Kingdom of the Wicked

by Kerri Maniscalco

  I leaned forward and dropped my voice. “I want to know everything about the curse.”

  I stared at him, and his gold eyes—speckled with black—gazed back. “Have you considered moving in with me until we find the murderer?”

  A most unexpected deflection. “I have.”

  “Where are your belongings?”

  “At home.”

  He swirled his wine around, and I wondered what, exactly, he was thinking. “Would you like me to escort you there while you retrieve them?”

  “I haven’t told you what I’ve decided.” I eyed him. “And I want you to answer my question. If Pride is the one who’s cursed, how does that affect you?”

  “We should go back to the palace, and speak there.”

  “Not until you give me some answers.”

  Wrath looked like he was considering different ways to string me up using my innards. “I will. Later.”

  “Now.” I refused to budge on this. He stared up at the sky and I wondered, if he was praying, why he hadn’t glanced down instead.

  “Fine. If I answer your questions, will you agree to stay in the palace?”

  “No. But it will help me decide. How about that?”

  He drew in a long breath and slowly released it. I waited. After fighting some inner battle, I saw the exact moment he decided to confide in me.

  “In order for the curse to be fully broken, a consort needs to sit on the throne and help rule House Pride.”

  “Anir said the last consort was murdered. How?”

  “Her heart was torn from her chest.” He looked at me, but I had a feeling he wasn’t really seeing me anymore. “Along with a few of her royal ladies.”

  “Did the First Witch really curse Pride?”

  “Yes.”

  I allowed that information to settle in with all of the other tales I’d convinced myself were just stories. La Prima Strega was ancient—she’d begun the first line of witches. Or so the old stories went. Supposedly, she was the source of our power and belonged only to herself. No light magic, no dark magic. Just raw power slightly diluted from the goddess who’d birthed her. She predated human La Vecchia Religione—and the Old Religion was old.

  At times La Prima was idolized, and at others, feared. Daughter of the sun goddess and a demon, she was created as the perfect balance between light and dark. We were told she was immortal, but I’d never seen her and didn’t know anyone else who had, either. I always believed she was no more than a creation myth or legend.

  “Why did she curse him?”

  Wrath hesitated. “It was punishment for what she thought happened between her firstborn and him.”

  I sat up straighter. Claudia had mentioned this. “So, what, he stole her soul and La Prima took her vengeance?”

  “Witches would believe that, wouldn’t they?” Wrath scoffed. “Pride didn’t steal anything. He didn’t have to. Her daughter willingly chose to wed him. They fell in love, despite who they were.”

  I thought about what Nonna had started telling me about Stelle Streghe, about how they were tasked with being guardians of the Wicked. “She was a star witch?”

  Wrath nodded. “She was meant to be a guardian between realms—think of them as wardens of the prison of damnation. Her daughter should have known better, she was supposed to be a soldier first. La Prima, as you call her, commanded her daughter to give up her throne, and return to the coven, but she refused. The First Witch used the darkest kind of magic to remove her daughter’s power and banished her from the coven. It had unforeseen effects for other witches, too. It’s why some give birth to human daughters.”

  I mentally sorted out the story. “What you’re saying is…”

  True. I stared at him. Our whole lives we’d been told stories about the Wicked, and their lies. Yet Wrath couldn’t directly lie to me because of the summoning magic. I’d tested it and knew it was a fact. What he was saying, no matter how impossible it sounded, had to be true.

  Or at least he believed it was.

  “Why are you helping him break the curse? If he’s trapped in the underworld, I don’t see why that concerns you or any other prince.”

  “Several human years ago, something fractured the gates of Hell. We’d been told it was part of a prophecy. Pride, being who he is, laughed it off. Then his beloved wife was murdered. His powers dampened. He was trapped in Hell, and lesser demons began testing us by trying to slip through cracks in the gates.”

  Aside from the curse, I couldn’t believe Hell’s second biggest problem was a rickety old door. I squinted at Wrath. I had a growing suspicion he hadn’t revealed the worst part. “And?”

