Lucia’s eyes fluttered shut as shame pinked her cheeks. She’d tried to. She’d sat at her writing desk, ink pot ready, quill in hand, and couldn’t find the right words. Any words. It had been cowardly. Cruel, even. But instead of saying the wrong thing or writing all of her wants and worries and fears out for him to ultimately reject her, she simply left.
“One day he will find you.” Her mother’s tone was as steely as her expression. “He will remember all you do not. And I promise he will stop at nothing to win you back. His pride will see to that. Only you’ll be at a disadvantage, having forgotten him. Do you think he’ll be a devoted husband after that? You’ll have shamed him, bruised his legendary ego openly in front of his whole court. In front of the whole realm. And you won’t even remember.”
Lucia shook her head. She knew what her mother wasn’t saying—she disapproved of Lucia taking a tonic to forget. It wasn’t a smart battle tactic, and Mother considered witches and demons to constantly be at war. But the pain in Lucia’s chest, the acute, all-consuming grief, was too great to overcome; she couldn’t walk away from Pride if she remembered him. “I’ll take the dagger. Just see to it I never fall for another prince of Hell again.”
Mother’s gaze turned hard, like the hell-forged steel in Lucia’s hand. “When I’m through with the demons, I’ll make sure no witch ever falls for their lies. And they will hate us in return, so passionately they wouldn’t deign to fall in love with a witch again. That I vow on my life’s blood, daughter.” She whispered a summoning spell, and within moments another witch appeared. Lucia vaguely recognized her from one of the more powerful covens. “Maria, I have an assignment for you. You’re living in the Shifting Isles’ version of Palermo, correct?”
While Mother plotted with Maria, Lucia read over the spell. It was nothing more than an herbal tea blend, really. It would be easy to make. Even when she forgot why she was making it, she’d be able to pull the ingredients together. As she set the spell aside and picked up the roughened crystal, a steaming mug appeared before her. She glanced up, meeting the other witch’s kind eyes.
“Drink. It will help ease the pain, bambina.”
Lucia knew it was the first dose of the spelled tea. Knew that once she brought the porcelain to her lips, things would truly be over between her and Pride. Her mother didn’t speak, but Lucia felt her attention shift to her, almost in challenge. Lucia picked up the cup, pausing before she took that fateful first sip that would signal both the end and a new beginning for her.
“I want a new name. A new family. I want to forget everything except that I am a witch.” Lucia finally brought her focus to her mother’s. “And I do not wish to see you until I ask for you.”
There was a flash of what looked to be hurt in her mother’s face, there and gone in an instant. “Very well. Maria will monitor the situation from afar and will set you up with a family in a dark coven.”
The other witch nodded. “You’ll be well cared for.”
“Good.” Lucia nodded back—a quick jerk of her chin, then gulped the tea down in one, scalding shot. It took a few moments, but the heavy pressure on her chest lessened. Her muscles loosened. The sadness and despair lightened. If there had been something troubling her a moment ago, Lucia couldn’t recall what it was. Perhaps it had been a bad dream. She blinked at the crystal in her hand and the dagger on the table before her, her brow creasing. “What are these for?”
Maria gave her a sad smile. “You must never show this dagger to anyone. Never speak of it. It’s only to be used on the Wicked.”
“The Wicked?” Lucia’s heart pounded furiously. If she didn’t know any better, she’d think someone was manipulating her emotions. But that sort of power was supposed to be forbidden. “Who are they?”
An unfamiliar witch with strange starlight eyes slowly moved around the small wooden table. Power radiated off her, and Lucia fought a shudder. “The Wicked are bloodthirsty creatures known as princes of Hell. They seek to destroy you. To destroy all witches.”
“If you see one,” Maria added, “you must hide. And if they come for you…”
Lucia glanced down at the deadly-looking blade. “I must protect myself.” She inhaled deeply, feeling the truth settle inside her. The Wicked. Her mortal enemies. She prayed to the goddess she’d never encounter one but was thankful for the dagger just in case. Lucia picked up the rare blue crystal. “Is this a memory stone?”