material again; I screamed, fighting to remain an astral projection. Something was wrong... something was missing.

I hovered over our magical circle once again, watching the last remainder of the candles dwindle, while their flames blended with the green light of the vials, swaddling Rose’s corpse and Victor’s erect figure: just a few seconds, and the vials would be gone forever, taking my children’s souls with them.

I thought of my daughters in that glass coffin: of their lifeless bodies, looking just the same as in life, but dead without the essential ingredient concentrated in those bottles: their spirit, their life-force... they were nothing without it...

...and neither was my spell.

“A magical circle

Above and below

From synergy, power

The one born of four.”

“Rain,” I commanded.

A bolt of lightning arose from my core, and the storm returned with tenfold strength. I turned into water and flowed with the gales, just like Alice had instructed, realizing I had been standing in the wrong place. Alice’s tarot cards had been trying to tell me about the key ingredient, and only now I could see it: four plus one, five times five... the need for change... the fifth one who controlled everything else.

That was me, after all.

Our spell could never be strong enough without the quintessence, the invisible life-force that kept all living creatures alive... the legendary element of spirit.

I was bound to become the last link of this chain, but I had forgotten our chain was a circle... and a circle could not exist without a center.

The first black candles consumed themselves, passing their fire on to Victor. I soared away from the west, traveling to the very center of London: the spot where all energy lines converged; where magic was stronger than anywhere else.

Once there, I orbited around the other witches, my essence in the center and the four cardinal points all at once. I joined our shimmering lights into one single rainbow column of light, and it swirled over the statue of King Charles I, blending sparks of blue, yellow, green and red.

Gathering all my strength, I condensed my atoms together and grabbed the spinning lightning bolt, raising it over Victor like the sword of an angel of death.

And then, like Zeus, I fired the rainbow thunderbolt at Victor, shattering his invisible bubble. When the flash of light hit Victor, right on the heart, the very last candle sighed, about to be extinguished.

Victor Auberon was fulminated by what would be remembered by most early-rising Londoners as the most riveting―and unexpected―display of fireworks of the decade.

After that, a final explosion blinded me, causing the clouds to part, and everything turned into white light.

Chapter 34

Alba

I stirred and stretched, with my eyes still closed. Under the palms of my hands, the grass in the meadow was cool and pleasant. Warm sun rays tickled my skin, making me shiver a little. Nothing better than a sunny spring day...

I blinked. The sun was still orange and pink, but it felt harsh. Was it spring at all? My cheeks were burning. Sunscreen. Remember for the next time. I turned onto my side, covering my face with my hand.

Better.

I inhaled the scent of damp grass and sighed: how I loved such slow, lazy mornings...

What time was it? Was I supposed to go somewhere? My mind was jumbled, and I knew I was forgetting about something significant. I felt the ground around me, searching for my phone. I couldn’t find it, so I half-heartedly opened my eyes.

The frail morning sun blinded me, and I pressed my eyelids together, shading my eyes with one hand...

The memories of Victor and the spell burst in, together with the shining daylight.

I panicked; I needed to find shelter right away. The Greek mausoleum behind me promised some sort of refuge, but something else needed my attention first―Rose’s tomb by my side was still open, her coffin uncovered; and a green glow shone out of it. My heart shrank with apprehension. I rolled toward the casket and, swallowing hard, I glanced inside it: a decaying, brown-white mass of human-shaped dust was covered in shredded fabric. The head was covered, for which I said a silent thanks. Where her chest would have been rested the two glowing vials, still unbroken.

Relieved, I grabbed them and crawled toward the mausoleum. I wanted to walk, but my body protested―I was too drained to stand up. Too drained to shift... I needed to rest.

Using my hands, I clambered up the marble steps, seeking the safety of the shade under the small stone awning, and finally collapsed on the slippery floor.

I made it.

Victor was dead.

I was safe.

Leaning with my back against the carved stone door, I took in the scene in front of me.

It was early morning in the graveyard; sometime before opening hours, judging by the lack of human noises. A leather grimoire sat on top of a heap of dust and burned ashes, marking the spot where Victor Auberon had been standing.

The sun kept traveling up into the morning sky, which was bright and clear after the heavy thunderstorm. My eyes hurt, and the skin on my hands was reddened but not blistered. I wondered how long it would have taken for me to burn to ashes and how close I had been to dying the most horrid vampire death.

Golden rays of light made the round raindrops glisten on the grass blades.

The sun was up.

It would have been a glorious morning... had I been able to enjoy it. Sunrise cast a long shadow behind Rose’s tombstone, and in its half-darkness, I noticed a figure lying on the grass...

I gasped.

Clarence!

What had I been thinking? In my utter confusion, I had completely forgotten about him.

He was still there, lying unconscious and concealed among a tall row of tombs―Rose’s stone, though far, cast the longest shadow over him, as if trying to protect her beloved son even from the hereafter. If I didn’t reach him before the sun did, the outcome could be fatal.

“Clarence!” I called him. I couldn’t see his face, but I heard him stir and groan as the agony of sunlight woke him up. “Clarence, come here!”

Another muddled grunt told me he would never make it to the mausoleum in time. With a deep breath, I crawled out of the awning, ready to brave the thirty feet of hell between us―even if it was the last thing I did.

I stepped into the sun. My eyes watered under its bright light, but I could see. Yes, the sun was there, I could face it with grace, and it didn’t harm me.

Seeing the sun after spending a long time in darkness hurt, but it didn’t kill me.

Light hurts your eyes when you have lived in darkness for too long, a voice whispered in my head.

Just like a truth being revealed...

The truth of my witch blood.

The scent of burned skin infused the air, together with the hiss of scorched flesh―but it wasn’t mine.

I kept going, and when I finally reached him, I screamed. His face and neck were disfigured, covered in horrible, bulging sores. He had turned into a monster, with his skin melting like the wax of Victor’s black candles. Panting, I dragged him all the way back to the shade, ignoring his gruesome appearance. I wished to move faster, but I was too weak and the sun kept burning him, baring the bones of his knuckles; but then again this same sun had mercy on me, barely causing a slight rash.