  “Creatures that don’t feel like facing trials in the Portals of a Thousand Fears have slipped through. The gates are continuing to weaken, despite our best efforts. It’s only a matter of time before they completely break. We’ve tried keeping them away, but some things have already arrived in this world.”

  “Such as?”

  “A few lesser demons.”

  “The Viperidae?”

  “Not likely. They are summoned.”

  It wasn’t exactly comforting. Demons were starting to invade our world. And I had a terrible feeling it would get much worse before it got better. “Anything we should be concerned about in particular then?”

  “You should be concerned about the Aper demon, for one.”

  “The… what?”

  “Aper demon. Head of a boar, tusks of an elephant. Huge reptilian bodies, cleft hooves. Dumb as an ox, but they’ve got a particular fondness for witch blood. A thousand tiny teeth in double rows make them very accomplished with swiftly draining a body.”

  Wrath’s growing smile was positively wicked as he glanced over my shoulder. A wet snuff near the base of my neck had me breaking an instant sweat. One hoof clattered on the cobblestones, followed by another. The ground vibrated beneath whatever had taken those two mammoth steps. A shadow fell across the table. Sweet goddess above, I so did not want to turn around.

  “Whatever you do, witch, don’t run.”

  THIRTY-ONE

  There is no greater threat to a witch than a demon who craves her blood. Once its thirst has been provoked, it will relentlessly pursue the cause of its addiction, stopping only when the source has run dry. To ward against this dark energy, pin a sachet of dried yarrow inside your clothing during each new moon.

  —Notes from the di Carlo grimoire

  Wrath’s warning came a second too late. When I wasn’t focused on running for my life, I’d later wonder if it was intentional on his part. I hiked up my skirts and plunged into the twilight-colored streets, the sound of pursuit ringing all around me.

  I charged down one narrow alley into the next, jumping over baskets of dried goods. I didn’t look back for fear of losing momentum. There was no way I’d end up drained of blood because curiosity got the better of me. As I dodged past closed doors and ducked under laundry lines, the clattering of cloven footsteps behind me never faltered or slowed.

  I wasn’t just terrified for myself, I worried about any unsuspecting human unfortunate enough to be in my path as I led a hungry demon through the cramped quarters. I almost stumbled as reality crashed into me. A demon was chasing me through the streets of my city. Somehow it had breached the gates of Hell. And, if this was only the beginning… I couldn’t finish the thought.

  I knocked into an empty barrel, and threw it in the beast’s path. My netherworldly attacker halted for all of a second before wood shattered. Not good. My witch blood gave me a little more strength than a human, but the creature tore through the barrel like paper.

  My foot caught in a cobblestone, and I couldn’t stop morbid curiosity from taking over as I caught myself against a building and tossed a glance over my shoulder. I was ready to freeze from unrelenting horror as Death cornered me, its maw open wide, ready to devour me bones and all, but nothing was there. I warily glanced around. No demon lurked behind fluttering clothing. No wet-nosed snuffs broke the silence. T
he complete and utter unnatural silence.

  Blood and bones.

  Chills erupted out of nowhere. Like the first night I’d heard the disembodied voice of an Umbra demon, all sounds of life vanished around me. I wasn’t alone—I just couldn’t see any danger coming. But I sensed it closing in—a claw-tipped hand reaching out in the dark. Demons must have the ability to cloak themselves with some sort of glamour. Which was just perfect.

  I turned and ran as fast as I could, and bounced off a body that was ice cold to the touch. I fell and crab-walked backward, slowly dragging my gaze up at my destruction. Apparently I’d been wrong about the glamour. It hadn’t been hiding at all—it just moved too fast for me to see it. It wasn’t moving now. The Aper demon was everything Wrath described and worse. Its enormous head resembled a wild boar almost perfectly, except for its bright red eyes. Slits of black carved down the middle of the irises, reminding me of a cat straight out of Hell.

  I squeezed my eyes shut. Counted to ten, then opened them again. The demon was really there, and it was even worse than the first time I looked at it.

