His eyes glittered with dark amusement. Of course the topic of death would appeal to him. “Which vendor do you believe knows about the murder location?”

I nodded toward the center of the marketplace where the apparel section began. Booths with fabrics and silks rustled in the slight breeze, beckoning us over.

“Salvatore is one of the best gossips in the city. If anyone has reliable information about Giulia, it’s him.” I glanced down at Wrath’s shirt. “He’s also the vendor who sold me that.”

“I see. You brought me here to commit murder while we investigate one.”

The good humor promptly left Wrath’s face. I hid my grin as his nostrils flared. For a vengeful prince of Hell, he certainly was touchy about clothing. And I was pretty sure he was only teasing about killing the vendor. I hoped.

In fact, I was surprised he was joking at all. After I left the monastery, I went straight to him and delivered the news. I’d been convinced he’d lay waste to the whole city. Instead, he calmly reported everything he knew about the potential bride. Her name was Giulia Santorini, and he hadn’t been able to get a message to her last night. I’d taken a second to digest this latest revelation.

I thought over everything again now. I knew her family. They sold spices in the Kalsa District, and Vittoria used to volunteer to stop by their shop to pick up orders for Sea & Vine when Uncle Nino or my father couldn’t. Giulia’s grandmother Sofia was the witch whose mind had gotten trapped between realms, shifting between realities so swiftly she no longer knew what was real and what was a vision.

As far as I knew, after what happened to Sofia, the Santorinis never dabbled in the dark arts again. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe Giulia decided to invoke the dark arts like her grandma. And maybe she was the one who’d given my sister those mysterious grimoire pages.

That thought stopped me cold.

If Giulia had somehow given my sister a spell to summon a demon, it made sense that she’d taken it from her grandmother’s grimoire since Sofia was known to use the dark arts. Maybe the grimoire was the missing link . . . I thought again about the first book of spells. About the magic binding my sister’s diary. Was that the connection between the murders? Maybe not the dark arts, but the source material?

“What’s wrong?” Wrath asked, breaking into my thoughts. “You look strange.”