I reached the mausoleum and tucked him safely under the roof. When he opened his eyes, the eyelids were swollen, and he mumbled a few garbled words which sent him into a dry coughing fit.

“What happened,” he repeated, this time more clearly. “Where is Victor? Did you retrieve the vials?”

“Shh,” I hushed him, wanting to kiss him but not knowing how, or where, when all I could see was a mass of burnt flesh. “Everything is okay. Don’t worry.”

“Is it?” he asked, lifting one hand and grimacing with horror when he realized what was left of it. He was unrecognizable, and little was left of the handsome man I had once known.

“Of course,” I lied. Using all my strength, I knocked down the heavy slab that sealed the entrance and dragged him into the soothing darkness of the tombs. “Don’t worry,” I reassured him, trying to sound as convincing as I could. “Just lie back and let’s wait for dusk.”

Chapter 35

Clarence

The dagger wound was healing as expected, but all of my skin felt tight, like an overstretched drumhead. If I tried to speak, an unbearable ache paralyzed my entire face, and the sight of my hands was enough to make me shudder. Picturing my probable appearance, I thought about the vagabond vampire we had met on our arrival to London―chances were, I was not too different from him anymore.

I reached for my cheeks, appalled by the swollen areas and the patches of blood around them, and paused with horror over the spot where my lips should have been. Did I still have a nose? I kept wondering, but Alba would not tell me.

“You look fine,” she repeated, pushing my hands away. “Stop touching your face. You are making it worse.”

“It cannot get any worse,” I replied. “Just tell me the truth. How severe is it?”

“Oh, it’s just...” She bit her lip.

“Alba, please. I am old enough to handle the truth.”

“Okay...” She winced, and her voice broke. “It’s... it’s pretty bad. You don’t even look like... yourself.”

I nodded, or better said, I tried to. “I figured as much.”

“Your eyes still glisten, if that makes you feel better,” she added, grimacing.

“Excellent. It is so reassuring that the most grotesque part of my appearance withstood the rigors of sunlight.”

She tilted her head, damp hair falling to the side. The thin slivers of light and shadow that filtered into the mausoleum sculpted her features; whatever happened, she would always be the most stunning vampire to walk the face of earth. Unlike me.

The sound of footsteps announced the arrival of a team of gravediggers on their way to the first job of the day. My mouth watered, but in my state, hunting outside was something I could only dream of.

“I’m starving,” she said, echoing my thoughts as she peered through a crack in the stone.

“Are you feeling better?” I asked, concerned about her weak, languid gestures.

“Yes!” Her voice vibrated with clearly feigned optimism. “I can do it. I’ll bring you something. I would like to try to go outside again, actually.”

She pushed aside the door slab and studied the approaching humans from the shadows.

“Oh my,” she exclaimed. “I know one of them. His name was... Oliver, I think?”

“Oliver? Long hair... short beard...?”

“Do you know him? I bit him, but I forgot to erase his memories,” she explained. “Who knows what stories he has been telling people... but I’m going to fix that now.”

She stepped into the sun, bright and magnificent. Even though she had told me about it, seeing it happen, in front of my eyes, was simply astonishing―an absolute first in the history of vampires.

She disappeared into the brightness, and I retreated into a corner, listening to my surroundings with my eyes closed. There were a couple of low thuds, a swiftly hushed shriek, and after less than five minutes, she was back, dragging our breakfast. This time, it was my turn to smile when I recognized the man who had stabbed me and Jean-Pierre a couple of nights earlier.

“There was a group of four, so just tell me if you need another one,” she said with a nervous smile.

“Well done, darling,” I said, struggling to picture her tackling down those four stout men on her own.

“I figured out I can paralyze them with magic and use my vampire skills after that,” she explained, sounding excited. “It makes things so much easier!”

Ignoring the pain in the corners of my mouth, and the many questions I still did not have an answer for, I grinned.

“Indeed,” I said and wondered for the millionth time when she would finally realize how powerful she was.

***

IT WAS LUCILLE, THE child ghost, who found us a bit later.

“Everyone is safe,” she announced. “Monsieur Jean-Pierre sends his regards, and Madame Francesca asked me to tell you she will be with you as soon as the Italian witch finds out what to do with the vials.”

“Did you hear from Minnie?” Alba asked, reclining against the stone walls of the mausoleum and looking utterly exhausted.

“She seemed upset... she booked a room in a hotel, and she requested to see you... she is reminding you of your part of the deal.”

Alba’s frown spoke of countless untold stories. “Tell her I haven’t forgotten, and I’ll call her when I get a new phone. I lost mine last night. I’ll meet her as soon as I can. My daughters are my priority now.”

The ghost left, promising to deliver all of Alba’s messages, and it was not until evening that Francesca turned up. When she first lay eyes on me, her expression revealed everything Alba had concealed―despite Alba’s best efforts to take care of my burns, I knew they would never be fully healed. Such scars lasted a lifetime, and I was not sure I wanted to inflict such a cursed existence upon myself... and even less upon others.

“I am so pleased to see you...” Francesca said. “Your wounds have improved too,” she declared, handing me a paper bag. “I brought you this. Can you walk?”

I took the bag. “Yes. I can.” Inside it, a black domino mask and a velvet cloak awaited. I glanced at Francesca, then Alba. Both were staring at me, expectant. “A mask? It must be worse than I had thought, then.”

“I see nothing wrong with your appearance, Clarence,” Francesca replied sternly, “but Lucille told me about your predicament, and we don’t want you to frighten Alba’s children. I thought you would fancy this Phantom of the Opera costume. It suits you.”

“Oh, right,” I said with as much eagerness as I could muster, donning the black mask. “Certainly.”

Alba hugged me. “It makes you look mysterious,” she said. “I kind of like it.”

“Shame it only covers the upper half of my face,” I replied, fastening the silver tie of the cloak. With some luck, it would hide the ruined skin of my neck. Or my entire self.

Francesca clicked her tongue and helped me straighten my bloodied bowtie, the same I had worn during the duel. “Listen, Clarence,” she said in her governess tone. “You just need time.”

