“Doesn’t he know you can get computer programs for that these days?” Pietro says, fingers flying over the keyboard. His hair is flopped over his face, and he looks every inch the geeky little brother I used to know and love. Except he’s not, and I’m unsure if he ever will be again. It’s like the tectonic plates of my life have shifted. Although I’ve gained Luca, I’ve lost so much. I’m dizzy, off-balance. Hungry, I realize, looking forward to my ice cream.
“Well, the Don was born, like, a gazillion years ago.” Matteo replies. “He thinks using a cell phone makes him a tech wizard. He’ll be happier with his poking sticks. But it does mean that things are shifting. We need to get there and let him know we’re still on his side, that we’re still loyal—even if we’re not. Because, well, he gets kind of unpredictable when he suspects people are betraying him.”
Ha, I think, getting up to pour myself a coffee. I know exactly how he feels.
We sit and chat, the occasional scream from the basement punctuating our conversation, until Matteo’s phone pings with an incoming message. He tells us she’s here and heads to the control room. She must have been here enough times to know not to knock or press the doorbell and set Moonface off.
“I’m excited,” whispers Donatella, leaning toward me. “I don’t know many witches, do you?”
“No, not really,” I say. “I mean, I’ve come across the odd one at a farmers’ market or whatever and met a few during Vecchissime business. But socially? No.”
Witches tend to stick to themselves. They live in their covens, which are often like old-fashioned hippie communes, and on the whole, they mind their own. They are powerful—more powerful than the rest of us—but they keep to the sidelines. They seem to have zero interest in taking control. Which is probably a good thing, because they could if they wanted to. If the Grand Ball Sack had been the patriarch of a family of ancient witches instead of Vecchissime, the supernatural world would be in a lot more trouble.
When she walks into the room and is greeted with Moonface’s trademark enthusiasm, she is not at all what I expect. She’s tiny and whip thin, and her pixie cut shows off nice, even features. Everything about her is petite and perfectly ordinary.
I take a subtle inhale, holding my amulet in my fingers, and notice Donna doing the same.
She’s a witch, all right. I pick up the faint aroma of herbs, the vaguest whiff of incense. The underlying power, buried like a riverbed. Mainly, though, I pick up ice cream—delicious, gorgeous, orgasmic ice cream. I’ve totally lost track of time now, living as we are in a house where natural light is blacked out, but my body tells me it’s ice cream o’clock.
“Sounds like somebody’s having fun downstairs,” she says breezily, unpacking cartons on the kitchen counter. She ladles it into bowls and goes around the table passing them out, guessing each flavor correctly.
She sits down and rests the point of her tiny chin in her hands. She has a nice smile, and I feel incredibly drawn to her. Whether that’s a natural gravitation or a witchy superpower, I have no clue.
“Hi,” she says, grinning at me. “I’m Minerva. Minnie to my friends. You must be Rosa.”
I keep my expression neutral as I nod, but then I blow it by tasting the ice cream and letting out a moan.
“It’s good, isn’t it?” she asks, and we all agree. Her gaze lingers on Donatella. “Agostini Seer?”
“The very same. How’d you know?” my friend replies brightly. This is how she rolls, Donatella—she comes across as cute, fluffy, so very silly. Underneath, there’s a mind as sharp and tough as a pickax.
“I saw a picture of you in a magazine once. One of those glossy ones about people who have homes in the Hamptons and charter private jets to fly from, oh I don’t know, Cairo?”
“It sure is fun to be part of the one percent.” Donna winks. “Also useful. I take it you’re fully clued up on what’s been going on?”
“Oh, fully,” says Minnie, turning her eyes to Pietro, her mouth now a thin line. She knows, obviously. I feel a flurry of discomfort at being discussed behind my back, but I clamp it down. Luca wouldn’t do anything to compromise me, and if he told his vampire bestie and their witch buddy what happened, it’s because he felt they needed to know.
Pietro still hasn’t touched his ice cream, and his face is red as he carries on with his work.
“So,” Minnie says, turning away and laying her hands flat on the table, “as you know, Vincenzo’s stepping things up. He has more soldiers in, and some of them aren’t even vamps. I smelled a few shifters stinking up the place and caught the scent of another witch. Male, powerful but young. This isn’t normal behavior for a Cosca Don, especially not Vincenzo. They’re usually all, ‘oooh, feel our mystery, feel our history, feel how special and menacing we are.’ You know?”
I laugh at her tone, which perfectly captures the pompous and deferential way I’ve heard Luca talk about his Don. These guys take themselves far too seriously.
Just then, the man himself walks through the door. He’s obviously gotten cleaned up, put on a fresh T-shirt, pulled the gobs of flesh from his hair. Vampire grooming 101.
He pauses, and something flickers across his face when he sees Minnie—not anger exactly, but he’s not pleased to see her. I have no idea if anyone else picks up on it. Maybe I’m especially attuned to his expressions, but it’s gone as quickly as it came.
“Chocolate chip,” Minnie says, pointing to a bowl in front of an empty chair. He sits where she indicates but doesn’t touch it.
“Minnie was just updating us, Boss,” Matteo says, holding his spoon down for Moonface to lick clean. “Vincenzo has been bringing in troops. You need to let him know whose side we’re on, even if it’s a lie.”
“I have,” Luca replies, pushing his hands through his damp hair. “Messaged him earlier. Told him I’m coming in at midnight. Told him I have the Seer and a high-value hostage. It looks like a piece of shit to me, but the Grand Ball Sack might want it back.” He glares at Pietro, who gives him the finger without looking up from his laptop. I’m not sure how much I like the idea of my brother being used as bait, but it doesn’t seem to bother him.
Luca glances at Minnie. “So troops are coming in? Soldiers from out of town?”
She nods and tells him what she explained to us earlier.
“Right. He’s getting ready for war,” Luca mutters, frowning as he thinks it through.
