Chapter 22 Orfeo
Orfeo
Diantha stays under the porch light, arms crossed over her chest and tired eyes tracking us as I lead Leo and Misha into the forest.
“She thinks she’s not ready,” Misha says softly, once we’re out of earshot.
I take a long draw of my cigarette, then flick at the filter. “Her anxiety is…it is oppressive in my body.”
“She’s a fucking demi-goddess, she just hasn’t seen that part of herself yet,” Leo says, obviously irritated with our need for small talk. He spins around and pokes a finger into my chest. “Don’t let her fear take hold in your brain.”
I suck my teeth at him. “Ma per favore. I know well enough which feelings are mine and which are hers.”
“You say that now. Of course it’s easy when we’re standing around and she’s right there, looking at you. But when we’re in the fucking thick of it and someone has a stake to your chest? Do not. Fucking. Choke.”
I narrow my eyes at Leo. “Inspiring. I’ve never felt better.”
“Seriously, big guy.” Misha claps him on his mid-back, since neither of us is quite tall enough to reach his shoulder. “Trust our favorite Roman vamp. He’s gotten this far.”
Leo extracts a leather pouch from his back pocket, handing it over. “This is her weapon. Be careful.”
I nod, taking the satchel and tucking it into my own pocket. “Got it.”
“Your family will be here tomorrow.”
“I won’t allow myself to think about it.”
“Orfy.” Misha smiles, pinching my cheek. “You’re a little too sweet to be a vampire, aren’t you?”
“He’s going to give us all diabetes,” Leo says, pushing one of his bulky fists into my shoulder. “Try to save some energy for tomorrow, and leave a bit of blood in her veins, okay?”
“Goodbye, you foolish deadmen,” I call after them, an involuntary and unwanted smile pulling at my lips.
Misha tilts her head back and cackles. “Goodbye, lover boy!” Her voice echoes over the treetops and a murder of crows caw in response.
When I return to the front porch, I find Diantha sitting on the first step, her head buried in her arms.
“Mamma mia,” I drawl, shoving my hands in my pockets. “I leave you alone for a minute and you have fallen apart.”
She groans, lifting her head from her knees. “I’m not going to be able to sleep tonight. I need to do more research.”
“Nonsense.” I reach for her hand and pull her to her feet. “You need to rest.” Like this, she is a few inches taller than me. I enjoy the vantage point, the way her hair swings forward, like curtains closing around us, as her arms rest comfortably around my neck.
“No, I need to focus on memorizing the spellwork Leo gave me—”
I capture her mouth with mine, looping my arms around her waist and easing her down beside me, letting her body slide against mine. She slackens in my arms, fingers curling into the front of my jacket. When I pull away, I keep my forehead pressed to hers.
“Listen to me,” I whisper against her cool, damp skin. “In twenty-four hours, we will be free. Your mother’s blood debt will be resolved and her soul will be at peace. That pressure in your chest will dissolve. You’ll sleep here, with me, safe and sound every night.”
“What about you?” she asks, tightening her grip on me. “What will happen to you?
“Allora…” I wrap her in my arms, pull her closer still. “I will never have to make another mojito again. I will fall asleep with my head on a Kookoomi pillowcase.
She swats at me, a small laugh bubbling out of her. “Kuromi, Orfeo. Her name is Kuromi.”
“I have already learned English, is that not enough? Why do you insist I also learn Japanese?”
Her laughter dissipates, but she clings to me.
I can feel her heart hammering against my chest. I can feel the dread that gongs inside her working its way through me, as well.
“What if someone gets hurt because of me? What if I forget the spell when I’m with Alfo? What if I trip or get lost in the—”
“Hey.” I take her face in my hands. “This is not an exam, Diantha. It is simply destiny.”
The next evening, as the final dredges of sunlight slip out of view, we pile into the back of an unmarked van and take a country road to the far side of the U of E campus. We ride mostly in tense silence.
Diantha only tears her eyes away from the dull, sparse trees and dark sky to say, “I can’t believe Evie hasn’t texted me.”
I squeeze her hand, but I know this is no help. We’re both thinking it: something has happened to the sweet kitchen witch. It’s impossible to say what the rest of tonight will bring, but it is chilling to think perhaps we’ve already had our first casualty.
Leo parks the car on a gravel road hidden by fallen trees and overgrown brambles, and we follow a muddy desire line to a wide, circular clearing.
This exact forest floor is where I’ve watched others kneel before Alfo and take their oath of servitude. I’ve also watched some refuse. I wonder: if I were to dig the toe of my shoes into the dirt, would I find their bones?
As the sun dips below the hills and dispenses its last shocks of orange light, we form a circle in the clearing.
To my left, Misha shifts from foot to foot in her satin-lined cloak, hood drawn down over her face to protect her from the sun.
A silver sickle hangs in her gloved hand at her side.
Next to her, Leo chews his lip, an immovable wall of muscle in his bomber jacket and ridiculously white shoes.
His pistol is visible in its holster at his waist, loaded undoubtedly with pure silver bullets.