“Time?” I huffed. “Time for what?” I sought my own features with my hands, unable to recognize any familiar lines under my fingertips. “I wish you had let me burn to ashes.” Alba tried to kiss me, but I pushed her away, noticing the pity in her eyes. “Don’t. I cannot bear it.”

“Please,” she said, her voice trembling. “Someone once told me that all scars tell a story. And yours tell the story of someone who fought hard for those he cared about.” Her fingers brushed against my chin, like feathers. “And that, if anything, makes me love you even more.”

Chapter 36

Alba

Carlo was waiting outside the graveyard with a rental car and drove us back to the city. He spent most of the ride snooping at Clarence’s masked outfit instead of focusing on the road; this wasn’t only worrying because of his lack of practice driving on the left but also because the constant prying aggravated Clarence’s mood, which had been foul to start with.

During the hours we had spent in the Greek mausoleum, Clarence had gone from the initial relief on hearing about Victor’s death to a staggering grief alternating with boiling anger as he came to understand his dazzling looks might be lost forever. Alice had said no spell could heal such abscesses; but she had promised to look into masking incantations so others wouldn’t be able to see them. Clarence had been offended by the sheer mention of a cloaking spell, arguing it would be a dishonest deception; and after that, we had spent the rest of the car ride in the most uncomfortable silence.

My heart broke whenever I glanced at his distorted features peeking out from under the black mask; but I hadn’t lied when I said no scars could change my love for him―if only he would believe me.

Carlo dropped us off a few streets away from Trattoria di Luigi, which was―inexplicably―closed at dinnertime.

“I sent everyone home this morning so we would have peace,” Alice explained. She was carrying Minnie’s grimoire, which we had picked up from Rose’s tomb after tidying it up.

“You did? How?” I asked.

She unlocked the door, and Laura and Lucille greeted us with excited fluttering, crossing in and out of the large dining room window.

“Let’s say I know a fun spell which involves sudden plagues of rats and cockroaches.”

“Ugh,” I said, stepping cautiously into the deserted pizzeria. There were no rodents in sight, and no people either. “Please tell me the rats are gone now.”

“They are,” Alice reassured me. “Jean-Pierre took the children to Victor’s house. Everything is ready and waiting for you.”

I stopped dead in front of the freezer door, causing Clarence and Francesca to crash into my back. “Wait. What do you mean, me? I can’t cast that spell too. I’m exhausted.”

“Well, who else is going to do it?” Alice grinned nervously, following me into the freezer. “Minnie would be our best option, but she doesn’t give a damn. She’s currently chilling at a spa waiting for you to call her. And, you know...” She glanced at the vials around my neck, and I instinctively clutched them. “I can’t take on such responsibility myself...”

“I understand,” I sighed.

“But please, don’t worry. We spent the day studying Natasha’s invention, and it seems pretty straightforward.” Alice muttered an incantation and revealed the secret portal in the frosty wall of the freezer. “Natasha’s glass coffin is a work of magical engineering: it only needs magic to power it up, but once it’s on, all processes will happen automatically. All you have to do is drop the vials inside.”

I held Clarence’s hand and jumped into the green-white fog of the tunnel after Alice and Francesca. After a brief ride down the magical slide, we landed just beyond the rose arch in Victor’s garden. Breezing up the broad stairs and along the lavish halls, we ran straight to the conservatory in the back of the house.

The orangery greeted us again with its dangling emerald ferns and the sweet scent of nocturnal passion flowers. Jean-Pierre was waiting for us, standing guard by the large glass box where Iris and Katie lay side by side in their lacy white dresses, looking like tiny marble angels.

My chest constricted at the sight, and Clarence squeezed me in an encouraging hug. An anxious quiet fell over the orangery, only broken by the song of a finch.

“I need everyone to go outside,” Alice said, opening the golden-rimmed lid of the glass box and rearranging a few crystals around the girls’ heads. “Only Alba can stay.”

She handed me Minnie’s grimoire, together with a scribbled piece of paper. “You only have to read this aloud, and when the box lights up, you put the pendants around the children’s necks. Understood?”

I nodded.

“Okay, then I’m leaving too. You need absolute concentration to do this. I’ll be in the hall with the others... call me if you need me.”

Alice left, and I checked the paper she had given me. The title, written in her untidy handwriting, read, Minor Necromantic Spell, Version 3.

I shuddered at the word necromantic and its implications but took comfort in the fact that this was just minor necromancy. Hopefully minor implied that the subjects didn’t have to be completely dead and the spell would be relatively easy to cast.

Turning my back to the ominous red pool outside, I read the words aloud. A green luminescence emerged from the crystals scattered around the children, and a low buzz filled the air. With trembling hands, I placed the vials around my daughters’ necks, right over their hearts, and closed the glass lid.

As soon as the lid fell into place, white vapor clouded the inside of the glass coffin. Lighting shone out of the pendants, bouncing against the glass walls and shedding green-colored light over the children’s inert figures. I watched the process, mesmerized, until Katie’s body shook, and her chest rose and fell in one deep inhalation.

Lighting came to an abrupt halt, and the vials exploded into shards, scattering magical rays of life force all over the box.

Katie coughed, and I rushed to open the lid and take her into my arms.

“Katie!” I shouted. On hearing my voice, she blinked once, then took a deep breath and fell asleep on my shoulder. “Come in, everyone!” I called the others. “It worked!”

Alice and Francesca poured into the orangery, followed by Clarence and Jean-Pierre.

I placed Katie into Clarence’s arms, then reached for Iris―it was only then when I noticed that she, unlike her sister, wasn’t breathing.

“Stop!” Alice shouted, laying one hand over Iris’s unbeating heart. “Don’t take her out yet. We need to repeat the spell.”

“Repeat the spell?” I screamed, waving toward the shards scattered inside the glass box. “How? The vials are broken!”

Alice grimaced, helpless, and I leaned against the box while fighting back the tears. Through the glass, I studied my daughter’s perfect, rounded shapes, unable to comprehend how this minute, wonderful human could be lying there, cold and lifeless. I reached inside and caressed her motionless cheeks, running my hand over the soft material of her dress. When I touched her chest, something sharp stung my finger―a small shard of glass from the vials had lodged in her flesh, piercing her heart.

