Kingdom of the Wicked

by Kerri Maniscalco

“Gutted?”

  “I thought you aimed for his heart, actually.”

  “I punctured a lung. Maybe broke a few ribs.” His tone was filled with disappointment. “I imagine he’s almost healed already.” He looked me over. “He won’t bother you again.”

  “Right. A prince of Hell who delights in tormenting others by removing all happiness and pleasure will suddenly grow a conscience, and never attempt that nasty trick again.”

  “Oh, he’ll definitely try again. But you’re going to stop him.”

  I gulped down the last bite of my third cannoli, suddenly feeling queasy. “Is there a spell or charm that mitigates demonic influence? Irish carve crosses from rowan wood and wear them to keep fae away. You must have objects that offer protection from you, too.”

  He was silent for an uncomfortably long beat. I glanced up, and fought the urge to flinch. It was becoming too easy to forget what he really was. Then, there were glimpses like this, which made me worry about when he might be the one to turn his influence loose on me.

  “Me and mine make monsters wary, witch. I do not fear, I am fear. Twigs and berries and iron imprison the weak. Do you think I’m weak?” I shook my head and Wrath bared his teeth in a grin that was downright petrifying. “Are you scared?”

  I swallowed hard. “No.”

  He stared at me for a minute, but didn’t call me on the lie. “My world is broken down into one simple principle: I believe I’m powerful, therefore I am. If I am convinced of my abilities, others will pick up on my confidence. It will give them pause, if only for a second, while they reevaluate a potential threat. Any advantage you can give yourself will be helpful when dealing with my brothers. Their motto will always be ‘know thy enemy.’ Make that difficult. So to answer your question, no, you do not need a spell or charm or trinket of false protection. You need to trust in yourself and your power. Or they will torture and taunt you for eternity.”

  Once my heart stopped thrashing, I flashed him a skeptical look. “You think I can achieve all that by playing cards?”

  “Yes.”

  “Fine, let’s say you’re right. How can a game of scopa prepare me for successfully battling a prince of Hell?”

  “Life often deals you a hand you didn’t choose.” Wrath settled back, the tension in the room releasing with him. He studied his cards carefully, then placed one on the table. A sweep. I cursed. It was the third time in a row he’d done that. “It’s how you end up playing it to your advantage that counts.”

  I scoffed. “That was luck, not strategy.”

  “Both are needed. But it can be argued that luck improves with a well-thought-out strategy.” He glanced up. “You live by archaic notions of light and dark magic when power is neither good nor bad. It’s intent that really matters. By not studying all power, you’ve closed off options. Not honing each weapon in your arsenal is a poor strategy on your part.”

  “Nonna would love that advice.”

  His gaze hardened. “If your grandmother is against you learning to defend yourself, I’d start asking questions.” Wrath took a steadying breath, his tone turning more pleasant. “If you want to become a real player in this game of murder and deceit, start by studying your opponents. Know who they are, what they want, and watch them closely. Once you’re well acquainted with their habits, you’ll easily spot lies.” One side of his mouth lifted as I lost another hand and cursed the devil. “Work on your emotions. You’re ruled by fire—and are easily angered and excited. Qualities that are not bad in certain instances, but are detrimental when facing your enemy. Do not make it easy for them to read you. They will certainly be doing everything they can to thwart your efforts at uncovering their truth.”

  “Have you ever considered teaching classes in Hell? You certainly love to give lessons.”

  “Mock me all you like. It doesn’t negate the fact I’m right.”

  “And oh so humble about it.”

  “The world and its inhabitants are constantly changing, therefore we princes of Hell continue to sharpen our minds and skills. It is the absence of arrogance that allows us to remain the most feared. We do not believe we know all, we believe in adaptation. Adopt those same principles or you’ll end up extinct.”

  “I believe you love the sound of your own voice. Maybe you should let me teach you about experiencing a wider range of emotions.”

  “One day, maybe I will.”

