Chapter 13 - Garrett
Imust have walked a dozen circles around Piazza Centrale before finally turning away and heading back to the monastery. Each time I passed the door to the little apartment, I felt my hand twitching, as if it were ready to reach out and turn the knob whether I wanted to or not.
And if I were being honest, I definitely wanted to.
It took a level of self-control I wasn’t sure I possessed to finally grit my teeth and leave the square behind entirely, and as I walked home, I felt the continuous urge to turn around and run back to the apartment.
Flashes of possibility danced across the edges of my vision.
I imagined running back to the apartment, beating my fists against the door until she opened for me, pulling her face towards mine, knocking over one of those stupid plants as I pushed her against the wall, and…
A low curse escaped my lips as I stopped walking and looked around, wild-eyed and desperate, debating whether I should act on my fantasies. The few people in my immediate vicinity side-stepped me nervously, eyeing me up and down as they passed.
"Mi scusi," I apologized under my breath.
But thankfully, their skepticism acted like a bucket of cold water over my thoughts. I shook my head and drew in one long, deep breath.
Saving one of the monsters was one thing.
Fucking her was something else. While there was technically no rule against it, I was sure that that was simply because no one had ever imagined a scenario where a member of the Fratelli would ever be presented with the opportunity, let alone be tempted to act upon it.
In any case, like a half-wild horse pulling unwillingly against a metal bit, I turned around once more, placed my hands in my pockets, and began walking, trying to think of literally anything to keep my mind off Marella and what appeared to be the most perfect set of breasts I could have ever imagined…
I shook the image from my mind.
Chicago. I should remember Chicago. Remember what brought me here in the first place.
Regardless of how much I desperately wanted to forget the series of events that led to me uprooting my life, moving to Italy, and joining the Fratelli, I decided that between that and becoming visibly aroused in public, I’d choose the unpleasant memories.
I saw my ex-girlfriend, eyes filled with tears as she stood in the tiny kitchen of our tiny apartment with suitcases at her feet.
I feel like I don’t know you anymore.
I saw my old boss, frowning between me and his computer screen while reading my "below expectations" employee evaluation record.
I can see that you have potential, Garrett. I just don’t know how to motivate you.
I saw myself, staring at a cardboard box filled with office paraphernalia, sitting alone in an apartment stripped of decoration, sipping red wine directly from the bottle while an endless stream of YouTube videos played in the background.
I don’t know how to make myself care about anything.
I remembered the opening lines of a video that played through the darkness of my dining room at three in the morning, long after I’d stopped paying attention but before I could fully pass out.
"Did you know that there’s an ancient group of monster hunters in Rossaia, Italy? And they’ll sponsor a work visa for anyone who volunteers to join them…"
I let myself ruminate on the months of bureaucracy and consulate appointments, of paperwork, emails, and phone calls that followed as I filled out the surprisingly easy-to-find application on a whim.
Despite the fact that most people thought the Fratelli were simply an ancient order of—let’s be honest—nutcases akin to the Bigfoot hunters in the Pacific Northwest, they were apparently recognized as a legitimate organization.
And while I received more than a few chuckles and eye rolls from government employees throughout the process, no one questioned the validity of my employment.
"Garrett."
I found myself wondering about how much the Italian government actually knew about the Fratelli and their—our—activities.
"Garrett!"
Surely, if they were willing to fast-track work visas for new members, they must know something about the reality of Rossaia’s monster problem…
"GARRETT!"
But if that were the case, wouldn’t there be more talk of the truth in the general public?
Officially, the job for which I was hired was not "monster hunter," and I knew that the Fratelli did not call themselves such on official documents (we were considered some sort of missionary operation). But our work was also treated as an open secret among the people of Rossaia. In the brief time I’d been in the city, I’d experienced everything from respect to outright derision, and even a few instances of amused admiration from tourists who wanted photographs.
We were left to clean up an ancient problem for the country, while those in charge acted as though we were the crazy ones.
"GARRETT!"
I nearly screamed as a heavy hand came down upon my shoulder from behind, and as I wheeled around, I found Lucas staring at me with open confusion and a little amusement.
He raised his eyebrows and cocked his head. "A bit distracted, are we?" he asked, leaning around me to open the door beside me with a key from his pocket. It was only then that I realized I’d wandered all the way back to the monastery, and I’d been standing outside for several minutes.
"No," I replied hastily, following him through the heavy door.
His only response was a derisive snort.
We were silent as we made our way through the mezzanine and into the elevator. It was obvious that he had questions for me, but neither of us was stupid enough to bring up Marella in a communal space; the Fratelli had this place far too covered by cameras to risk conversation.
I half hoped that he would leave me (and the subject in general) alone entirely.
But when we reached the dormitory level of the monastery, he followed me down the hall and to my room, crossing his arms as I unlocked the door, then practically shoving me into the small space before slamming it shut behind us.
"Garrett," he repeated. "What the fuck, man?"
