Page 89 of Each Their Own Devil

“Will this bring you peace?” Nicolas asked. Aleja couldn’t parse the emotion in his voice or the flood of feeling rushing through their marriage bond. Like her reaction to Violet, it was both tender and dark at once.

WILL THE WARDS SURVIVE?

“Yes,” the Knowing One answered.

THEN ENSURE THAT I AM CONFINED TO THE BOOKS THAT THE LIBRARIANS HOARD IN THEIR MOUNTAINS.

“Don’t you have anything else to fucking say?” Aleja snapped, drawing the blade from her sash. If the Second felt the death magic rippling through it, he didn’t react.

I WOULD NEVER APOLOGIZE FOR THE GLORIOUS BEAST I HAVE TURNED YOU INTO, DEAR LADY OF WRATH.

“Do you want to do it?” she whispered to her husband.

“Please, do the honors,” Nicolas said.

Her bootsteps echoed off the stone floor as she stepped fully into the Second’s chamber. “Lower yourself,” she told him. “I want to reach your heart.”

The Second obeyed. His breath smelled of sulfur, smoke, and stone. For a moment, they were eye-to-eye, and she had to force herself not to squint into their scorching light.

If the Second had any last words, she wouldn’t let him speak them. The last thing on his lips would be her name.

Her hand didn’t tremble as she plunged the freezing blade into him.

Unlike the First, his body didn’t crumple. Instead, the darkness of his skin cracked, like black volcanic stone. Streaks of red and orange pulsed across his body. Aleja stared, mesmerized, until Nicolas pulled her back.

She didn’t look behind her to watch his body fall. She wouldn’t grant the Second the dignity of a witness. The body would be there later, for Val or some other intrepid Otherlander to study.

For now, she had bags to pack. Italy awaited.

At last, their chains had truly been broken.

The End

EPILOGUE

Enzo had never expectedthe black candle to work—not really. In fact, he had all but convinced himself not to light it after years of warnings from his grandmothers and the dozens of aunts and great-aunts who used to fill his family’s home outside Florence.

The story—like all old family stories—had a hundred different versions, all of which tended to spark muted monotone fights when spoken out loud. No, that detail was wrong—or it was Valentino, not Silvestri, who made the bargain. And the Knowing One had come in the form of a black jackal—no, a goat on its hind legs with a silver crown—no, a snake. Don’t be ridiculous; he always comes as a snake.

And yes, the devil had ensured that their family and their vast lemon groves had escaped wars, plagues, and economic disasters unscathed, but he had taken both their laughter and their tears in return.

Over time, people noticed that the De Lucas were…different. Despite their finery, their faces were always strangely blank. And what good was wealth if people crossed themselves when you passed? If mothers cried when their daughters married a De Luca man, knowing she would be taken care of for the rest of herlife, but understanding her husband could never show her true love?

For many years, Enzo hadn’t been sure himself—until he met Bianca. She was quiet, like him, and never quite knew when to laugh at the right moments, which was fine, considering Enzo couldn’t laugh at all. She had a distant look in her eyes that unsettled others, so she felt no great loss when the neighbors began avoiding her more than usual once she was on Enzo’s arm.

And the truth was, Enzo would have obeyed the stern warnings about lighting a black candle if Bianca’s biopsy results had come back differently. And perhaps he would have resisted even more if he hadn’t seen the couple at the museum where he volunteered.

The woman’s happy laughter had echoed through the room at the sight of the Botticelli, but her partner—a young man with a wild gray streak of hair at his left temple—had kept his eyes on her the entire time. Even as they engaged in a fond debate about the painting, his fingers threaded lovingly through the ends of her long, dark-red hair.

But like him and Bianca, they seemed strangely separate from the world—in it, but not part of it. A society of two and a bitter reminder of the life Enzo was about to be robbed of. So, on his way home from his volunteer shift, he stopped by a bodega and bought a black candle and a box of matches.

The Knowing One could take the damn lemon grove—famous now for its fruit that shone like gold and tasted of warm wind, the hum of bees, and the happiness of childhood summers. When the candle flickered to life and the room grew hot, Enzo wasn’t entirely surprised to find the dark-haired man and his lover standing before him, both cast in reddish light. And though Enzo knew he ought to be afraid, fear wasn’t generally an emotion the De Lucas were capable of.

“A De Luca,” the devil said, with a hint of cruel delight. “It’s been decades since one of you was brave enough to call for me again.”

Don’t speak more than you need to, Enzo reminded himself.The devil will twist your every word.

“I have called you to bargain for the health of my fiancé, Bianca Mancini. You will free her from disease and ensure a long, happy life. In exchange, you can have my family’s lemon groves and our fortune along with them,” he said quickly.

The Knowing One exchanged a glance with the woman, as if sharing a long, silent conversation. When her eyes returned to Enzo, they blazed like fire.

“A decent bargain,” the Knowing One said. “But I have come to offer a different proposal. Tell me, Enzo, what have you been told about what it takes to become a Dark Saint?”