  He set his cards aside and studied me. I couldn’t tell if the dark gleam in his eyes was that of a predator circling its prey, or the sign of mild interest for other purposes. Or maybe… maybe he was admiring me in that way that someone did when they were noticing you for the first time in a different light. Stranger still, I wasn’t sure which one I hoped for more.

  A flash of my desires on the beach crossed my mind.

  My pulse ticked faster as he slowly leaned forward, his gaze searing into mine. For one moment, I thought he was going to kiss me. He abruptly sat back. I released a breath.

  “When you first stepped onto the beach, I imagine you sensed demonic influence. Being aware is the key to fighting it. Our power lies in sensing your emotions, inflating the ones we thrive on. Once you realize that, you have the power to shift your focus and feelings elsewhere. At any moment you could have walked away from Lust’s gathering. You just needed to believe you could.”

  “Are you suggesting what he did was my fault?”

  Wrath stood. I hadn’t noticed how finely he was dressed, or the care he’d taken with styling his hair. He wore an inky black jacket with gold snakes embroidered on the lapels, black trousers, and boots that gleamed from a recent buffing. A few rings even glittered on his fingers. Onyx and gold, his favorite colors. He looked… good. He noticed where my attention had shifted and one side of his mouth edged up.

  “I’m suggesting you have untapped power, Emilia. Twist my words, twist the meanings all you like. Such is the mortal way.”

  “I’m not twisting and I’m not human. Your brothers are sadistic.”

  “Princes of Hell are neither good nor evil. We just are.”

  “Yeah. They just are malicious monsters.”

  “And yet, you keep saying ‘they’ and don’t include me in your assessment of my brothers.” Wrath shook his head. “Why is that?”

  “I…” I inhaled deeply. “Because so far, Greed, Envy, and Lust have all done terrible things. You haven’t. But that’s probably just because of the spell I used on you.”

  Wrath no longer looked amused. “Practice reading people, especially when their expressions seem cold or remote. Look for their mouth tightening, their eyes darting away. Any wince or minute sign of their true feelings when you’re asking uncomfortable questions.”

  “Any other tips, adaptable one?”

  “You live in a realm of free will—accept that and you’ve already defeated your foes. You always have the power of choice, even when those choices seem limited. Never forget that.”

  “Oh, really? Always?” My anger flamed. “Did my sister have a choice to live or die? Because I’m pretty sure someone else decided that for her.”

  “There are worse fates, witch.”

  “Such as?”

  “Living in my world.” He turned and headed for the door. “I’ll be back in a little while. If you get bored, check the dresser by your bed.” He paused in the corridor and glanced over his shoulder. “I don’t suggest leaving the palace tonight.”

  “Why not?” I called after him.

  He didn’t bother answering, he was already gone. I wondered about his clothing, about the way he’d combed his hair. He looked like he wanted to make an impression.

  I got up and paced around the room, peered out the window, then plopped back onto the bed. I absently twisted a lock of my hair, thinking about everything he’d said about victors and victims. Then I started thinking about free will and choices. And then I started to get annoyed that he was being a hypocrite by infringing on mine.

  I sat for twenty minutes, cont
emplating why, if I had free will, I was listening to him. I had important things to do and had wasted enough time. I dressed in a simple dark gray sleeveless gown he must have recently acquired, and stole into the quickly falling night.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  Candles of Darkness should only be used under the direst of circumstances. Light a navy or deep purple candle, sprinkle a handful of niter powder around its base, and call forth evil from the farthest reaches of the north and south.

  —Notes from the di Carlo grimoire

  Moonlight spilled like silver blood across the rooftops, and dribbled onto the streets. It was still early enough that quite a few people were out. Some carried packages from the market, others hurried along, looking tired and worn from a hard day’s work.

  Thanks to the recharging nature of the elemental bath I wasn’t tired or drained anymore, but the last several weeks had taken their toll. When I’d stuck orange blossoms in my hair before leaving, I noticed the sharpness of my gaze, and the gleam of suspicion that hadn’t been present before. I was still the same Emilia, just a bit more cautious and on edge. I thought back to my sister’s final weeks and wondered how, if she’d encountered any of the princes of Hell, she’d hidden it from us.

