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

A witch must never enter into a blood trade with a prince of Hell. By doing so, it allows the one conjured to have a direct link to the witch. It is unclear how long the bond lasts or if it can be broken. Never forget: forging a bond made from love is as dangerous as those made through hate.

—Notes from the di Carlo grimoire

Nonna glanced at the dagger strapped to my hip, then pounded chicken like she was envisioning someone’s skull instead. I’d commandeered the weapon again before I’d left the cave, and Wrath had looked very much like Nonna now. If she was that put off by the demon prince’s blade, I couldn’t imagine how upset she’d be if she knew about the magical tattoo we shared.

I’d chosen a blouse with long fluttering sleeves to hide it. Before I went to bed, I inspected the two crescent moons within the circle of stars. The ink shimmered like moonlight. Despite the fact it bound me to Wrath, I didn’t mind it all that much. It was delicate and pretty.

Thwack. Thwack. Nonna beat the poor chicken with singular focus. At least today’s house special would be mouthwateringly tender for our customers. It was good some people still had an appetite. I’d certainly lost mine.

I ignored the way my stomach churned each time I thought about the events of last night. If Nonna knew I’d not only summoned one of the Malvagi, but almost willingly entered into a blood trade with one . . . I closed my eyes and fought the urge to lay down.

Nonna might stop pounding the chicken and walk herself off the nearest cliff instead.

My focus slid to the little clock above the stove. I wanted to finish dinner service and get back to the cave where Wrath was trapped before dark. Tonight I’d demand answers. Aside from his royal standing in Hell, I didn’t know anything about him. For all I knew he was the devil and had his own evil agenda.

Regardless of all the unknowns surrounding Wrath, I was certain of at least two facts. The first being he wanted to locate my sister’s murderer and probably kill whoever it was. And the second was his desire to form a blood bond with me. I had no intention of going through with the creepy bond, but it gave me excellent leverage to use when I interrogated him. His brother seemed to be interested in bargaining with witches, and I wanted to know why.

If his demon brethren weren’t responsible for murdering my twin, that made it all the more likely strega hunters were responsible. Having Wrath around to guard me while some witch-hating zealot was ripping out hearts might be wise. I’d let the demon prince fight him and run for safety. And if they destroyed each other in the process? Good riddance.

I sliced mushrooms for the sauce, adding it to the pan of garlic and shallots already simmering in butter. My work was mechanical today, the kitchen held little magic like it once did. It didn’t help that my focus kept straying to the clock. I was worried about leaving a demon by himself all afternoon. Whether he was a prince of Hell or something worse, he was still undeniably wicked.

Before I’d left the cavern at daybreak, I’d cast an extra spell of containment that didn’t go over very well with him. He couldn’t harm me because of the protection charm, and I was fairly confident he wasn’t lying about being trapped for three days, but I enjoyed taking extra precautions.

Especially when they made him spitting mad. Nonna told us the Malvagi couldn’t stand sunlight, so I planned to be back before nightfall just in case my spell hadn’t worked, or he’d somehow broken it.

Nonna set her rolling pin aside and handed the platter of flattened chicken to my mother to drench in flour. She watched me slice more mushrooms as she uncorked a bottle of marsala and splashed it into a hot pan, and I pretended not to notice.

“Distractions in the kitchen lead to accidents, Emilia.” She wiped her hands and tossed the towel over her shoulder. “Do you need to sit down?”

I glanced up, pausing my assault on the mushrooms. “I’m fine, Nonna. Just tired.”

And more than a little anxious about the last twenty-four hours. It was hard to grasp the fact that the monsters from my childhood stories were real. They didn’t have red eyes, or claw-tipped fingers, or horns. The creatures from Hell were elegant, regal, well mannered. It upended my idea of how evil was supposed to present itself to the world. Wrath was supposed to be fang-toothed and drooling, not a shirtless wonder any artist would dream of painting.

“Nicoletta, do you have some advice for your daughter?”

Nonna turned to my mother for help, but Mamma was lost in her own sadness today. She placed a piece of chicken in a bowl of flour seasoned with salt and pepper, shook it free, then dropped it into a waiting skillet. Butter crackled and spit, pleased with the offering.

My mother took another piece of chicken and repeated the motion. All body memory, no conscious thought. I quickly looked away.