With a clean swipe, I removed the small piece of glass and threw it at her feet. A single beam of light shot out of it, crashing against the sides of the box and darting back into the child’s body. When the flashing stopped, she took a deep breath, coughed, and fell back asleep.

“Thank you,” I muttered, not sure to whom, as I melted into a heap of wrecked nerves on the floor. “Thank you.”

Katie woke up in Clarence’s arms and stretched her back, rubbing his velvet cloak with admiration. “So soft,” she mumbled. “I like your costume. Makes you look like a superhero.” She leaned toward the passion flowers and picked a small bouquet; even though they had wilted in Victor’s hands, they kept glowing in hers.

“The witches’ flowers like you,” Alice said with a smile.

In the meantime, Iris woke up too. She sat up abruptly and stared at me.

“What happened?” she asked drowsily. “Where’s my drawing?”

“What drawing?” I laughed, sweeping her into my arms and dancing to the soft birdsong of the parakeets and canaries.

Katie put some flowers in her hair, then pulled at Clarence’s sleeve so he carried her next to her sister.

“There!” she said while he was walking, pointing at a piece of paper on the floor. Clarence crouched, and Katie picked it up to show me. “Iris’s drawing.”

“How pretty!” I said; it looked like a family portrait, parents and children. “Who are these? Daddy and I?”

“No,” Iris said matter-of-factly, and only then did I notice the top hat and the cane. “That’s Clarence,” she explained. When I blinked, confused, she added, “Ursula asked us to draw our family.”

“That’s so sweet, darling,” Clarence said, kissing Iris’s hair. “But you already have your dad. Although we can be really good friends, if you want to.”

“Dad left us with the vampires.” Katie shook her head. “He’d rather be with Minnie.”

I took a deep breath, grateful Mark Anderson was not in the room, for I would have broken his neck right there and then.

“Will you be our dad?” Iris asked, and Katie nodded, beaming behind her.

“Well, you know...” Clarence scratched the back of his head, uncomfortable.

“Will you marry our mom?” Katie insisted, making herself a ring out of a flower stalk.

Clarence groaned. “Oh, Katie, dear... your mummy and I...”

“I would love that,” I interrupted him, enfolding the four of us into a collective hug. “Unless you’ve changed your mind, of course.”

“I cannot do this to you,” he said, leaning back. “Just look at me.”

“Clarence,” I said, taking his burned hand in mine and placing them both over his heart. “I only see what’s in here, and it’s beautiful.” He tried to interrupt me, but I continued, “You are the only one I want to look at for the rest of eternity, and whatever happens, I’ll never have eyes for anyone else.”

“Neither will I,” he murmured in a broken voice.

Katie and Iris stared at us, expectant.

“So,” I said with watery eyes. “Clarence Auberon, will you marry me?”

“No,” he replied.

Even the birds stopped singing, and the other vampires glanced away, backing off toward the exit.

“Oh. Okay.” I placed my daughter back on the floor: suddenly she felt much heavier. “Never mind. It’s fine. I guess we should get out of here, we’re all tired...”

“No,” he repeated, setting Katie next to her sister. “No, because you were right. We cannot have an ordinary wedding when mortal papers and documents mean nothing to us.”

“It’s fine, Clarence,” I said, heading to the door carrying Minnie’s grimoire with me. “I get it.”

Francesca picked up both girls and pushed them toward the hall, in an attempt to offer us some privacy.

I tried to follow her, but Clarence leapt in front of me, standing in my way. He squeezed me into a passionate hug under the hanging ferns, and his intoxicating scent of pinewood and blood made the world melt into nothingness. I fell limp into his arms, surrendering to the exhaustion of the prior days.

“We cannot pledge to be together till death do us part, when death is already gone-by. But we could do something else... something truly meaningful... a vow exchange ceremony, if you will. For I want you now, after death, and for all eternity, with your chaos and your magic, and every little thing that makes you, you,” he said as a rainbow butterfly sat on his shoulder. “And every little thing that makes you perfect... perfect for me.”

Chapter 37

Alba

We spent the following two days in a blissful bubble, enjoying some much-needed rest in Elizabeth’s London apartment. Katie and Iris were ecstatic to visit London attractions with Alice and spend time with Francesca again, and the three of them took upon the mission of planning our vow exchange ceremony, which would be held among the ruins of The Cloister on May Eve―an auspicious date for witch handfastings, according to Alice.

“What is a vowel exchange ceremony, Francesca?” Iris asked one morning while Francesca braided her hair and lamented the many tangles Ursula had overlooked.

“They mean a wedding,” Francesca whispered, loud enough I could hear her. “They just don’t want to say the word for some reason.”

Lucille giggled, which she seemed to do all the time now that she was surrounded by other children. It was endearing how, despite her real age, she had remained an eternal little girl and never lost her playfulness.

But our peace didn’t last long: on Wednesday evening, I got a call from Minnie, reminding me of my pending debt, and even though my truest wish was to murder her, I knew a promise was a promise―I didn’t want to stoop to Victor Auberon’s level. We agreed to meet at Victor’s mansion, which had remained vacant, and I headed there on Wednesday night, accompanied by Clarence.

Minnie showed up looking ten years younger, her lips plumper than ever and hair as luscious as threaded gold.

“What happened to your face?” I asked, wondering if she had already found someone else to turn her into a vampire before me.

“I just got some Botox and extensions,” she replied with a shrug. “If I’m going to stay the same forever, I should try to look my best before the procedure.”

“Cool,” I said, unable to decide whether that was the cleverest or the shallowest idea ever. “Okay, so, where do you want... the procedure?”

“The back garden,” she said, walking confidently around the house. “I would like a view of the lake while I pass away.”

“Fine,” I snapped, dragging my feet behind her. “A death with a view for Your Highness,” I added with a grumble.

