“Well, it’s not just them. It’s actually more of a widespread problem.”

“Huh?”

“It’s just not a good time to fly something to eastern Sicily.”

“I used to not believe in curses,” Rue says. She’s at the other end of the bench, and sounds a little shell-shocked, so I lean forward to look her in the face. “I swore that marriage would not fundamentally change me as a person, but here I am. Three days to the wedding, and reconsidering my stance on the supernatural.”

“Oh, Rue. The poisoning and the drowning, those were accidents.” I smile, reassuring. “And the dress…If anyone can strong-arm someone into something, it’s Nyota, which means that you’ll have it in no time. There is no curse. And if there ever was, it’s losing steam. There were no near-deaths in the past thirty-six hours. This is a robust upward trend, and…” I stop talking, because Tisha raised her arm, and is pointing at something in the distance. I follow the trajectory, and that’s when I see it.

“Oh,” I say, finally realizing what is happening.

My first impression was wrong. The day is not overcast.

Not too far from us, a tall column of ashes and lava erupts from Mount Etna.

According to a profoundly unconcerned Lucrezia—translated via my phone—we’re not all going to die. The BBC, Al Jazeera, and a handful of social media apps all seem to agree.

“Or, we definitely are,” Tisha adds while we snack on tomato bruschetta. The olive oil here actually tastes like olives. It shouldn’t feel remarkable, and yet. “We’re all dying. At some point. Unless biologists fix the whole telomeres situation, which doesn’t seem likely at the moment. I’ve heard about this group in Finland that’s doing amazing things when it comes to—”

Diego nudges her with a gentle kiss on the cheek. “Honey.”

“Right, sorry. We are dying, but not in a pyroclastic blaze of pumice rain.”

“What about the people closest to Mount Etna?” Avery asks.

“They should be fine, as long as they don’t venture to the mouth of the volcano to take selfies,” I say. “Mount Etna is one of the safest and best-monitored volcanoes on Earth, and the lava moves slowly. The main issue is the air quality in Catania, and the lack of visibility around the airport. All flights have been canceled.”

“So I can stop trying to pick my Pompeii pose?” Axel asks.

Even his brother is confused. “Your what?”

“You know, like those stone bodies from Mount Vesuvius’s explosion?”

I’m torn between being impressed by Axel’s archaeological knowledge and wanting to find out which position he’d choose to be immortalized. Before I can foolishly ask questions I will regret, I decide to go back upstairs to brush my teeth.

That’s where I run into my brother.

His curls are tousled, which is typical. What’s unusual is the harried frown creasing his forehead.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he says. Clearly meaning: no.