Nonna grabbed my chin, forcing me to meet her unflinching gaze. “Whatever trouble you’ve been seeking ends tonight, Emilia. The moon is almost full and it’s no time to be playing with forces you have no hope of controlling. Capisce?”

“I haven’t been searching for trouble, Nonna.” I’d only summoned it to me. “Everything is fine. I’m fine, I promise.”

Nonna released my face and walked away, shaking her head. “Nothing is fine, child. Hasn’t been for a month and I imagine it won’t be for many more to come. Vittoria is gone. Nothing will ever bring her back. It’s harsh, but it’s true. You need to accept it and grieve. Let go of your vengeance, or it will curse us all.”

“You want how much for this shirt?” I scowled at Salvatore, the thief parading as a vendor. I shook the offending garment at him. “We are both speaking about this one, right? The one that’s practically threadbare in the elbows?”

“It’s a fair price.” He held up his hands and slowly backed behind his table of goods. “Carolina is selling hers for a good bit more. See?”

Sal nodded to the stall across the alley. He had a point, but everyone around here knew—and admired—Claudia’s aunt Carolina as “the schemer.” Only wealthy people who enjoyed a stroll through the crowded marketplace paid her inflated prices, though. I imagined it had more to do with the fact she’d spelled the items to be irresistible to certain clientele. I fought the urge to look toward her booth, just in case she called me over to ask how my demon summoning went.

Even practitioners of the dark arts feared the Wicked.

I handed Sal the coins and shoved the shirt into my sack, grumbling the entire time. As much as I’d love to stay and haggle over the poor excuse for clothing, the sun would slip past the horizon soon, and I needed to make sure the demon was still trapped in the circle.

I hurried through the rush of the early evening crowd, ignoring people calling out for me to sample cheese, try their street food, or buy a lovely set of earrings. Unless they could sell me a demon spell to unlock my sister’s diary, I wasn’t interested.

“Emilia?”

I halted at the end of the street that eventually turned into the steep, winding path of the abandoned cavern. Maybe I’d imagined her voice. I closed my eyes, praying I had. I wasn’t ready for this meeting and even if I was, I was running out of daylight. Wicked creatures came out in the dark, and I knew at least one who wanted to slip his leash.

“Emilia! It is you, thank the stars. I’ve been hoping to see you here.”

I took a deep breath and pivoted to face my friend. “Hi, Claudia. How—”

She crushed me in a hug, her sudden tears soaking my collar. “It’s been a whole month and I still can’t believe it. Even after seeing her laid to rest.” Claudia stepped back and shook her dark curls. Her hair was shorter than the last time I’d seen her. It looked good. “I’ve had the strangest . . . dreams lately. My aunt thinks they’re urgent messages.”

We both scanned the street, but no one was near enough to overhear us. By “dreams” my friend meant “visions.” Claudia’s magic worked best with scrying. Sometimes her visions were more than visions. And other times they weren’t. The trouble was, we could never tell which was a gift from the goddess of sight and premonitions and which was purely her imagination.

I hated that I’d left her alone to worry over potential meanings. Vittoria used to jot notes and ask a hundred different questions. I desperately wished she were by my side now.

“What did you see?”

Claudia glanced around. “It’s more a warning than a true vision, I think.”

And whatever it was, it clearly terrified her. My friend looked ready to jump out of her skin. I reached over and gripped her hand in mine. “What is it?”

“I don’t know . . . I saw black wings and an empty pitcher being filled and emptied. It was all very strange. I think some terrible darkness is coming,” she said. “Or it’s already here.”

Goose bumps rose across my body in waves. I swallowed my shame. I had no doubt Claudia had seen me summoning Wrath. Dragging a prince of Hell from the underworld was a huge feat—I couldn’t imagine the kind of magical tremors it must have set off. I’d disrupted the natural order of this world. I brought forth that which didn’t belong. It was the darkest sort of magic, and I wasn’t surprised a dark witch sensed it.

“Maybe it’s just the way your mind is explaining away Vittoria’s . . .”

“You’re probably right,” she agreed quickly. “Domenico is a mess, too. He visits the monastery at least twice a week to pray.”

