by Lucy Leroux
“Please let me finish, Nino. I can save him,” she pleaded.
He leaned forward, his face contorting in anger. “I know that, but you're not going to. You're going to let him die.”
Isobel's heart sank.
“What the hell are you saying?” the Conte asked in a strangled voice.
The true horror of it all was finally becoming clear. “He's saying he did this,” she whispered. “He's responsible for the curse.”
It was a guess, but one Nino didn’t contradict. He approached the circle instead, frowning down at it.
Isobel gasped. “Don't even think it!”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “I won't break the circle. I know the demon will escape then. No other innocent will be harmed. There's been enough death already. But you're not going to finish. Stand, right now, and walk away. You can escape. No one will blame you.” He swung the gun at the Conte and Matteo respectively. “These two will stay here and die.”
A small move from Aldo distracted Nino, who swung the rifle at him in response.
“I don't understand,” Aldo said, bewildered. “Why are you doing this? You've been a loyal servant throughout this whole ordeal.”
Nino laughed. “I've been a loyal servant far longer than that actually.” His face was lit with an unwholesome excitement, as if he'd been waiting for this confrontation. “And you didn't even recognize me, the senior game warden from your Tivoli country estate. But why would you? You prefer indoor pursuits, don't you?”
“What the hell does that mean?” Aldo said.
Hefting the gun higher, Nino threw him a look full of hatred. “It means I know what you did to my daughter, you bastard! You and your friends.”
“What daughter? I don't know what you're talking about!”
Nino gave a choking laugh. “The sad part is that I believe you. You've ruined and murdered so many girls over the years. Why would my Gina stand out in your memory?”
“I've never killed anyone, let alone a woman!”
“Then where is she, figlio di cane?”
The Conte shrugged helplessly. “I don't know! I have no idea who you're talking about.”
Shaking with rage, Nino raised the gun again, his finger beginning to squeeze the trigger.
“Stop!” Isobel yelled. “At least tell him when your daughter disappeared. And what she looked like! Maybe he'll remember.”
Nino paused, turning to look at her. “It was three summers ago. She was a beautiful girl with rosy cheeks and light golden brown hair. Gina favored her mother.”
Behind him, the count's expression changed. He did remember the girl. But the guilt on his face told her knowing the full story would only make things worse.
“Nino, please explain something to me,” she said. “If you think the Conte is responsible, why are you punishing Matteo? Or do you think he harmed your Gina as well?”
“Matteo wasn't even home that summer,” the Conte interjected. “He was traveling the continent with his friends.”
Nino said nothing.
“Is that true, Nino? If it is, why are you doing this?” She gestured at her fallen husband who was still writhing and panting for air in quick tortured breaths.
“He took my only child...so I'm going to take his.”
“But why this way? This curse, the way he was before I met him—all of those deaths. There were so many innocents lost. He couldn't stop. Why harm so many others, vulnerable women just like your daughter?”
A flash of pain passed over Nino's face. “What did I care after my Gina was gone?” he cried.
Isobel stilled. He was lying.
“There weren't supposed to be any innocents, were there? The first demon didn't kill indiscriminately, did it? It was supposed to kill Aldo and any of his peers.”
“I don’t understand,” Aldo rasped.
She swung around to face him. "Matteo’s first bad spell happened unexpectedly. You said you were going to have a gathering that weekend—a party. And the first victim was one of your friends.”
Mouth dropping open, Aldo nodded and Nino made a choking sound.
“I should have known better than to ask for what I did,” Nino said. “It was stupid of me not to realize that the Conte would gladly sacrifice those beneath him to feed the demon's bloodlust. The best I could do was seek employment as one of Matteo's minders and wait till he self-destructed. At least the Conte would have to watch his paragon of a son, his pride and joy, deteriorate into madness. It was only a matter of time. I knew how the curse worked, what the signs of the demon's emergence would be.”
It made a twisted sort of sense, and she found herself acknowledging his story with a nod.
“And so it was safe enough for you to be near Matteo, watching and waiting to make sure your plan succeeded. But you didn't cast the curse did you? You said you asked for it...”
Nino acknowledged her words with a tilt of his head. “It took every cent I had, and months of waiting for the witch to do the work. He came all the way from Sicily, but it was worth it. In the end, he even gave me a discount. Aldo Garibaldi has destroyed many lives with his rapacious business practices, overcharging tenants and pushing people off their land. It was only a matter of time to find a connection the witch would care about. He was happy to help. I never expected the Conte would find another with enough skill and power to undo it all.”
Isobel cast a helpless glance at her husband. He was trembling violently now, and the hole in his aura she'd made had expanded into a gaping wound. Nothing else could invade since he'd fallen in the circle of salt, but he couldn't survive like that for long. She needed to finish and close the hole.
She drew Nino's attention back to her. “You wanted me to run away.”
His first words to her had been about Ottavio falling asleep during his watch and he’d paid close attention to everything she did in the conservatory. He’d probably spied on her notes in the library as well, else he wouldn’t have known that she had finished formulating her purge ritual.
