Page 82 of Search for the Lost

“That’s the chorus. I don’t know the rest of the words.”

Dave gave an insistent mouse-WOLF bark and pointed his nose down an unlit alley.

Leo didn’t want to go down there. From the looks of them, neither did Dietrich or Aspin, and Crispin seemed a little uncertain as well. But when Minkis darted into the darkness, the rest of them had to follow.

The music grew louder as they progressed, which was probably just as well. With so little light, Leo couldn’t see a thing; and without the song to guide them, he might have walked in circles or crashed into a building. Which he almost did anyway when the alley took a sudden turn.

Finally. Light. It came from an old-fashioned sign, with neon piping outlining the words Nonna Strega’s in red, white, and green. The stucco building had a tricolored fabric awning over the entrance and a few little tables with chairs out front. Osteria was painted on the awning, along with a few other words that were too faded to read. Big pots held some kind of lush vines that snaked all the way up the wall, and over the awning, their purple flowers filling the air with a strong, sweet scent. The tables were unoccupied.

“In there?” Crispin asked Dave, sounding slightly doubtful. Dave, however, squeaked his insistence, so Crispin opened the door and led the way….

Into an Italian restaurant. A really kitschy one, with black-and-white checked floor; walls covered in framed, autographed photos of celebrities who Leo had never heard of; and tables with red-checked tablecloths and chianti-bottle candlesticks with the wax melted down their sides. Nobody except their party was in the room, but the cheesy music continued to play in the background.

When Leo inhaled, he smelled garlic and bread and tomato sauce. “I’m starving,” he said, rubbing his stomach. When had he eaten last? There was something familiar about this place, although he couldn’t figure out what it was. He certainly hadn’t visited here during that family trip to Kansas City.

“Hello?” Crispin called. “Is anyone here?”

Minkis wandered over to one of the tables, grabbed a breadstick from a ceramic holder, and began gnawing on it. Cypher started inspecting the photographs. Dietrich found a wine bottle somewhere, uncorked it with a tool he apparently kept in his pocket, and started swigging. Dave squeaked until Leo tucked him into his pocket with the rest of the pack. Aspin waited, hands on hips.

Crispin called again, louder this time. “Hello! Hello!”

An older woman waddled through an arched doorway that Leo hadn’t previously noticed. “So impatient!” she scolded. She was short and plump, her gray hair trimmed close. She wore a rather fetching gray and white cotton dress with pink flowers, a white apron, and black sandals, and she was smiling as if she’d been waiting for them.

“Sit down, sit down,” she ordered, waving her arms at one of the tables. “Antipasto coming up.”

“But who are—” Crispin began.

“Sit!”

So they did. Even Minkis, who was still nibbling on his breadstick. The woman looked impatient until everyone had settled a white cloth napkin onto their laps, at which point she filled water glasses from a clay pitcher. “Antipasto,” she said again before disappearing through the doorway.

“She doesn’t look like a witch,” Leo said quietly to Crispin, who was sitting beside him.

“What do they look like?”

“Uh, black dress, pointy black hat, green skin, sharp nose. Striped stockings. Unless they’re a good witch. Then it’s a big sparkly pink princess dress with, like, a really wide bustle or layers of petticoats or something. And a crown. Oh, and a magick wand.”

Crispin was staring at him. “That’s very specific.”

Before Leo could explain, the woman appeared with an enormous tray, which she set on the table. It was piled high with olives, pickled veggies, pieces of cheese, and thinly sliced meats. It looked and smelled delicious.

“Mangiate pure!” she said. “The primo piatto will come soon.” Again, she hurried off.

Dietrich reached for the tray, but Cypher slapped his hand away. “Don’t, you fool! What if she’s trying to poison us?”

“Why would the nice lady do that?”

Cypher huffed. “Because she’s a witch.”

“Are we certain about that? Maybe she’s a good witch.” Dietrich reached again, this time avoiding Cypher and managing to grab a handful of prosciutto, which he immediately stuffed into his mouth. He didn’t immediately die.

Leo really wanted some of that food, but he was also preoccupied. He turned to Crispin and spoke barely above a whisper. “What if she is a good witch? Or, I mean, even if she’s a bad one? We can’t just murder her in cold blood.” He was pretty sure she was the bad kind—she certainly wasn’t dressed in pink ruffles.

“I know.” With a troubled expression, Crispin popped a green olive into his mouth.

“I mean, aside from the moral implications, we don’t have a house to drop on her. I guess we could try dousing her with water from the pitcher, but that feels… iffy?”

Crispin displayed one of his patented Crispy Faces, the one that meant he didn’t really understand what Leo was talking about but was going to humor him anyway. During their time together, Crispin had also experienced character growth, including increased levels of patience with his lover.