On rare afternoons when we all weren’t working and could walk along the beach, picking shells for Moon Blessings, Claudia shared stories of how the mummies came to be. I’d squirm my toes in the warm sand, trying to banish goose bumps, but Vittoria would lean forward, a hungry gleam in her eyes, ravenous for every morsel of information Claudia served us.
I did my best to forget those morbid stories now.
A window was cracked open high above, allowing a gusty breeze to barrel through the corridor. It smelled of turned earth and salt—like a storm was blowing in. Fantastico. The last thing I needed was to get stuck running home in the rain.
I moved swiftly through the darkness. One torch was lit at each end of the long corridor, leaving much of my path in shadow. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed movement and froze. I’d stopped walking, but the sound of cloth brushing against stone continued a good breath or so before falling silent, too. Someone or something was here.
My entire body buzzed with nerves. I shook my head. I was already scared about the Malvagi and my mind was playing tricks on me. It was probably Vittoria again. I gathered what little bravado I could muster and forced myself to turn around, scanning the corridor of silent, watchful mummies for my sister.
“Vittoria?” I stared into the shadows, and almost screamed when one formed a denser silhouette that rose from behind the bodies. “Who’s there?”
Whatever it was, it didn’t answer. I thought about the rumors Antonio mentioned yesterday, and couldn’t stop picturing a shape-shifter hiding in the dark. Little hairs on my arms stood on end. I swore I felt eyes on me. Tiny bells of warning sounded in my head. Danger lurked nearby. Nonna was right—tonight was no night to be out. I was contemplating how quickly I could dash back outside when wings flapped in the rafters. I blew out a breath. There was no apparition, or mythological shape-shifter, or demon stalking me. Just a lost little bird. I probably frightened it more than it scared me.
I slowly backed down the corridor and made my way to the next chamber, ignoring the jitters claiming my bones. I hurried into the room where I’d forgotten my basket and snatched it up, shoving my supplies back in, hands shaking the whole time.
“Stupid bird.”
The faster I gathered my things, the faster I could get Vittoria from the festival and go home. Then we’d borrow a bottle of wine and crawl into bed, drinking and laughing together over Nonna’s dire proclamations about the devil, warm and snug in the safety of our room.
A scraping of a boot against stone had me frozen in place. There was no mistaking that sound for the wings of a bird. I stood there, barely breathing, listening to an all-consuming silence. I reached for my cornicello in comfort.
Then, something quietly began calling me. Slow and insistent; a silent buzzing I couldn’t push aside. Goddess knows I was trying. It wasn’t a strictly physical sound, more like a peculiar feeling in the pit of my stomach. Each time I considered running away, it grew more demanding.
I gripped the knife from my basket in my other hand and tiptoed down the corridor, pausing to listen at each chamber. My heart pounded with each step. I was half-convinced it might stop working altogether if I didn’t calm down.
I took another step, followed by another. Each one more difficult than the last. I strained against the drumming of my pulse, but no other sounds emerged from the darkness. It was as if I’d conjured the earlier noise from fear. But that feeling . . .
I followed it farther into the monastery.
At the very end of the next corridor I halted outside a room with its door ajar. Whatever had been calling me led inside; I felt it. A slight tug in my center, a summoning I had no hope of fighting. I didn’t know what sort of magic was at play, but clearly sensed it.
I dropped my amulet and held my breath as I slipped in unseen, wary of what drew me. Nonna always scolded my ability to sneak around undetected, but, at present, it felt more like a blessing than a curse.
Inside, traces of thyme mixed with something metallic and some burnt paraffin wafted around. It took a moment for my vision to adjust, but once it did, I bit down on a gasp, wondering how I’d missed him. Perhaps his preternatural stillness was to blame.
Now that I was aware of his presence, I couldn’t drag my gaze away. It was too dark to make out his features clearly, but his hair was a shade close to onyx, almost iridescent like the wings of a raven catching sunlight. He was tall and powerfully built, like a statue of a Roman warrior, though his clothes were that of a fine gentleman.
There was something about him that made me cling to the shadows, though, uneasy about detection.