  Maybe she had been on edge, shaky. And maybe that was why Nonna had been pointing out all the signs from the goddesses. She knew the storm was coming. I’d been too focused on refuting fantastical claims to notice.

  I hurried through the streets, grateful I wasn’t alone. I didn’t want to run into any demons, royal or otherwise. Remaining in the magically protected palace was undoubtedly wise, but I couldn’t hide from my many enemies forever. Staying there also wouldn’t help me hone my skills with watching people speak, and seeing if they lied. Each day that came and went could bring a new witch murder. When I’d finally shaken off the last of my demonically induced despair, I’d thought about something I’d missed before. Something that might not mean anything, or it could tie everything together. The monastery.

  I couldn’t stop wondering why my sister had been there two nights in a row. After Vittoria had been passed up for preparing the bodies of the dead, she hardly ever stepped foot in there. I thought about the summoning circle located in the chamber where my twin died. If she didn’t set it up, that meant someone else did. Someone who might be responsible for summoning Greed and Envy. Maybe I could catch them in the act of making another circle. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

  Thanks to Lust’s demonic influence, I’d lost the last two weeks and—

  Claudia paced the small courtyard separating the dormitory from the monastery. Tears streamed down her face. She yanked at her hair, mumbling. Her skirts were dirty and torn, dark rusty splotches splattered her bodice. I rushed to her side; she didn’t seem to notice me. She was an absolute mess—which wasn’t surprising considering her cousin’s murder a couple of weeks ago.

  “Claudia?” I cautiously reached for her. She refused to look up. “Are you all right?”

  “They said not to use them. To never use them.”

  “Use what?”

  “Bones and black mirrors. Black mirrors and bones. Piles of bodies and ashes of the fallen. Bones of the dead, and the dead are dust because I’ve seen the raven’s wings beating against the crescent moon. The moon is a fang, waiting to sink its teeth into us all. Devouring. Devouring blood and bone until we’re dust.”

  She dropped to her knees, unsuccessfully trying to pry stones up from the street. Dried blood coated the beds of her nails. They were cracked and torn to the quick.

  “I hear it. It whispers to me and sometimes it’s so loud I can hardly think.”

  I stared down, horrified to note the ground was scarred with several long, thin lines as if she’d been clawing at it for quite some time.

  “Claudia, please.” I bent to place my hands over hers, but she craned around and hissed like a feral creature, her eyes void of recognition. I jerked away. “What happened?”

  “Dust. Dust. We’re mirrors in dust. We’re skulls without flesh, bones without marrow. Death. Death would be welcome. None are welcome. And you”—her dark gaze shot to mine—“you’ll burn and burn, and the moon will have her vengeance, and the sun will swallow us whole and there will be nothing left. Stars. The stars are out, and they’re falling like feathers ripped from the mighty raven because he craves their meat and she wishes to feed him until he’s gorged, but he will never be satisfied. He is sin and is glad of it.”

  Black mirrors were used for scrying, and some people also used animal bones, though Nonna cautioned against using items touched by death. She argued the future should only be viewed by the living, that things rotting deep within the soil had broken down into something else, and moved on from this realm, and therefore were no longer worried about what was to come.

  As far as I knew, Claudia only used a handful of gemstones or spell candles.

  She rocked back and forth, whispering. Her words were rushed and laced with a frenzied panic. She wasn’t speaking exclusively in Italian anymore, and I didn’t understand half of what she said. I couldn’t help but fear she was repeating messages from creatures I wouldn’t want to meet in the flesh. I tried reaching for her again, not wanting to leave her alone in this nightmare.

  She struggled to get away, but I wrapped my arms around her, smoothing damp hair from her brow. “Shh. Shh. The stars aren’t falling. We’re all safe.”

  “Safe. Safe in chains and locks and black mirrors with no keys.” Claudia rocked in my arms. “I hear it, or them. It’s hard to tell. They’re all talking at once—the bones of the dead, and the dust of the stars, and the devouring moon with its vicious grin. The goddess who is and is not, is vengeance.”

