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

Throngs of people elbowed their way through the busy marketplace, but still managed to give Wrath a wide berth. I wondered if they sensed his otherness and just didn’t know what to make of it. There was a quiet assurance about him—a confidence in himself and the space he occupied. Men and women paused in their gossiping, their gazes tracking him as we passed by. Some appreciatively, some with open distrust and scorn. Though that might be because murder was the topic of the evening, and Wrath looked like trouble.

I imagined wandering through the crowded, twisting streets with a leashed panther would give off the same aura of primal danger. If someone was temporarily out of their senses, I admit there could be a certain level of excitement, being close to something so lethal.

My senses were mostly intact, though. I knew there was no taming the wild beast, only the illusions of domesticity it cast when it felt like toying with its next meal. The fine clothes and impeccable manners were all part of a well-crafted trap to lure prey, likely honed eons before man walked the earth. Wrath was a predator through and through. I had a feeling if I let myself forget that even for a second, he’d happily sink his teeth into my throat and rip it out.

He caught me staring and raised a brow. “Enjoying what you see, witch?”

“Only if I had a death wish.”

“Do you?”

“Not even a little one.”

His eyes glittered with dark amusement. Of course the topic of death would appeal to him. “Which vendor do you believe knows about the murder location?”

I nodded toward the center of the marketplace where the apparel section began. Booths with fabrics and silks rustled in the slight breeze, beckoning us over.

“Salvatore is one of the best gossips in the city. If anyone has reliable information about Giulia, it’s him.” I glanced down at Wrath’s shirt. “He’s also the vendor who sold me that.”

“I see. You brought me here to commit murder while we investigate one.”

The good humor promptly left Wrath’s face. I hid my grin as his nostrils flared. For a vengeful prince of Hell, he certainly was touchy about clothing. And I was pretty sure he was only teasing about killing the vendor. I hoped.

In fact, I was surprised he was joking at all. After I left the monastery, I went straight to him and delivered the news. I’d been convinced he’d lay waste to the whole city. Instead, he calmly reported everything he knew about the potential bride. Her name was Giulia Santorini, and he hadn’t been able to get a message to her last night. I’d taken a second to digest this latest revelation.

I thought over everything again now. I knew her family. They sold spices in the Kalsa District, and Vittoria used to volunteer to stop by their shop to pick up orders for Sea & Vine when Uncle Nino or my father couldn’t. Giulia’s grandmother Sofia was the witch whose mind had gotten trapped between realms, shifting between realities so swiftly she no longer knew what was real and what was a vision.

As far as I knew, after what happened to Sofia, the Santorinis never dabbled in the dark arts again. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe Giulia decided to invoke the dark arts like her grandma. And maybe she was the one who’d given my sister those mysterious grimoire pages.

That thought stopped me cold.

If Giulia had somehow given my sister a spell to summon a demon, it made sense that she’d taken it from her grandmother’s grimoire since Sofia was known to use the dark arts. Maybe the grimoire was the missing link . . . I thought again about the first book of spells. About the magic binding my sister’s diary. Was that the connection between the murders? Maybe not the dark arts, but the source material?

“What’s wrong?” Wrath asked, breaking into my thoughts. “You look strange.”

“Are you sure you didn’t tell Giulia to meet you last night?” I asked. Wrath shot me a look that silently communicated he might strangle me if we went over this again. To be fair, I might have already asked him half a dozen times on our walk into the city. And half a dozen more once we were here. “Maybe you’re double-crossing Pride and killed her.”

He let out a long sigh. “I assure you that is still not the case. I have no reason to kill anyone. As I said before, my message never made it to her.”

I knew he wasn’t double-crossing anyone, but liked hearing him get flustered. “Do you think one of your brothers killed her?”

“No.”

“And we’re back to one-word answers.”

“Careful, witch, or I might think you’re interested in having a civil conversation.” The barest hint of a smile ghosted across his lips as I rolled my eyes. “Simple answers don’t require padding.”

“Why don’t you think one of your brothers did it?”

“What reason would they have?”

“Let me count the ways, oh, wicked one.” I ticked off motivations on my fingers. “Greed might be interested in taking the throne. Maybe Envy is jealous and wants more power. If Pride doesn’t marry, then he remains cursed and can’t leave Hell. Which is a pretty decent motivation if one of your brothers wants to rule this realm. Shall I go on?”

Wrath glared at me, but didn’t respond. Apparently he didn’t like my accusations, but couldn’t find a way to discredit them as foolish theories. We turned the corner, stepped around a pile of precariously towering wooden crates, and narrowly avoided getting speared by a swordfish head. Wrath took in all the sights and colors silently. I wondered if he had anything like it where he was from, but didn’t ask.

A sea of people standing in line for gelato parted for us as we crossed the road and entered the clothing section. Salvatore was in the middle of arguing with someone over another threadbare tunic when Wrath stopped at his table, emanating that quiet menace he was so good at. Conversations ceased. The other patron took one look at the expression on the demon’s face and bolted into the crowd, the clothing in question discarded and forgotten.

“You and I have business, vendor.”

“I don’t believe we . . .” Sal’s attention shifted to the shirt Wrath wore, then shot to me. I gave him a little finger wave. I’d tried warning him about the condition and cost. Now he could deal with an angry demon. I felt the not-so-subtle rattling of Wrath’s namesake emotion as it slithered toward Sal and wound around him.

The vendor’s hand trembled as he pushed it through his dark hair. “Signore, h-how nice. The shirt is—”

“Being exchanged for that one.”