Or that you were brewing a tea to prevent pregnancy. Ottavio must have learned that detail from Nino.
Nino's eye twitched. “I'm sorry you got involved in all of this. That wasn't supposed to happen. I thought it was just a fluke that you survived, but then it became obvious what you were. You survived because of your power. Then the demon changed. In time it would kill the son, but you delayed that. And then it looked like you were finally figuring out how to remove the curse,” he said, gesturing to the ritual circle. “Which is why I sent Ottavio to you.”
It felt like the room was spinning. Isobel felt sick. “You had him attack me?” she whispered.
Nino squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head. “That wasn't supposed to happen, either! You were supposed to run away with him. Women always liked him, and he wanted you. I thought you would jump at the opportunity to escape. But you were so stupid—another fool woman. You'd already given your heart to the monster,” he spat, lowering the barrel slightly as he sneered at her.
It was the opportunity she'd been waiting for. She flew up from her kneeling position, holding the burning torch with a death grip. She swung it a Nino as hard as she could.
The blow struck him in the shoulder, making him drop the gun.
She should have expected what happened next. The fire was no normal blaze…and she was very angry. As soon as it came in contact with Nino's clothing it exploded, running over him like a wild creature. His shriek of pain was enough to shatter glass. He fell to his knees, clutching blindly.
Isobel scrambled forward, crawling toward him. She had to try and control the fire enough to pull it away from him. But she didn't get the chance. Nino pulled a blade from his boot and sprang up with a blood-curdling scream.
He was almost on her when he was thrown to the side. The Conte was pushing him with his forearms, kicking him hard. Nino landed face down, wheezing with a horribly wet sound. Using his booted foot, Aldo turned hi
m over.
The blade was sticking out of his chest. He had landed on it when he fell. Aldo leaned over him, obscuring him from view.
“Matteo,” she whispered, dragging herself to her feet. Twisting, she reached for the fallen torch, but it wasn't there.
She turned back to the circle, dismayed to find she'd disturbed her half's salt boundary. But that wasn't the worst thing that met her sight.
Matteo's long arms had been enough to reach the torch. He was holding it to his chest exactly where she had, his whole body wrapped around it.
“No! Matteo, let go,” she said, falling to her feet in front of him.
Using all her strength, she tried to pry it out of his hands but he had a death grip on it.
“It's too late,” he whispered. “Going to finish it now.” He turned to cradle the fire underneath him—out of her reach.
“No, no. Don't do this. Please give me the torch,” she cried tearfully, stepping into his half of the circle and throwing herself on his back. She embraced him from behind and begged with a sob. “Please don’t leave me.”
He shuddered and didn't answer as he tried to push her away. Isobel held on tighter, wrapped around his back like a limpet. Looking inside him with her other sight, she pushed down with all strength, finding the taint and directing it to the hole in his solar plexus.
The demon scrabbled inside him, tearing at Matteo's aura as it tried to hang on. Using all of her will and every ounce of her strength, she kept going until it lost its grip and was forced down into the fire burning underneath her husband.
A rending sound filled the air. The count shifted looking around wildly for its source, but what had made the noise wasn’t visible. The painful clatter died away and Isobel’s ears popped, as if the air had shifted dramatically around them.
“Let go, my darling. It's over. I swear it’s over. Please!” she said, rolling her husband onto his back and throwing the burning wood away.
Nausea rose up when she saw his hands and abdomen. They were a raw mass of blistered meat, black and red. The smell of cooked flesh filled the air.
Sobbing, she gathered Matteo's large body to her as best she could, cradling him in her lap. Closing her eyes, she began to chant, trying to bind the ragged edges of his aura back together. But it had been ripped and exposed so long, it had splintered and cracked in other places. Trying to force the edges closed tore open others.
Isobel refused to let go. She covered him with her body and her mind, instinctively trying to hold him together. Giving everything she had, she clung to him, past reason and all endurance.
The world around them spun into black. She fell into the void, still holding on.
Chapter 28
Isobel cracked open an eyelid in the bright sunny bedroom. Everything hurt. She felt like she'd been passed through a meat grinder. Her aura probably had been.
A noise made her turn. It was Aldo, shifting impatiently in a chair.
When he saw she was awake, he nodded at her. “It's over now. I told him the truth before he died.”
Isobel burst into tears. “Matteo's dead?”
Aldo flinched and gave her an apologetic glance. “No. He's...sleeping. I meant Nino. About his daughter.”
She sat up and crossed her arms. “You do remember her.”
It was a statement of fact.
The Conte nodded. “And she is dead, but I never harmed her. Gina died in childbirth.”
Understanding dawned. “And the babe was yours.”
“Yes. I never let any of my friends share her. She didn't want that and I respected her choice. And I didn't force her either. I made sure Nino knew that. And about the child.”
Surprised, she narrowed her eyes. “The child lived?”
Aldo inhaled, drawing himself up. “Yes. It's being taken care of.”
Out of sight and out of mind, she thought. What a mess.
“Does Matteo know?”
He looked away. “He has enough to worry about.”
That was more than enough to get her out of bed. She stood up stiffly. “Where is he?”
