Page 15 of Cursebound
Donatella has always loved her life, and it’s something I envy about her. Now, she’s experiencing a hint of the pain that has marred mine from my girlhood, and it’s reassuring that she’s responding in character.
“I get it. And I think we need to be careful, Donna—now there are only two of us and a lot more of them. I know it goes against all of our instincts to resist the Call, but maybe we need to try.”
Even as I say it, I know how torturous that will be for us—like having a fierce itch and being unable to scratch it. Like trying to sleep with your eyes pinned open.
“Mmm, I think you’re right. I’ve also been talking to Papa, and he thinks we need to convene the Vecchissime to discuss it. He’s going to speak to Tomasso.”
At the mention of my grandfather’s name, I stiffen. We have what you might call a complicated relationship, and the thought of turning to him for protection fills me with horror. I decide I will talk to Pietro first. At least I like him.
“Okay. Uh, before you go… Have you ever dealt with any of the Coscas? What do you know about them?”
I can practically hear her mental gears shifting. “A little,” she replies after a few moments. “The basics—they were formed by Old World vamps. The structure is half family, half military. Historic allegiances to Italian cities, bases in the States, Mexico, Europe. They run the human Mafia from behind the scenes and control all supernatural organized crime… They own clubs, people, whole countries in some cases. Drugs—human and super. They all seem to run construction firms and have a line in creating new IDs for vamps who want to blend. Blood products, human servants, witches for hire, even shifters for sale if you believe the rumors.”
She’s already told me more than I knew before, which is typical Donatella—the “airhead” who knows everything. I am surprised at the shifter thing though. It’s incredibly hard to control a being who can change form—I mean, can you imagine trying to cage a mosquito or tame a polar bear? Maybe that’s where the witches come in. They are the most powerful of all of us, and if they wanted to, they could be some kind of master race. Luckily, most of them are more concerned with burning herbs and praying to Gaia.
“And have you dealt with any of them yourself—like, personally?”
“Once,” she says. “I was Called to Lahore. There was a vamp there who’d been kidnapping women, usually sex workers, and was keeping them chained in his basement. When I got there, he was already dusted, and a group of males from the Venezia Cosca were cleaning up. Admittedly, their version of cleaning up was killing off the women who survived captivity, but it was too late to stop that. And they were quite polite about it.”
“Polite?” I repeat, choking on an inappropriate laugh.
“Yeah, polite. Kind of gentlemanly actually. They were thugs, but hot thugs who’d been raised right, you know? But why are you asking me this? What have the Coscas got to do with anything?”
“No real reason.” I quickly invent a story to assuage her suspicions. “I was just going through some records at Tomasso’s house and realized there was a gap in my knowledge.”
Her silence suggests that she doesn’t quite believe me, but I suppose she’s too upset about Paola to give me the usual interrogation. But it’s best to get her off the phone before she changes her mind. “I’ve got to go, but promise me you’ll be careful out there, okay? And give my love to Paola. Coma or not, you’ve got to believe that she can still hear you.”
We make our farewells, and I sit for a little while longer on my pretty balcony, soaking up the sun. I’d hate to be a vampire and miss all of this.
I turn over what Donatella said in my mind, then stand up, ready to rock. I’ve put it off for too long. I need to go see Tomasso.
CHAPTER 7
LUCA
“Minerva says what?” I thunder.
“She says maybe you’re linked by a blood spell, Boss,” Matteo repeats.
“What the hell does that even mean? And why don’t I know about it? And how the fuck do I break it?” I slam my hand down on the table as I speak, and the wooden legs splinter and break under the pressure. Shit.
“Don’t shoot the messenger, all right? I told her what was happening with you—and yeah, before you ask, we were careful, and Vincenzo has no clue—and she did that thing where she looks all wistful, like she might float off into the ether, and then she said it might be a blood spell. Cast back when you were transformed. And then we went for ice cream at that new gelateria off Madison. Their pistachio sundae is to die for.”
I roll my eyes and snap back, “And what the fuck makes you think I’m interested in ice cream right now?”
“Nothing. I just thought you needed a minute to process. She says if it was a powerful enough spell, and if it was done well and long enough ago, you wouldn’t know it was there until something happened to trigger it.”
“You mean I might have been carrying this thing around with me my whole life? Like some kind of fucking parasite?”
“I suppose so. But she wasn’t certain, just to be clear. She said she’d need to have you in front of her and to taste your blood to know for sure. But it would explain a lot, wouldn’t it?”
I suppose it would, I think, standing up and kicking the broken table out of my way. I’m in a hotel on the Magnificent Mile in Chicago, and despite the cost of the place, their furniture is for shit.
I’m here because this is where my slippery little Seer went. I don’t have her exact location yet, but it’s only a matter of time. Don Vincenzo was not happy in the slightest when I called to tell him she’d escaped. He was silent, which is always a bad sign with him—that’s when he is most dangerous.
“How disappointing,” he finally said, acid dripping from every word. “I expected better from you. Find her and do as you have been ordered—or I might forget my loyalties. You understand?”
I understood. Loyalty is a huge deal in our world. Yeah, we have to be loyal to him—that’s a big part of it—but he is also loyal to us. Despite his viciousness, his cruelty, his vices, Vincenzo looks after us all in his own way. He gives us a safe haven, a home, his protection—although from where I’m standing, none of it feels remotely safe. If Vincenzo withdraws his support, it will mean I’m an open target—an unmade man. It means all the enemies I’ve accrued over the centuries—and there are a shitload of them—will come for me. They’ll know that there will be no reprisal from the Firenzes. I might survive it; I might not.