  Holy goddess.

  Thick globs of black drool dripped down its muzzle as its teeth clicked in anticipation. Its breath smelled like a fetid swamp on a hot summer day. I pushed up onto unsteady legs, and slowly inched away from those vicious, snapping instruments of death. The demon followed.

  Every instinct I had shouted for me to flee, but I refused to break eye contact with it. I had a feeling if I turned my back, it’d pounce. No matter what I had to do to survive, I would live to see my family again. The demon moved swiftly when I went to turn left, so I moved in the opposite direction.

  We maintained that same slow dance until we were trapped down a dead end. On my right there was a thick steel door with a pawprint holding a stalk of something painted onto the metal. The Aper demon stood before it, snuffing the air. Bloodlust gleamed in its strange red eyes.

  Finally remembering the moon-blessed chalk in my pocket, I slowly reached down. One second I was standing, the next I was on the ground with teeth snapping at my neck. Pain shot through me, but was eclipsed by a more immeditate threat. Thousands of teeth were ready to slurp my blood. Hot breath touched my skin, and a low whine from the demon followed. Panic set in. I wouldn’t die like this. I couldn’t.

  I fought wildly, but the demon was too strong. It drew back, ready to sink its teeth in and then… gray sludge exploded from the beast.

  A blade shot through where the demon’s heart used to be, and shadows writhed like snakes from the wound. I cringed away, watching the dagger pull the shadows in and seemingly absorb the demon’s life force. The point stopped just shy of piercing my chest. I held my breath, waiting for Death to defy whoever had stolen its prize and claim me anyway.

  I looked up, not into Death’s face, but the demon of war’s.

  Wrath yanked the dead behemoth away and tossed its carcass aside. He sheathed his demon-slaying dagger, then knelt down. His expression was as hard as his tone. Which was helpful—I needed something to focus on besides the overwhelming terror coursing through me.

  “Lesson number one: when fighting a demon, always have some weapon at the ready. Whether it’s spell chalk or a defensive charm. If you don’t have defensive magic, now’s the time to acquaint yourself with that part of your lineage. Demons are apex predators. They’re faster and stronger than you. Their sole purpose is to kill, and they’re very good at it.”

  I leaned against the building, panting, waiting for the trembling to pass. If Wrath hadn’t gotten to me when he did, my family would have buried another child. Well, if there’d been anything left of me to bury. Tears pricked my eyes. I’d been forced into a game I knew nothing about and I was losing. Badly.

  “Can you stand?”

  I could barely breathe. But that had nothing to do with terror anymore, now I was ready to strike out. And I had my sights set on the demon prince looming above me. I maneuvered into a sitting position, and swatted his proffered hand away.

  “What, are you my teacher now?”

  “An opportunity to turn this into a teachable exercise arose on its own. Lessons were never part of our bargain, so you’re welcome.”

  I stared up at him, speechless at the flash of concern he was too slow to hide. He’d genuinely been worried about me. I was so startled, I forgot to jab him back.

  I waited another minute before standing. Wrath’s gaze traveled over me a second time.

  I glanced down at gelatinous gray globs that I assumed used to be innards of the demon. Now I smelled like a fetid swamp. Fantastico. I never thought I’d long for the days when stinking of garlic and onion were my biggest worries.

  “Do you recognize that symbol?” He nodded toward the door with the pawprint.

  “I…” I tried wiping demon sludge from my dress. “I need a minute.”

  “For what it’s worth, I wouldn’t have let the demon kill you. Maybe a slight nip.”

  “Comforting as ever.”

  I stepped up to his side and stared at the door. I’d been terrified over the Aper demon attack, angry with Wrath about the impromptu lesson, and now fear took residence in my thoughts once more. I had no idea which of his brothers would use a pawprint, and wasn’t eager to find out.

  “Is this pawprint Envy’s House symbol?” I asked. Wrath shook his head. “Do any of your brothers require a stalk of wheat for their summonings?”

  “I believe that’s actually a fennel stalk.”