The narrow lake glimmered like an onyx pool beyond the magic barrier protecting the house, sparkling with the distant lights of the city―truth be told, it was a fairylike place, ideal for any significant events... such as relinquishing one’s mortality, for example.

“There’s one more thing,” Minnie said, reclining over a stone bench overlooking the water. She tested several positions, settling for one which made her look like a bikini ad model. “I want him to do it,” she added, pointing at Clarence.

Rage boiled inside me while I imagined Clarence’s lips on her neck, and the panther in me let out a soft snarl, threatening with yet another unsolicited appearance. No way.

“Minnie, I think you are not in a position to make so many demands,” I growled, fed up with her endless requests. “I could just let you die of exsanguination, you know...”

“It is fine,” Clarence interrupted us, sauntering toward Minnie with his cloak billowing in the breeze. “I will do it.”

“No,” I retorted. Over my undead body. An idea struck me. “I think it should be me. I have a little secret, Minnie... I have the ability to walk in the sun, unlike the other vampires... perhaps you would inherit it.”

Minnie stared, open-mouthed, envy apparent in her eyes. “Oh, wow,” she said. “Okay then... yes, of course. Love it!”

I pushed her harshly to the side of the bench, making room for me to sit next to her. Her perfume was so strong, it made me gag, but I held my breath and grasped her shoulders with my claws.

“Okay,” I said, letting my fangs drop. She shuddered a little, looking suddenly scared, and I softened my grip. “Any last words?”

For example, I’m sorry Alba, what I did to you and your daughters was unforgivable.

“Yes,” she said, pulling out her phone and taking her very last selfie with Tenebris Estate in the background. “Please carry me to Victor’s bed when I fall asleep. It should have been my rightful place, so I want to wake up there, at least.”

I rolled my eyes, and I sank my fangs into her flesh, which was the whitest and softest I had ever touched. I drank until her heart stopped and her body slumped on the bench with an abrupt jerk, then carried her upstairs to comply with her last request.

After that, Clarence and I sat in the orangery, listening to the harmonious chorus of finches and crickets and chatting about our coming non-wedding, and what we would do about The Cloister and Elizabeth’s properties―the ones Lillian and Alonzo hadn’t stolen, that was. Jean-Pierre had disposed of Natasha’s machine, making sure all blueprints and instructions were burned, so nobody could ever repeat her abominable experiments. Without that glass coffin in the middle, the conservatory had turned into a surprisingly delightful place, and I watched mesmerized as butterflies fluttered around my hair, and a yellow canary landed on Clarence’s palm and delighted us with his song of rolling water.

“I was thinking,” Clarence said as he played with my claws, pressing on my fingertips to make them come in and out. “How I feel more at ease here in the Old World.”

I nodded. “Yes. It’s nice here. And this is a beautiful house... perhaps we should move into Tenebris, now that it’s vacant and The Cloister is gone.” I stood up, marveling at the white and purple orchids. “There’s enough space to accommodate our whole clan, and even some new members, too.”

Clarence opened his mouth to say something, but a deafening rumble came from upstairs. “She is risen,” he said solemnly.

We sprinted up the stairs, where a cloud of dark smoke was spreading over the first floor corridors. The bedroom was in flames, with Minnie standing on top of the bed naked, her arms high in the air and her eyes blazing red.

“Minnie!” I screamed. Fire licked her sides like a ruby-red dress, and long fangs glistened between her crimson lips. “Calm down! You are going to burn down the house!”

“It’s my house now, and I can do as I please,” she roared in a demonic voice, shooting fire at us like a flamethrower. We ducked our heads just in time to dodge her attack and ran down the corridor and away from her. “I am Mina... Dracula’s bride!”

“She has lost her mind,” Clarence muttered, crouching behind a statue to escape a fireball.

“To the pool!” I shouted.

Clarence raced after me, opening all garden sprinklers on the way. Minnie sprinted after us, clad in her fiery dress. When water drops touched her, they evaporated with a fizzy sound, making her flinch. The sprinklers slowed her down but didn’t stop her. With a long jump, I dove into the blood-like pool, and she remained by the edge, throwing fire bolts at us.

“Shame you did not kill her,” Clarence mumbled, plunging into the deepest end of the pool.

I grunted, knowing he was right, and dove to the bottom of the pool after him. I planted my feet on the floor, using all my willpower to connect with the element of water. With a firm push, I shot myself into the sky, commanding the water to follow me. All the water in the pool whirled and rose around me, and I threw the heavy mass at Minnie. With a hissing fizzle, the water bolt doused Minnie’s reckless flames, making her disappear into a heap of wet ashes.

I landed from my thirty feet jump by the side of the now empty pool, bending my knees to cushion the impact. Clarence climbed out using the ladder and hauled his soaked velvet cloak behind him over the wet grass. With the tip of his shoe, he stirred the gray ashes, studying what had remained of Minnie with a relieved expression.

“She’s gone!” I gasped. The sprinklers rained on me, making my hair stick to my face, and I let them massage my back, grateful to whomever had built a pool in Victor’s residence.

“Thank goodness,” Clarence said, relieved. “I was hoping this would happen.”

I nodded. Legend had it, most witches would die consumed by their own power when turned into vampires; I had been one of the lucky ones to escape such a gruesome fate.

“I wonder what I’m going to tell Mark,” I said, glancing at Minnie’s phone, abandoned on the stone bench. “He can’t remember the night of the duel and must be waiting for her to contact him.”

Clarence raised an eyebrow. “I wonder how we could refill this pool quickly,” he replied, clearly unbothered. “It’s more useful than I thought.”

***

WHEN WE RETURNED TO the apartment, Alice was sitting in the middle of a salt pentacle in the living room. She had pushed all furniture aside, and dozens of candles burned in a circle around her.

“What’s going on here?” I asked, skipping over the candles to find my way to the couch.

Alice stood up, terrified, raising her hands to stop me. “Don’t step into the circle!” she shouted. “It’s a magical circle of protection!”

“Oh, okay,” I said, exhausted. Would the troubles ever end? “Protection from what now?”

“Evil spirits!”

Lucille giggled and flew in and out of Alice’s pentacle with childlike defiance.