  A terrible suspicion pooled in my belly. “Did you use human bones?”

  “It said I would know. That they’d tell me. The dead shouldn’t mind. The dead have no mind, no will. No memory. Our minds were made for forgetting. The locks don’t fit the keys. I only used the bones because it said to. Lovely stars were supposed to light the way, lead me to them. I was supposed to help. They won’t stop screaming… make them stop screaming!”

  “Who’s screaming?”

  “The damned! They think they burn, but there are worse fates than fire and ash.”

  It was unnervingly similar to what Wrath had said earlier.

  Claudia threw her head back and screamed, raising an army of goose bumps on my body. Lights went on in the monastery dorms. I held her tightly to me, trying to keep her from thrashing. She needed to be still before the brotherhood arrived.

  “It’s all right. Everything’s all right. Breathe.”

  “Black mirrors. Burning eyes. Death comes bearing friendship. Inferus sicut superus. The book needs blood. It craves it. Blood breaks it.” She shoved me away, and whipped around. “Hide your heart. Hide it before—” She tapped my chest, shaking her head. Tears streamed down her face. “Too late. They took the ticker, and tucked it away beneath rock and dirt. Death. Bones and dust and screams. Gone. Change is here.”

  “What change did you see?”

  “Angelus mortis. He’s coming and going, and is a cunning thief who stole the stars and drank them dry. He will take you. You’re already gone. In the end, you choose. But he’s also chosen. I’ll mourn. I am mourning. Like leaves on the wind.” Claudia plucked what I could only assume were imaginary leaves from the ground, and blew them from her palm. “The angel of death claimed you. Changed you. You are here, but not there, there is where you will be, your life is ended. Same but different. For eternity.”

  I knew enough of scrying to know her warnings were not simply rantings, or signs of madness. I imagined this was similar to what happened to old Sofia Santorini when her scrying went badly eighteen years ago. It sounded like my friend was trapped between realms and realities, hearing a hundred different messages at once. I couldn’t imagine how terrified she must be, lost within the prison of her mind with no hope of escape. I hoped this wasn’t a resul
t of the spell I’d asked her to work. If it was…

  I gently took Claudia’s hand in mine. “Let’s get you to Nonna.”

  “They’re all talking at once. It’s hard to understand. To listen. The same voice speaks above all others, cruel, smooth like silk and sweet like honey. Choose, it says. I wanted a taste. It was poison. I was not meant to know. He’s coming. No, no, no. He’s here, no longer there, but here. He walks among us, hidden in shadow. Like death.”

  “Nonna will know what to do to help. We must go to her at once.”

  She dug her nails into my arms hard enough to make me wince, and whispered, “Run.”

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  “You mustn’t linger; he’s searching for you.” For a moment, Claudia seemed perfectly lucid. Then her eyes went wide enough to show off the whites, and the screaming began again in earnest. It was awful; bloodcurdling and unrelenting. Like an animal caught in a trap as a predator closed in.

  I fought the urge to plug my ears. Or burst into tears.

  I took a few quick breaths, and pulled myself together—a spell of cleansing enchantment was what she needed, at least temporarily. But those required rose quartz, salt, water, and alkanet root. All of which were at home and didn’t help us here.

  A dormitory door flew open, and a few members of the brotherhood rushed outside. I tossed up a hand to stall them, and they reluctantly paused several feet away. I internally cringed when I saw Brother Carmine emerge from the back of the group. I hadn’t seen him in years.

  Long-buried memories from childhood resurfaced. When we were younger, a few years after old Sofia Santorini used dark magic, he would stand on a crate in the market, screaming about the devil. We needed to leave. Immediately. If he saw Claudia like this he’d believe she was possessed.

  Fear made monsters of men.

  Antonio broke away from the group, his expression filled with suppressed horror the closer he got to where we sat huddled together. He scanned Claudia’s messy hair, torn dress, and the blood splotches. “Was she attacked? What happened?”