  I shook my head. I didn’t want to know how he’d gleaned that from the crude symbol on the door. But it did force puzzle pieces together in my mind. I’d recently seen that symbol before, but couldn’t recall when or where. Possibly somewhere in the city while we’d been wandering the streets. Or maybe in Vittoria’s diary? She’d had plenty of sketches and strange symbols in the margins. I had barely slept and the last few days had taken their toll on my memory. Once we left here, I’d go straight home and grab the diary.

  Wrath shot me a sidelong glance. “Want to see what’s inside?”

  I most definitely did not. I couldn’t escape a slow, creeping feeling of dread. Maybe it was simply a coincidence that we ended up here, or maybe it was part of a larger, more sinister design. Either way, I felt like we were about to enter a lion’s den, and I was as excited as a fawn knowingly being led to slaughter. I swallowed hard. “Yes.”

  Wrath shook his head once before shouldering the door open for us.

  “Liar.”

  THIRTY-TWO

  We walked into a large room that was filled with crates and fishing traps. Ropes hung from rusted nails on the wall. Wooden floors creaked with each of our steps. I wasn’t normally prone to feeling uneasy about buildings, but there was something unsettling about the space. A slight, strange humming set my nerves further on edge. Dust motes swirled in the moonlight.

  I hoped we’d caused the disturbance and some demons weren’t lying in wait. I really didn’t want to face any more creatures like the dead demon outside. Wrath was annoyingly unaffected. He strode through the room with the ease of knowing he was the most lethal predator. He inspected the fishing gear, and kicked at a rusty anchor that had been discarded near a back exit.

  “It looks like this location hasn’t been used in some time,” he said.

  “Do you believe it was just a coincidence that the Aper demon led me here?”

  He lifted a shoulder. “Anything look familiar?”

  “I…”

  I scanned the space. Fishing nets, ropes, various hooks in strange shapes nailed to the far wall, and wire traps. Everything looked average. Except for that sensation I couldn’t name. It felt familiar in a way. I slowly walked around the perimeter, pausing at each piece of fishing gear. There had to be some reason we ended up here. And I was so close to figuring it out…

  I picked up a rusted hook and let it fall back against the wall. It was perfectly ordinary.

  I blew out a breath. I didn’t want to waste time, touching
each old hook. Especially when I might possibly have a much better clue waiting for me at home in Vittoria’s diary. Still… I couldn’t quiet the insistent tug in my center. I did another sweep of the room, but nothing stood out. It seemed that the Aper demon attack and this empty building were unrelated.

  “Well?” Wrath asked. “Do you recognize anything?”

  Nothing aside from the symbol I was almost certain my sister had sketched in her diary. I shook my head, wanting to hurry to my house to retrieve it. “No.”

  “Very well. Let’s go home.”

  I didn’t point out that his stolen, ruined palace was not my home and never would be.

  “I have to go collect my things,” I said. “I’ll meet you there soon. You should dispose of the demon outside.”

  Before he could argue, I slipped out the door and headed to my house.

  I slumped against the doorframe in my bedroom and surveyed the carnage. Floorboards were ripped up and broken. Wooden splinters littered the little knotted rug Nonna made for me and Vittoria when we were little. Feathers floated on the breeze blowing in from the shattered window. Someone had taken out a lot of aggression on my mattress.

  Or something. Wrath said princes of Hell had to be invited into a mortal’s home, but, as I’d recently discovered, that rule didn’t hold true for all demons. Lower-caste creatures of Hell seemed to do as they pleased. The Umbra slipped beyond our protection charms, and no formal invitation had been sent to it. Wrath also mentioned magic didn’t work on them the same way it did on corporeal beings, so it was likely more an issue with that than our protection charms.

  Which still wasn’t comforting.

  Without even fully walking into the room I knew my sister’s diary was long gone, taking her many secrets with it. An Umbra demon was the likely perpetrator of this theft. And that brought Greed back to the top of my suspect list. He was the only prince of Hell thus far that I knew used them to do his bidding.