“It doesn’t seem very effective,” I pointed out, while Laura grabbed her daughter by the back of the dress and forced her to get out of Alice’s spell. “What are you up to?”

“Just holding my Spring Equinox ritual,” Alice said. “I didn’t expect you back so soon.”

“It’s fine,” I replied. “Finish your thing. We’ll be in the kitchen.”

Jean-Pierre was sitting at the table with Francesca, enjoying a glass of red wine, and he stood up to greet us.

“How did it go?” He set his glass on the table, next to a stack of scribbled papers.

“I’m glad to report that from now on, Vlad and Mina will only be characters in fiction novels,” I said, slumping into a chair. Someone must have bought new ones because I still remembered smashing the previous ones into wood chips.

“Well done, ma belle,” he said, handing me a piece of paper. “Sorry to trouble you with this tonight, but I found a way to help Laura and Lucille, and it’s only effective on solstices and equinoxes. If you could have a look before midnight... it’s a spell that calls upon Sirius, to assist souls in their passing.”

I skimmed through the lines, sighing at an annotation by the title that said: Level of difficulty: medium-high―at this rate, I was going to turn into an experienced witch in no time.

“It says here this must be performed outdoors,” I pointed out.

“I know,” he said. “If you aren’t overtired, we could go to that large park nearby.”

“It’s fine.” I smiled, ignoring my exhaustion and standing up once again. “Let’s do it.”

We strolled to the park while Clarence and I told Francesca about Minnie’s failed turning. Jean-Pierre and Laura followed us from a distance, absorbed in an intense conversation.

We picked a secluded clearing surrounded by trees. Following the instructions of the spell, I collected four stones and placed one facing each of the cardinal directions. Little Lucille sat on a tree branch, swinging her feet with excitement.

“Ready when you are,” I said as Laura reached our small group, holding her head over her shoulders. “I need both ghosts to remain in the middle of the four stones while I read.”

Jean-Pierre and Laura looked at each other with fondness, and he blew her a heartfelt kiss.

“I guess it’s farewell now,” he murmured. “This time for good... but you must be so weary of wandering the earth, ma cherie.”

Laura glanced at him, then at her daughter. “So many years I dreamed of crossing over and finding eternal peace,” she said. “I never thought I would falter when presented with the opportunity.”

Lucille smiled, tilting her head. “I can’t wait to see Papà. And you will be so much prettier with your head on your neck again!”

“She’s right,” Laura agreed, tousling the girl’s hair with a soft chuckle.

“It wasn’t meant to be for us,” Jean Pierre said, joining her in an intangible embrace. “Not in this lifetime.”

A clock chimed a quarter to midnight.

“It’s time,” I said.

Jean-Pierre wiped off his tears on a silk handkerchief and stepped back. Clarence walked up to him, patting his back with empathy.

The ghosts turned transparent and vanished into a rain of white stars, which twinkled for a few seconds until nothing was left of them but memories.

“Nothing hurts more than a love which could never be,” Francesca said, squeezing Jean-Pierre’s arm.

He nodded. “So true,” he said with a forced smile. “But sometimes, letting someone go is the purest kind of love.”

Chapter 38

Alba

Emberbury, May Eve.

The dress was stunning, but it wasn’t white―as per my request. I had chosen a gown in a deep shade of burgundy which, according to Katie, made me look like an upside-down red tulip. I could only hope that was a good thing because mirrors and I still weren’t getting along. My hair fell down in loose waves, and I had asked Francesca for a single side braid, secured behind my ear with my grandmother’s cherry amber brooch―the same one I had used once to lure a certain sparkle-loving raven.

Find me before time does, I had told him what seemed like an eternity ago.

It was almost unbelievable he had managed to find me indeed, not one but many times, and even when my time had run out, he had restarted it again.

Since our arrival to Emberbury, Jean-Pierre and Clarence had busied themselves clearing the tunnels leading to the great hall of The Cloister. Our electric installation―which should have been mentioned on my epitaph as my greatest engineering achievement―had been ruined by the fire; but nevertheless, they managed to recreate the most magical scenery under Saint Anne’s graveyard with hundreds of tea lights lit over a bed of scattered rose petals. They had even procured a self-playing, magical piano from a haunted house in Salem, which kept both Francesca and my children thoroughly spellbound.

Walking up that aisle brought back bittersweet memories of Elizabeth’s blood oath. Despite her faults, Elizabeth had been a good ruler, and her absence felt like a black hole in the middle of my chest―particularly under the vaults of The Cloister.

The scent of nocturnal passion flowers filled the air―we had brought some cuttings from Tenebris to plant them in The Cloister as a symbol of the alliance between vampires and witches. My daughters had made the bouquet themselves, together with the flower wreaths adorning their curly hair. They toddled down the aisle after me, carrying Francesca’s magical ring and a tulle bag full of rice.

Clarence was standing in a black velvet cloak, and despite the mask covering most of his face, I could tell he had been crying long before my arrival. As soon as I reached his side, he clasped me into a tight embrace―hugging him was like seeing the shore after a long voyage: like finally arriving home. In theory, I wasn’t supposed to kiss him yet, but being a vampire hadn’t made me any more patient; it had allowed me the freedom to set my own rules, though―so I did.

“My lovely, lovely witch,” he murmured in a broken voice, whispering into my hair.

I locked my fingers behind his neck and kissed the burnt skin under his mask. The contraption infuriated me because I wanted to marry him, not a stranger behind a mask. Ignoring his soft grunts of protest, I tore it off and revealed his once so handsome features, which were now different, but still just as beautiful to me.

“I love you,” I muttered, closing my eyes while I explored the new texture of his skin against my lips and kissed him once more in front of everyone, this time properly. “And I will love you until the end of time.”

A surge of love burst from my insides, materializing into a whirl of purple light that enclosed us like a million shooting stars; I had never loved anyone that much, if I had ever loved before him. I would have given away my magic, my immortal life, and every material possession I owned just to keep him by my side for the rest of my days, as few or as many as they were. The purple swirls rearranged themselves, drawing the silhouette of a winged Isis around us. The Goddess enfolded us in her embrace, and I thanked her for her blessing and the blessing of having put him in my path. I felt so incredibly grateful that I could have levitated over the rose-petal carpet.