Wrath jerked his chin toward the row of clothing hanging behind the stall; the most expensive pieces judging from the drape of them. Sal opened his mouth, took in the set of Wrath’s shoulders, then closed it and plastered on a big false smile. Smart man.

“A bargain indeed!” Sal cringed as he removed the black shirt from a hanger and handed it over. Well, he tried to hand it over. He clutched it before Wrath finally snatched it away. “This is a fine, fine garment, signore. It’s a perfect match for your trousers. May you wear it well.”

I rolled my eyes skyward. Sal cracked under pressure from the demon faster than an egg hitting the ground. Next time I wanted a good deal, I’d have to try scowling and summoning some quiet menace, too.

Wrath was out of the tawny monstrosity a breath later and tossed the offending garment back at the vendor. If the demon prince hadn’t already caused a disturbance before, his bare, sculpted chest certainly did now. He slipped the new shirt on, seemingly unaware of the effect he had on the people nearest us. Muscles, supple and sinuous, moved with practiced ease. His serpent tattoo also caused quite a stir. Someone nearby commented on how large it was, how lifelike. Another person whispered about its possible meaning.

A line of people that had been meandering through the clothing stalls halted to watch.

I begged the goddess of serenity to send me some in buckets, then turned to Salvatore to get what we actually came here for. “Do you have any information about Giulia?”

“I sure do. Reliable sources, too. I heard from Bibby down at the docks, who spoke to Angelo who makes ricotta near the palace, that her heart was ripped clean from her chest.” Despite the graphic nature of his gossip, Sal looked immensely pleased with himself. “Her nonna was the one who went a bit . . .”

He lifted his pointer finger to his temple and made circles, an offensive gesture indicating madness. I went to admonish him when a member of the brotherhood walked by the stall and touched his forehead, heart, and each shoulder in the sign of the cross.

“Anyway . . . whatever got her was vicious. Angelo said blood sprayed all over the building. Looked like animals ripped her apart. He had a devil of a time cleaning it up. Chunks of . . .”

“I’m sorry, but where was her body found?” I asked, cutting him off mid-description. I had my own nightmares about how that looked firsthand, and didn’t need any more details. “You mentioned someone who works near the palace?”

“That’s right. Angelo with the ricotta said it was near his stall out front. Prime location.” Sal jerked his chin to the right. “The police are still there, so you won’t miss the crowd. If you hurry, you might still see the body.”

It was impossible to get within sight of the murder scene. Sal’s information was indeed reliable. And it looked like he’d told a few hundred of his closest confidants the same thing he’d shared with us. Wrath was about to barrel his way through, but I reached out to stop him.

“How close do you need to be to . . .” I glanced around. There were too many humans around for me to start talking about demons. “To do your special investigation?”

Wrath was well versed in the art of deception. He didn’t miss a beat. “I’d like to get a better visual, but I can tell from here that none of my brothers have recently been in the area.”

I scrunched my nose. His heightened sense of smell was unsettling. I rolled up onto my toes, trying to see over the heads of everyone. Wrath startled me by briefly placing a hand on my back so I wouldn’t wobble. I couldn’t see the body, thank the goddess, but I saw a priest tossing holy water around and assumed he was doing some sacramental blessing for her soul. It would be a long while before the crowd dispersed, so there was no point in waiting here until then. We might as well return tomorrow night when all was quiet.

“Follow me,” I said, turning toward an alley. Wrath didn’t protest and kept close as we maneuvered out of the thickest part of the crowd. A little food stand that had already closed up for the night caught my attention. There was a painting on its side—a pawprint clutching a stalk of wheat, and something about it made me think of Greed. I waited until we were far enough away to speak openly. “You’re sure you didn’t find any traces of Greed?”

“Unless he’s come up with a way to mask his magic, no. He wasn’t here. Why are you so convinced he’s to blame? What evidence do you have?”

“I’m not convinced of anything. I’m just trying to tug on threads that seem likely.” I bumped into a few people still on their way to the murder scene, muttered apologies, and turned down another street. “As for evidence? Based on my conversation with him, his desire to possess the Horn of Hades, and the attack on my grandmother immediately following my meeting with him, Greed makes the most sense right now.”

I felt Wrath’s attention on me as we moved into a narrower street, a constant prickle of energy between my shoulder blades, but he didn’t ask how my grandmother was or offer apologies.

And to be perfectly honest, he was the last creature in the world I wanted comfort from.

I stopped at the turnoff to my neighborhood. “Who is the next witch on your list?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“That needs to be our next priority,” I said, glancing past him. The street was quiet in this quarter. “Once you find out who she is, we’ll have to hide her somewhere safe.”

Wrath pressed his lips together, but finally nodded in agreement. “I’ll send word to my realm tonight. I should have an answer by morning.”

It wasn’t cold, but I rubbed my hands over my arms anyway. My dress was creamy white and sleeveless. Perfect for warm summer nights, but terrible for fighting chills brought on by fear. Wrath tracked the movement, his attention focused on my forearm. Wildflowers twisted and tangled all the way up to my elbow now. I didn’t have to see his arm to know his tattoo was the same. I looked down my street, relieved to see a few children out playing. I didn’t want to be scared of Greed or Envy lurking in the shadows, but I was.

“All right,” I said. “I’ll see you tomorrow then. Where should we meet?”

“Don’t worry.” Wrath flashed a wolfish grin. “I’ll find you.”

“You know that’s deeply unsettling, right?”

“Iucundissima somnia.” Sweetest dreams. And then he was gone.