At my side, Diantha stands stock still in her red dress, a heavy wool jacket draped over her shoulders. Beautiful and fragile. Still a human woman. Her anxiety flutters deep inside my stomach, and I know she feels it one hundred times worse.
Leo checks his wristwatch. “They should be here in a moment.”
I reach for Diantha’s hand. Her palm is clammy, her fingers tremble between mine. “You’re certain they know where to meet us?” she asks, her voice straining under the weight of fear.
“They’re tracking your scent.” Leo lifts his eyes to meet her gaze. “Try to keep your vomit down until after the ceremony.”
Diantha cracks a smile. “That obvious?”
“You’re green, my love.” Misha gives her a consolatory look.
Suddenly, there’s rustling in the distant trees. At once, all of our heads whip around. Everything in my chest tightens, and I do not know if it’s my emotions or Diantha’s.
Heavy footfall echoes, along with branches crunching, twigs snapping.
Then, they break through the trees.
There he is. Davìd.
Small and lithe with his long, crooked nose. Tight black curls and preternaturally green eyes that glisten like seaglass in his light-brown face.
I break from the circle and, without thinking, I throw my arms around him.
My brother.
My best friend. In this life and the one before. We not only died for each other—we lived for each other. We stole for each other; we bet on each other; we tied each other’s limbs up with rubber bands and pressed needles into each other’s arms.
I squeeze him with all my might.
“Fratè,” he whispers against my skin and I feel his tears. Salty, damp, bloody tears.
I pull back and hold his face in my hands. How beautiful he is. I press my lips to his forehead over and over.
“Davìd.” His name hasn’t passed through my lips in five long years. “Fratello mio.”
We take many minutes to hold each other and cry, and no one interrupts. Finally, when we rejoin the circle, Davìd flashes his beautiful smile.
“This is Sofia.” He rests a hand on the young woman’s shoulder.
She fixes me with a terrifying blue-eyed stare.
“This is Diego.” The man behind him lifts two fingers as a hello.
“And Jacopo.” Jacopo barely nods his head to acknowledge us, but from the glimpse I manage to catch of his face, hidden under a ball cap brim, I know why: he used to be a demon.
A demon turned vampire. His mouth is small and lipless, his nose little more than two snake-like slits underneath bloodshot eyes.
The left side of his face is marked with deep, heavy scars from a wound that healed poorly.
Something tells me he is one hell of a fighter.
They join our circle as Misha begins dispensing salt from her pocket, encircling us as she mutters an incantation.
The protective circle seals and the din of ambient forest noise disappears.
Misha curls a finger toward Diantha, inviting her into the center of the circle.
There she lowers herself to the ground, pushing her hood back.
“Goddess of the eternal night, conqueror of sorrow, I take to my knees before you, humble and eager to serve you, to protect and to deliver in this sacred coven. Mighty Diantha, I lay my sword down before you, disavowing all other powers that work within me. I cast aside my alliance to Alfo and I embrace you, my empress of justice and punishment. Descendant of Hecate, daughter of Hades, I declare myself a willing disciple. In nomine proelium et nomine pax, in nomine mortem et vita.”
The tremor in Diantha’s hands has stilled. She reaches for Misha, pulling her to her feet and to her chest. The women embrace, and Misha whispers something in her ear. As they pull apart, I notice Misha dragging a finger beneath her eye.
It seems impossible to me that such a feared vampire could be crying. And yet.
She rejoins the circle and I take her place at Diantha’s feet.
Diantha immediately steps toward me, her cool finger resting on my jaw.
I can see it, smell it. Her power has already grown.
Misha is a powerful woman, but this change is unprecedented.
Diantha’s shoulders are pulled back, her skin glistens under the moonlight.
Her impenetrably dark, nearly black eyes have taken on a new hue.
The way onyx glints blue. The whirlwind of anxiety in my stomach is gone now.
Is it Misha’s pledge that has calmed her?
I want so badly to believe it is my hands on her.
I want to believe it’s the invisible bond that ties us together.
Here on my knees, I am reminded of the night in Hades House when I found myself between her thighs. Unable to control myself, I bring my hands to the backs of her knees, dragging them up and over the swell of her ass.
“My queen. My goddess.” I trace the curve of her waist, relishing the slip of the satin fabric beneath my fingers.
Those eyes tear into me, they heat my blood and turn my heart into a powerful machine, thudding against my ribs.
My dick grows stiff in my jeans. I don’t care who’s watching; I want to rip away the fabric of her dress and press my tongue to the heat of her core.
I want to pull her to the forest floor and devour her.
“Darling,” she whispers, a cloud of her arousal’s scent hanging heavy around us.
I press myself to her body, breathing in deep. “I lay my sword down before you. I disavow all other powers that work inside me. I pledge my mind, body, and soul to you. I declare myself your disciple, an archangel of your powers. In nomine proelium et nomine pax, mortem et vita.”
Diantha drags her tongue over her bottom lip, a flash of pink against the carnal shade of her red lipstick, and leans down. Her hair sweeps forward in a rush, tumbling over my body. “You,” she breathes against my lips, “better fucking kiss me.”
And since she is my queen, I oblige.