Page 14 of Cursebound

I got home last night, and today… Well, today I need to find answers. Not only about Luca, but about the things he told me. Because he’s right—I have been Called more and more recently.

If all were logical in the world, I would cover the Americas, Donatella would be on call for Asia and Australia, and Paola Bianchi in Africa. But for decades now, we have been without a Lombardi, who would have been based in Europe. We’ve also been without my sister Serena. We were the first-ever twin Seers, and her powers were shaping up to be far stronger than mine.

So the three of us deal with all the territories, and some are more troublesome than others. The Russian vamps are a handful, and there was a nasty outbreak of feral killers in New Zealand a few years ago.

I’ve been zigzagging the US, had a barrel of laughs clearing a nasty nest in Vancouver, and although my trip to Liverpool was the first in the UK, I’ve been in France and the Czech Republic as well. It’s more than usual—a lot more. I’m wiped out and can’t carry on like this.

I like to keep myself to myself. I work alone, and I am not especially close to the other Vecchissime women. Donatella is super sociable and regularly organizes events, but I don’t go unless I have to.

Then there’s my immediate family… and that’s a whole other story. I fight off a wave of sadness as I think about them. About my grandfather Tomasso, who has been disappointed with me from the day I was born. Pietro, my younger brother, who is no longer the happy and playful child he used to be. About my parents, my sisters—all long gone.

Mainly, I think about Serena, who was torn from me when we were only teenagers. Twins, as close in life as we were in the womb. She was my best friend, my confidant, my other half—the best of me. And she died in my place, in the fire that destroyed my family. The fire that should have taken me, not her.

I’ve been half dead ever since. It’s as though when she breathed her last tortured breath, she took me with her.

For over a century now, I’ve forced myself to carry on. To do my duty. I’ve killed and killed and killed some more. Lived my fake lives. I’ve had men, experimented with women, tried every shade of sex and drugs and rock and roll. But none of it has worked. None of it has brought me back to life.

None of it gave me a hint of the spark I felt the second Luca da Firenze crashed into my world. The surge of need that ran through my body when he touched me or the fascination at seeing his spectacular tattoo. The very real temptation to give in—to let him protect me. Let him keep me safe.

I felt it all, and it left me thrumming with life—and with questions. Why him? Why now? Why the sudden influx of Calls? Who is Kurt? Why is an Old World Cosca vamp gate-crashing my life? I need answers to at least some of those questions.

After a quick shower, I settle down on my balcony to make a few phone calls. My apartment faces the Chicago River, and I’ve sat out here as numerous different people over the decades. No matter where else I’ve lived or for how long, I always come back here, with a different name, different hairstyle, different vibe. There’s a naturally transient population in places like this—city dwellers tend to be young professionals who grow up and move somewhere more sensible—and that’s helped me obscure the truth.

There’s one old biddy three floors down, Patricia Flanagan, who has been here for a zillion years and looks at me sideways in the elevator. She suspects something, but women her age know enough to be wary of sounding crazy.

I’m glad, because I love it here. I love the dizzying height, the grand buildings all around me. The feeling that I’m floating above the madness of the city. And the balcony—well, here I am, bathed in sunshine on a baking hot day without a cloud in the sky. No vampire on earth, no matter how old or strong, could deal with this. I’ve never thought too deeply about that before, but now, with Luca in the picture, I’m glad.

It’s ten in the morning here, which means it’s ten at night in Bangkok, where Donatella currently lives. She’ll be surprised at me being the one to reach out, but she will have all the gossip. She’ll also be looking for more, so I need to keep quiet about Luca. Donatella can give the impression that she’s nothing more than a bubbly airhead, but to believe her act would be a big mistake.

I’m about to hit her number when my screen flashes to life with an incoming call, and I do a double take when I see the name come up: Donatella Agostini. WTF? Are we somehow psychically connected, or is this a freakish coincidence?

“Rosa?” she says hesitantly when I answer, obviously caught off guard. I typically let all my calls go to voicemail and sort them out later.

“You won’t believe this, but I was literally just about to call you.”

“Have you heard about Paola?” she asks. It’s unlike her to not engage in any small talk.

“No,” I reply, dread building in my stomach.

“She’s in the hospital. In a coma. They’re not sure she’s going to make it, Rosa!” The panic in her voice—the two of them are close—causes bile to surge into my throat as I ask her what happened.

“She was Called to Cairo and ambushed. She checked in with me on her way there from Cape Town, said she’d been having really vivid visions for weeks. Far more detailed than usual. She was worried but put them down to how exhausted she was.”

Paola never had especially loud visions, that was more my bag, so I can imagine how much it would upset her. “Why was she so exhausted?” I ask quietly, already knowing the answer.

“She’s been getting Called pretty much every night for a while now… as have I. It’s strange, even by our standards, no?”

“It is, and it’s been the same with me. I just got back from London.” I ponder telling her about Luca, but something stops me—some old instinct, a basic lack of trust. The same vibe that’s kept me alone and isolated for so long.

“What’s wrong with Paola?” I ask instead.

She sniffles, and her voice is thick but coherent. “She was drained, almost completely, and thrown from a third-story window. Head injury. She was lucky that someone happened to be passing outside and called the paramedics. She’s been transferred to a private hospital, and I’m going to head there soon.” Donatella blows out a heavy breath before continuing. “I just need some sleep first. I feel like I haven’t slept for so long. Even when I do, they’re always there, you know? Poking and prodding and… I don’t know, this sounds ridiculous, but it’s as though they’re mocking me.”

I nod even though she can’t see me. “Yeah, I do know. There’s something going on here, Donatella, something we aren’t seeing. There’s got to be a bigger picture, and we’re not putting the pieces together. I’m so sorry about Paola. I know how much she means to you. If anyone can pull through, it’s her.”

That much is true—Paola is far and away the most physically strong and skilled of all of us. For this to happen to her must mean she faced a supremely superior vamp or was ambushed by a group of them. Like the “allies” Luca told me Kurt had amassed.

“Thank you, my friend—and I know you are right. She will be okay. I’m just… Well, I’m tired. And scared. And sad. And I’m really not used to feeling any of those things.” Her petulant tone forces a smile to my lips.