I was happy we’d steered the conversation away from the Great Big Evil I’d invited into our world, though thinking of my sister laying in the monastery brought on its own awful feelings. I tried not to focus on Claudia’s tear-stained face. The last thing I wanted was to start crying and show up red-eyed and splotchy when I confronted Wrath. I wanted to project fearlessness and ferocity, not a sobbing, snotty mess.

It was the only thought that kept me from breaking down. Well, that and hearing my sister’s secret lover had been praying so often. With my grief and then the desire to unlock her diary, I’d forgotten all about him. “I didn’t know they were publicly . . .”

I wasn’t sure what to call it. Not a courtship, because Domenico hadn’t spoken to my father and Vittoria certainly hadn’t mentioned him. If I hadn’t seen his name scrawled in her diary, we wouldn’t know she liked him at all. That thought ached, so I shoved it deep down where it couldn’t hurt me, with the other unpleasant feelings I’d been storing lately.

“What else has Domenico said?”

“I’m not sure. He hasn’t talked to me about anything. He mostly locks himself in one of the empty chambers, and lights prayer candles until after midnight. I think he’s there now, actually. He always looks so sad.”

I wanted to speak with him and knew I should, but didn’t feel ready to just yet. I reasoned it might be cruel to show up, looking like the mirror image of his murdered lover. The truth was, I wasn’t ready to confront one of my sister’s secrets without my heart breaking the rest of the way.

Claudia looped her arm through mine and guided us off the main road. “Fratello Antonio is worried about you. Since you were the one who . . .” She swallowed hard. “Now that he’s back from his travels putting rumors of shape-shifters to rest, it might be good to speak with him. Just to help find solace.”

Solace was the furthest thing from vengeance and I wanted nothing to do with it. The brotherhood would advise me to say prayers and light candles like Domenico. Neither of which would help avenge my sister, or break the spell on her diary. Even if I confessed the darkest desires in my heart, there wasn’t anything Antonio could do to help me. He was just a human.

I mustered up a smile, knowing Claudia was coming from a place of love. And she had enough to worry about with her own unsettling visions. “I will talk to him. Soon. I promise.”

Claudia studied my face. “Make sure you visit me while you’re there, too. I miss you. I can’t imagine what you’re going through, but you’re only alone if you choose to be, Emilia. Please don’t forget that you’re still living and are loved. And, if you let me, I can help.”

I pictured confirming her fears about her dream, telling her all about what I did last night; about the demon I’d plucked from the underworld and stashed away in ours. And not just any demon, but if he was to be believed, a prince of war. A demon so vicious and mighty he was the living embodiment of wrath.

If Claudia knew what I was planning next, I wondered if she’d still be willing to help.

I took one look at the determination in her eyes and decided she might.

“I . . .” I inhaled deeply. I didn’t trust Wrath with this secret, and Carolina couldn’t help, but maybe Claudia could. I pulled my sister’s diary from my satchel. “There’s a spell on this I can’t break. Your aunt said the magic wasn’t from this realm. It’s possibly demonic in origin.”

Claudia’s eyes widened as she brushed her fingers over the cover. “It’s . . . ancient.”

“Do you think you could find out what sort of magic was used?”

She nodded vigorously. “I can certainly try.”

“It’s dangerous,” I warned. “You can’t tell anyone you have it, or show it to anyone.”

“I won’t. Promise.”

I let the diary go. As I turned to leave, a shadow loomed above my friend and hissed, “He’s here.”

“What?” I half-screamed and stumbled back. It was the same disembodied voice I’d heard the night my sister had been killed. I’d never forget the sound. “Who is?”

“Who is what?” Claudia glanced around and then reached over to steady me. “Are you all right, Emilia? You look as if you’ve seen the devil.”

“I—”

“Did you hear that?” I dragged a hand through my hair and tugged at the roots. Nothing was there. No menacing shadow or dire warnings from beyond. Maybe I needed the church after all. I could certainly use all the prayers I could get. “It’s nothing. I thought you said something else.”

Claudia seemed unconvinced, but after a strained moment hugged me good-bye with a promise to learn everything she could about the mysterious spell.

I heard Nonna’s voice in my head as I hurried out of the city, constantly tossing looks over my shoulder to see if anything followed. She’d been right—nothing was fine.

And I was starting to think it might never be again.