A stunned gasp rose from the back of the hall, and I opened my eyes again. In front of me, the Clarence I used to know was smiling, all his scars magically healed.

Alice started a slow applause, nodding knowingly, and everyone else followed, cheering and clapping. Clarence squinted and glanced around, confused until little Iris shouted, “Well done, mommy! Now turn him into a frog!”

He then reached for his own face, tracing the perfect angles with his fingertips, and his eyes widened as he felt the renewed softness of his skin, restored as if daylight had never touched it. “How did you do it?” he asked, stunned. “I thought this was not possible.”

“I... I don’t know. I thought so, too... I didn’t do anything.”

“Oh yes, you did,” Alice said mysteriously, tapping over her heart and blowing me a kiss.

“This is a most unexpected but very welcome turn of events,” Jean-Pierre proclaimed, stepping in front of the altar and silencing everyone’s cheering with his deepest priest voice. “As you know, I used to be a monk and devoted my mortal life to books. But even monks dream of grandiose love stories like this, despite not being able to experience them, or perhaps... precisely because of that.” He glanced upwards for a second, and the ghost piano replied with the first notes of a wedding march. He smiled and continued, “Oftentimes, the one we love the most is not meant to be with us―love and pain often come hand in hand, and it’s hard to experience one without risking the other. But sometimes, a miracle happens, and two souls shine a light on each other’s darkness.”

I squeezed Clarence’s hands, moved by Jean-Pierre’s words. Francesca stepped up and took the ring pillow from Iris.

“One thing I have learned in my many years of life is that love always transforms us,” she said, stepping next to Jean-Pierre. “Sometimes into fools,” she glanced toward Carlo, who had come in his officer uniform and saluted her, tipping his hat. “And sometimes into the best possible version of ourselves. When this happens, love can heal the darkness which had long lived inside of us; the darkness that had long tormented us... the one we thought would remain our only companion.” She smiled, handing us the rings, and Alice winked at her.

I said my vows and placed the ring on Clarence’s finger. Then it was his turn, but he stood frozen, turning the butterfly ring around and glancing at Jean-Pierre, clueless.

“I...” he said, raising his eyebrows. Clarence, the master of poise and composure, and a very talkative master at that, had been rendered speechless when faced with his own wedding vows. It was so charming, I wanted to kiss him again.

“Say your name and the vows!” Jean-Pierre whispered.

“I...” Clarence stuttered again, then shook his head. “Forgive me, but I have forgotten.”

“You forgot your own name?” I laughed.

“I...” he started again, and this time he laughed too, offering me the ring in silence with just a meaningful nod.

“It’s fine,” I said, grabbing it and putting it on. “I say yes. Yes, I do.”

Jean-Pierre chuckled.

“Very well, you may kiss the bride,” he announced with a grin. “Again.”

“Presents!” Iris clapped, rushing toward me with a wrapped, flat parcel.

I took a breath, dizzy from my groom’s passionate kiss. “Presents?” I asked. “But I thought we said no presents...”

“True,” Clarence said, kissing Iris’s forehead. “No presents from our guests. But this one is from me. I started it a long time ago...” He handed it to me with a formal bow. “For you, my dear.”

I untied the purple ribbon with trembling hands. It was an oil painting, wrapped in a black silk pillowcase. He had painted me with Katie and Iris, with a large crystal chandelier sparkling behind us. “It’s the old conference room of The Cloister,” I said dreamily, remembering the day we had turned on the lights for the first time. “Thank you. It’s beautiful.”

Katie stared at the painting, frowning. “It doesn’t look right, Clarence,” she said, looking disappointed. She pointed at a blank space to the left. “Why is there so much empty space here? Looks unfinished. I think Iris’s was better.”

I watched them both with endearment. They got along so well, and it warmed my heart to see she shared his artistic talent.

“Clever little witch,” he said, smiling. “I knew you would notice. But I was hoping for your mum to give me permission first.”

I chuckled, finally understanding what they were going on about. “You can add yourself to the portrait, Clarence. It would look so much better.”

The girls clapped, and our second non-married kiss made all the candles flicker, leaving the catacombs in near darkness.

“And they bit happily ever after!” Alice cheered, showering us with rice.

“No! Not rice!” Jean-Pierre screamed, but it was too late: he was already on his knees, picking up the grains obsessively, one by one. “I always feel compelled to count it!”

“He’s got counting vampire syndrome,” Francesca whispered. “A harmless but exceedingly bothersome flaw.”

“We all have flaws,” I said, smiling at my flamboyant non-husband, who spun in his cloak just for me. “They are what makes us unique.”

That night, we celebrated until dawn, breathing life―and unlife―back into the echoing halls of The Cloister.

Not many people attended our non-wedding, but those who did were our people. The people we would rebuild The Cloister with; people who might not share my blood but so loyal, I would have trusted them with my own life, as it often happens with the family we choose.

A vortex of stars spiraled around us, tying us together for eternity. I closed my eyes and danced into the night and into my happily ever after, feeling happy for the first time ever. The magical piano played one last waltz, and I thanked the Universe for having guided me to the place where I really belonged―a place I could finally call home.

Epilogue

Clarence

Vienna, Austria

We could have chosen any place in the world for our honeymoon, but I had known all along that the only right option was Vienna. Not only because of its formidable Baroque architecture, but also because one night, many moons ago, I had promised a wide-eyed stray witch to take her to her very first opera, and nowhere else could she have experienced a flair and splendor comparable to the one of the Vienna State Opera.

Elizabeth’s spacious Austrian apartment was a haven of royal grandeur overlooking the lively Mariahilfer street in central Vienna. Sitting back on the silk-upholstered Rococo sofa, I opened the newspaper and scoured its pages for the showtimes.

“Any preferences?” I asked Alba as she emerged, half-dressed, out of the bedroom.

“I don’t know...” she replied, slipping into a black, strapless gown. “What would you recommend?”

