The day after we laid my sister to rest, I sat alone in our room, an unopened book in my lap. It was so quiet. I used to cherish peaceful days like this, when my twin was out being adventurous and I was adventuring with a favorite character. A good book was its own brand of magic, one I could safely indulge in without fear of getting caught by those who hunted us. I loved escaping from reality, especially during times of trouble. Stories made everything possible.

My attention moved to the door the same way it had all morning, searching for a sign Vittoria was about to charge through it, her face flushed and her grin wide. All remained still.

Downstairs a spoon clinked against the cast iron cauldron. A moment later herbal scents wafted up. Nonna had been making spell candles nonstop. She lit them for the polizia, helping to guide them in their search. Or so she claimed. I’d seen the juniper berry and belladonna candle she’d made with a dash of salt and a pinch of pepper. It was her own recipe and it wasn’t used for clarity.

I set my book aside and went downstairs, hovering near the edge of the kitchen. Not quite hungry, but feeling empty, hollow. I hadn’t felt like cooking or creating, and couldn’t imagine ever feeling that light and free again. Living in a world without my sister felt dark and wrong.

Nonna glanced up. “Come sit, Emilia. I’ll make you something to eat.”

“That’s all right, Nonna. I can fix something.”

I went to the ice box and almost burst into tears when I saw the pitcher of limoncello wine Vittoria had made for me. No one had touched it.

I quickly shut the door, and perched on the edge of the closest stool.

“Here.” Nonna set a bowl of sweetened ricotta in front of me, her expression kind. “Desserts always go down easy.”

I pushed the creamy concoction around. “Do you think someone found out . . . what we are? Maybe Vittoria joked about the devil or demons to the wrong human.”

“No, bambina. I don’t believe it was a human who attacked her at all. Not with the signs we’ve been receiving. Or the blood debt.”

I’d forgotten all about the mysterious blood debt. It seemed an entire lifetime had passed since Nonna first mentioned it. “You believe the blood debt is responsible for Vittoria’s murder?”

“Mmh. It was part of an ancient bargain struck between La Prima and the devil. Some believe La Prima cursed the Wicked, others believe the devil cursed witches. A warning came one day: ‘When witch blood spills across Sicily, take your daughters and hide. The Malvagi have arrived.’ Now there’s been three witch murders.”