Page 18 of Cursebound

“It didn’t survive. Which is a tragedy not only on a human level, but especially for the Vecchissime. Paola herself may or may not come out of it, but if she does, she’s likely to be compromised. It would be understandable if she were reluctant to go back to work. Regardless, for the time being, we are down to only two Seers.” There’s a faint sneer on his face as he looks me up and down, and I mentally add the line he isn’t saying: “And one of them is you.”

I stay silent. Nothing good can come of anything I want to say. He’s right; it is an issue. And in his mind, something as trivial as an actual flesh-and-blood woman losing her unborn child would not matter at all. He will pay lip service to it, but beneath the surface-level civility, he will only be strategizing about what it means for us.

Vecchissime women live as long as the men. We reach adolescence at the normal human stage and mature in the ordinary way until we are around thirty in real time. After that, everything starts to slow down—we do age, but so gradually that you have to be as ancient as Tomasso for it to really show. We are fertile between sixteen and about a hundred and fifty, a window where I still lie and Paola is at the tail end of. This may have been her last chance, and my heart aches for her.

Donatella is younger than both of us. She was born a decade or so after me and took over as Seer from her mama, Flavia. I can’t imagine Donatella with a baby, but who knows?

Personally, I’ve never wanted children—never felt that urge. I figure it has something to do with what happened to my family and the damage that losing my twin in particular did to me, but it’s possible I was born without the maternal gene. Maybe Serena got my share. She was always playing with dolls, cooing over babies, and talking about what she’d call her own children.

I know where this conversation is going, and he doesn’t disappoint.

“It’s part of your duty, Rosa,” he says sternly. “Without Paola, we are even more at risk. You must have a child.”

“Right. Well, just so you know, if I did, I’d call her Buffy—but I’m not. Pietro can do it. He can pop out ten babies and see if any of them are Seers. I’ll be the best auntie in the whole damn world.”

Pietro stiffens. They must have already had this conversation. Nobody really understands the science behind it, but all Seers are female, and for some reason, apart from a handful of exceptions, Seers only come from the maternal line.

“Sis, you know I don’t mind putting in the practice,” my baby brother says. “But you also know the chances are better if it’s you.”

“I am not an incubator,” I snap. Getting grief from Tomasso is one thing, but I expect better from Pietro. He’s been well and truly brainwashed. “I do my job, and I do it to the best of my abilities—and yeah, no need to point it out, I know I’m dogshit in your eyes, Nonno. But I do it, and I will keep on doing it, and I will save as many people as I can. But I am not presenting you with the next generation of malocchio!”

Tomasso surges to his feet and slams his hands down on the desk. “Don’t use that word! That word does not belong on your lips. And if I say you will bear a child, you will bear a child!”

I hate myself for flinching, but I can’t help it. This man has always had the power to frighten me, and his advancing years haven’t changed that.

Fury pretty much radiates from him in shimmering waves at this point, and although I keep the belligerent look on my face, inside I am shriveling. Inside, I am still a child, wondering when he’s going to bend me over that desk and beat me with his belt.

I take a couple deep breaths before speaking again. “I’m going to leave now. I came here hoping to have a productive conversation about our situation, but here I am again, wondering how to smash the patriarchy and still have the energy left to fight vampires. Before I go… Do you know someone named Kurt?”

Tomasso does not respond. Not even a flicker of recognition crosses his stony features, and he stays perfectly still. Why would he need to work so hard at looking neutral if he has nothing to hide? What the hell is going on? I sneak a glance at Pietro and find him studiously staring down at his manicured fingernails.

“No,” says Tomasso calmly. “Why?”

Tread carefully, I tell myself. Listen to your instincts here. Yes, these men are my family, but that doesn’t mean I can automatically trust them. They haven’t given me a reason not to—I dislike Tomasso intensely but have never doubted his commitment to me as a Seer. He has our backs when it comes to Vecchissime business.

But something is going on here.

“I met someone who mentioned the name is all,” I answer, going for nonchalance. “Just thought you might know him.” I pause for a moment before continuing. “You get, don’t you, that something else is going on here? All three of us have been getting Called repeatedly for a while now. I thought it was only me, but it was the others as well. And the thing with Paola… It could have been a coincidence. Maybe she was tired and made a mistake. But it could all be part of a bigger picture—a picture where the Seers are painted as victims.”

Tomasso waves his hands in dismissal and rolls his eyes like a teenager. Exasperated Vecchissime elder is a look I’m intimately familiar with.

“Fairy tales, Rosa. Paranoia. Yes, I have heard from the Agostinis, heard their reports of increased activity. And what happened to Paola is terrible. But have you yourself actually felt at risk? Felt like your life was under threat?”

I give the question some genuine thought. Yes, I’ve been exhausted and run ragged by the constant Calls. I have faced big vamps, strong vamps, and some really stupid vamps—but were any of them a true threat to me? Did I ever feel like any one of them could take me?

Not alone. And not without me making a huge mistake. The only time I felt a moment of terror was when Luca da Firenze held me to him, twisted my hair around his fist, and bared my throat while I lingered at the edge of orgasm instead of fighting him. That was one moment when my life hung in the balance.

“No,” I say to Tomasso. Luca is not something to be discussed in this room. “No, I could always cope—but clearly Paola couldn’t, and who’s to know that I won’t falter like she did. This is a situation, Tomasso, a bad one. Instead of nagging me to turn into a broodmare, maybe you should be looking at what’s going on and who’s behind it.”

His laugh is a joyless sound. “Oh, I will, tesorina. Believe me, I will.”

I’ve said what I came here to say. If we were different people, if we had a different relationship, maybe I would stay longer. If I had a different life altogether, maybe I would have a grandfather I could grab a coffee with and talk to about Luca. About Serena. About my life.

But we are who we are, and I learned long ago not to appear vulnerable in front of this man.

Without saying goodbye, I walk out of his office and out of the house, Pietro on my heels. He follows me out to my car and grabs my arm as I click the button on the key fob.

I shake him off. “What the fuck, Pietro? Why do you stay here with him? Why do you always take his side?”