“Mozart would be a good starting point... perhaps Strauss...” She stared at me blankly and shrugged. “No, look! What about this? The Phantom of the Opera...”

“No. Not that one,” she gasped, horror shadowing her face. “Something else, please.”

I laughed. “Worry not, I was jesting. I already picked the perfect one.”

The landline phone on the bureau rang, and I got up from the sofa, puzzled; there were only two people in the entire world who had that number.

“Clarence,” said Jean-Pierre’s voice on the phone. “Sorry to bother you on your honeymoon, but I have interesting news.”

“It’s fine,” I replied, peeping at the curve of Alba’s waist under the unzipped dress. “Tell me.”

“Francesca and I have been searching Victor’s house, and today, we found his personal diary.”

“Go on...”

“According to his records, he founded a secret coven in Transylvania in the 1900’s, following in Vlad the Impaler’s footsteps. He named it The New Order of the Dragon, and that’s probably where Denis and Ursula came from. We suspect he could have sired many others, unfortunately.”

“That’s terrible news,” I said. “Although it doesn’t surprise me.”

“Perhaps you should fly to Transylvania and assess the current situation, once your vacation is over.”

“Yes, I’ll talk to Alba about it. Thanks, Mercier.”

I hung up, feeling suddenly uneasy.

Alba frowned, wrapping me in her arms. “What’s wrong?”

“Can we discuss this later?” I asked, kissing her silky hair. “Let’s just enjoy tonight.”

“Okay. Where are you taking me, Sir?”

“Wagner,” I said, pulling at the rhinestone-clad ribbon of her dress to make her sit on my lap. “Tristan and Isolde.”

“Sounds perfect,” she agreed, pointing at the clasp of the necklace on her faultlessly shaped nape. “I love that story. I just wish it had a happier ending.”

“And they lived happily ever after... the witch and her faithful knight.” I chuckled. “What do you reckon?”

“Sounds better, yes,” she said, turning around to kiss me with a soft feline snarl. “I think that’s exactly what happened.”

“Of course, my Isolde,” I replied, closing my eyes and returning her kiss. “And they rebuilt The Cloister, traveled the world, and enjoyed eternity with those they loved the most...”

“And they found their eternal summer...”

“In each other.”

––––––––

The End

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My name is Clarence Auberon, and this is the story of how I found the light, all the way from the darkest depths of hell, and how I found my family, my sun and my eternal summer... in the arms of a witch.

IN CASE YOU ARE ALREADY missing The Vampires of Emberbury:

- Did Alba and Clarence meet before Stray Witch?

Find out in A Winter’s Cobalt Kiss!

A glimpse into Clarence and Francesca’s past secrets, and the story of how Alba met Mark.

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A final word from the author

It has been such a bittersweet feeling, writing The End to this book and this series.

I started to write Stray Witch one night, several years ago. I had a vision of this lost, chaotic woman meeting a mischievous vampire in old-fashioned attire. She found herself in the unwanted predicament of rebuilding her life from scratch after a failed marriage, and he wasn’t entirely at ease with his past or the ways of the modern world. Both had been living in darkness up to that moment; just different kinds. Life was about to put them through a plethora of tribulations, but their names hinted at a happy ending where love would conquer all. Alba and Clarence―both names mean light; Alba being the dawn, and Clarence the brightest light... her brightest light. Or, as Bram Stoker would put it:

There are darknesses in life,
and there are lights;
you are one of the lights.

They were meant to be each other’s light, teaching each other they were enough as they were; but of course, they would become stronger together.

Daylight and dawn are terrifying for vampires, but I wanted to weave a tale about how blinding light can be at first, when you have been living in darkness for too long.

This story came to me like a strike of lighting, forcing me to leave everything, sit down and write many pages in one single night. I wrote while running errands, while brushing my teeth, even while walking on the street. I would scribble words on paper, on my phone, on my computer: anywhere I could. I just wrote and wrote, as if someone was whispering that first book into my ear. To be fair, I had no idea what I was doing, or what inspired that story. It just happened.

When I published Stray Witch, nobody had ever heard of Eva Alton. This unusual vampire story gifted me with so many unexpected blessings: publishing it was like receiving a magical ticket that transported me to different worlds, friends and connections I would have never dreamed of. Even though sometimes I wish I had written this story differently, I am forever grateful for the people I came across during the journey. Friends, acquaintances, co-workers, readers. I’ll be ever thankful for those who stayed, but also for those I lost on the way and the lessons we learned together. All of them are reflected in these pages, in one way or another.

The end of this series marks the end of so many other things, most of which developed while writing these books. Writing this book was torture, and I suspect it was my heart rebelling against writing The End to this bookish adventure.

Clarence and Alba have now told their story, and it’s time for them―and for me―to move on.

Take the good with you; leave the bad behind. Let the bad experiences teach you and shape a wiser you: without bitterness, just wisdom and a thanks. Smile at the bad you overcame. Smile at the good to come. It’s the only way to keep going.

Cheers to a new life for them and for us, and may we all be reborn into better, brighter versions of ourselves.

To you, who are reading this: I am so incredibly grateful for you, yes, you, for reading my stories up to this very last page.

This has been such a journey!

Keep your light shining bright and clear.

Lots of love,

Eva

Acknowledgements

These books are mine, but they aren’t just mine. This project was a work of love, and it has part of each and all of the people whose paths crossed with mine during the years I spent writing them.

My love goes first and foremost to Bori, tree climber and editing fairy, who jumped to the rescue so many times. The same to Helena, Ksenija and Wendy, who read this book before everyone else, despite an insanely tight schedule.

A big hug too for the ladies of The Coven, who made a bad year better (Ainsley, Bonnie, Brandy, Elsie, Hattie, Mariah and Wendy, in alphabetical order!); to Margot, the first person ever to read Stray Witch, and to my friends Charlie, Rebecca, Eva R., and Justin (in no particular order!), and a big thanks to everyone else who gave suggestions, helped me find the right word, brainstormed with me, or simply was there for me when I needed a writing buddy, a cheerleader or, simply... a friend.

To all of you, a most heartfelt THANK YOU!