He gestured to the connecting door, and she hurried through it to Matteo's bedroom.
Her chest squeezed her heart when she saw him. His aura was intact—mostly. A few glints of green, the distinctive shade of her own aura, could be seen here and there. She picked up her hand and examined the shimmering haze surrounding it. A few prominent streaks of red ran through it.
Somehow she'd blended their auras, weaving hers over the tears in his. In turn, some of his had been transferred to her.
We’ll always be tied together now.
Unfortunately, Matteo's hands and chest hadn’t fared as well. They were wrapped in white gauze, but badly. Bits of burned flesh were visible between the strips. And it was starting to seep. If she didn't clean the flesh and change the bandages, it would grow infected.
“I didn't really know what to do and neither did the staff,” Aldo murmured “We sent for a physician, but the sawbones was soused and could barely stand. I didn't let him near my son. I was going to send for another doctor, but I think you can do better.”
Isobel walked up to her husband, inspecting him closely. She nodded in agreement. “Go fetch me clean gauze and scissors. I'll need the crates in the greenhouse, as well. The one's holding all of my supplies.”
“Will he live?”
Leaning over, she put her hand on Matteo's chest. His breathing was shallow, but even, and his heart was steady. His aura looked bad, but it would mend.
“Yes, I think so,” she whispered.
“What about his hands?”
She glanced down at them. They were curled into claws, likely a reflex to all of the damage. Whether or not he would be able to use them again was doubtful.
“I don't know, but we can't go waste any more time. My things, please,” she said, waving him away.
Once he was gone, she sat on the bed. To her relief, Matteo's lids fluttered and opened. Despite the pain he must be suffering from, he smiled weakly at her.
“Still alive, bella, and all alone.”
Isobel frowned, and was about to assure him she wasn't going to leave him when what he meant became clear. There was no "other" in his body anymore, and he could feel it.
Inhaling deeply, she relaxed. Pressing a kiss to his forehead, she whispered, “Yes, my love, you are.”
Chapter 29
Days passed in anxious vigil. Isobel tended to Matteo's burns with healing poultices and restorative draughts, getting little sleep. What rest she did get was snatched sitting up in bed at his side.
But day-by-day he improved and eventually the risk of infection passed. The burn on his chest scabbed over and by moving gingerly he was able to sit up and eventually stand and walk.
Unfortunately, his hands were far worse off. The skin had been badly burned and the musculature deeply damaged. He couldn't move them. They hung at his sides, lifeless claws he couldn't open or close. Without a miracle, it was likely he would never be able to use them again.
Despite being witness and catalyst to the events in the greenhouse, the count couldn't stop from criticizing her role. Upset over Matteo's hands, he cornered her in the parlor a few days later. He argued that she should have found a way that wouldn't have left his son scarred if things went wrong.
Hanging onto her temper by a thread she defended herself, and Matteo, who had been willing to risk everything—including death—than live with that blackness in his soul.
“And let's not forget exactly why we are here now,” she added through gritted teeth. “This is because of you and your arrogance and sense of self-entitlement.”
“What does that mean?” he argued back.
“Gina.”
He scoffed. “I provided for the child and would have done so for the mother had she lived.”
In spite of everything that had happened, all the damage and destruction he had witnessed, his ton
e was still dismissive. Nino's revenge hadn't been enough to pierce his thick shell of overblown sense of privilege. She was about to blister his ears when they were interrupted.
“You may have provided for your other child, but have you acknowledged him? Or is it a her?”
Matteo was standing in the doorway of the parlor. He was dressed in the same breeches she'd helped him into that morning. He'd somehow managed to throw a shirt over his shoulders, but left it hanging open over his bandaged chest.
“Son, you're awake,” Aldo said, twisting to face the door.
Matteo nodded slowly and then turned to smile weakly at Isobel before looking back to his father. “And you still haven't said whether or not I have a brother or a sister.”
Aldo frowned. “That doesn't matter. I've already told you, the child is provided for.”
Matteo came inside and sat next to Isobel on the settee. “And what kind of life do they have?”
His father's mouth firmed. “A perfectly decent one. One of my tenant farmers took the babe. He and his wife had no children at the time. It was a good fit for him.”
“Him?” Matteo narrowed his eyes at his father. “My brother is going to be a tenant farmer? On an estate I will someday inherit?”
His mouth twisted in distaste.
The count tsked. “He's a bastard. I've made arrangements for him. He'll get his own plot someday,” he said with the air of someone who felt truly magnanimous.
“That's not good enough. He should get his fair share.”
“He is getting what he deserves. Few illegitimate children are so lucky.”
“And whose fault is it that the boy isn't legitimate?” Matteo said, forgetting himself and throwing up his bandaged hands before wincing.
Aldo swore. “What did you expect me to do? Marry his mother?”
“Why not?” Matteo yelled.
The Conte looked at him as if he'd lost his mind. “You don't marry a domestic,” he said incredulously.
“I did,” he replied quietly.
Isobel turned to Matteo, slipping her hand behind his back to rub it in small circles.