I sighed and let myself fall onto the bed, running my fingers through my hair.
A part of me debated outright lying to him; there was no way for Lucas to know for sure who—or what—Marella was.
I could simply say that I knew her from somewhere else, maybe from back home, and hope that he would let it go…
But a bigger part of me knew that Lucas was smarter than that. And if I wanted any chance of convincing him to not immediately run to Fratelli leadership and report me, I’d have to respect him enough to be honest.
"She saved my life, Lucas," I whispered, keeping my eyes trained on the points of his shiny shoes. "She’s the one who stopped those guys from beating me to death."
He was quiet for a long moment, the heavy sound of his breathing filling the room.
Finally, I looked up. He was studying me with a deep frown, nostrils flaring as if warring between anger and pity.
"I think we might be wrong about them," I continued. If I was going to bury myself, I may as well do it thoroughly. "I don’t think that they’re the monsters we think they are. I mean, they’re definitely bloodsuckers. But—"
"But they’ve been cursed to drink blood by the Stone Witch?"
I jerked my head up so that we were once again eye to eye, mouth falling open. That fact was absolutely not part of the Fratelli’s training or core belief system.
"You know?"
He didn’t break eye contact with me as he nodded his head. "I met one of them once," he said slowly, like he was second-guessing every word before letting it spill from his lips. "Decades ago now. I can’t even remember her name. We… were close. Briefly, at least."
I felt myself frowning, and he must have seen something on my face, because he laughed before continuing. "Don’t worry. It wasn’t your girl. This one had long, blonde hair and, if I’m being honest, seemed far less frightening than the woman we met today."
"She’s not my girl," I argued feebly, but he waved me off.
"I found her feeding on a man in a back alley one night, probably thirty years ago now. I was still relatively new to the job, and I’d been left alone for the first time.
It was only my naiveté that prevented me from killing her on the spot.
I pulled my knife and approached her, but when I got close, she laughed at me and told me that the man had just tried to kidnap a little girl from her home through a bedroom window.
"I didn’t believe her at first, but she led me around a corner to a ground-level apartment.
A window was cracked, and inside, I could barely make out the form of a young child sleeping peacefully in her bed.
She asked if I would have preferred that she let the pedophile live, and when I said no, she laughed again and walked away. "
Lucas was staring off into the distance as he spoke, as if recalling a fond, far-away memory.
"I suppose I could still have done my job. Or I could have walked away. But I followed her as she left the alley. I told her it was to ensure she didn’t kill anyone else, but I’m sure she knew that I was full of shit.
"The next month, while on patrol, I went looking specifically for her. I felt guilty for letting her get away, and I thought I was ready to kill her this time. Somehow, I found her just before sunrise. She laughed when she saw me standing there with my knife, then walked right past me without hesitating, as if she knew I wouldn’t be able to stab her. And she was right.
"After that, she and I would find each other every month. She told me the same story that I’m sure your girl told you. And I tried, for a while, to help her find a way to break the curse. She was sure that there must be a way."
His face grew suddenly hard. "And then a member of the Fratelli was killed. A man named Robert. I wasn’t sure if it was her or one of the others, but I blamed her anyway.
She told me that he had drunkenly attacked someone at a bar, that whichever one of them had killed him had done so in pursuit of justice.
But I knew Robert. I knew that he would never do something like that. "
Lucas studied his hands for a long moment.
"That night, I tried to kill her. I pulled out my knife and swung it at her.
I never came close, of course—she was much faster than me.
But I think she could tell I was serious.
Thankfully, instead of reciprocating, she simply ran away. And I never saw her again."
I let the silence sit, still and heavy in the room as he finished his story, both of us barely breathing. How could I even begin to speak again?
"There’s a way to break the curse?" I asked finally, clinging to the one piece of information I was comfortable acknowledging.
Looking up at me again, Lucas nodded. "We—I think so. It was really difficult to find, but I think we were getting close when… everything changed. There are books in the Basilica’s library, ancient books, that discuss the Stone Witch. And her weaknesses."
I felt my breath catch behind my ribs. "And those are?"
"From what I was able to find, she thrives on… well, drought. She’s not necessarily killed by water—this isn’t a ‘Wicked Witch of the West’ scenario.
But she certainly does what she can to dry up any city she visits.
And I’m fairly confident that it was her suggestion to remove the canals from Rossaia in the first place, although history would never admit that a woman was responsible. "
"Do you remember the names of any of those books?" I asked, mind racing a million miles per hour. "Or has it been too long?"
The corner of his mouth twitched up in a slow, regretful smile.
"It hasn’t been long at all," he admitted quietly. "I re-read them at least once every month. I know it’s probably far too late for us—I’ve aged significantly, and she is essentially immortal.
But part of me thinks that if I can break the curse, maybe I can atone for trying to kill her all those years ago. "
His voice grew quiet as he finished speaking, eyes staring at a point in the distance I couldn’t see, drifting over some far-off memory.
I nodded before standing up again. "Want some help?"