“Diamantea,” Simon said under his breath.

  I held back a smile. Sophìa herself had been imprisoned in a cage made of the divine stone.

  “No,” Sophìa said. “I have something better. Something more powerful.” She opened her palm, showing us a tiny black crystal. I recognized it instantly. It was carbonado, the substance from Hell. She clasped it in her fist and the prism lengthened into a sharp stick that unfolded and changed shape, transforming in seconds into a cage of black diamond, impregnable and lethal. “Be careful, Subterraneans, not to cut yourselves on it unless you wish to pay us a visit in Hell. In that case, you are always welcome.” She turned and winked at Simon. “The cage will deprive the Twins of all their powers. Including immortality.” She smiled, her eyes flashing blue.

  “We can’t kill them,” Simon spoke up, to calm Evan’s anger. “Others would come. We can’t risk it.”

  “In that case I will accept them as a gift when Naiad is safe . . . at my side.” She fixed a sly smile on me before vanishing into the darkness.

  “At least she was useful,” Evan said sardonically.

  “It was forged from Sophìa’s venom, Simon. Don’t touch it!” Ginevra warned, seeing that he’d moved closer to it than he should have. In the middle of the living room, the bars of the big black cage twisted like serpents, forming an intricate lattice that blocked much of the view of the inside.

  “How do we move it?” I asked shyly, but no one answered. “You don’t mean to leave it here, do you?”

  “Why not?” Evan joked. “It’s not bad. It goes with the rest of the furniture.”

  “Except that, unlike the rest of the furniture, it can kill you,” Ginevra shot back.

  “That would be such a loss . . .” Devina goaded him.

  I glared at her, knowing she couldn’t help but hope Evan cut himself on its poisoned edges, because if he did he would return to her in Hell. “Go lick your tail, you ugly bitch,” I snarled at her.

  Standing behind me, Evan rested his hands on my shoulders to calm me. Devina moved her face close to mine. “Or I could lick him,” she whispered, touching my ear with her tongue. “He liked it so much last time . . .” Black rage boiled up within me and the light in the living room exploded.

  Evan leaned over me and held me tight. “Shh . . .” he murmured in my hair. “Don’t listen to her. Breathe.” His soothing voice managed to keep the darkness from suffocating me.

  Devina’s eyes were locked on mine, the trace of a smile on her lips. “I wish I could transform right now just so I could tear you to shreds,” I hissed at her.

  “We’ll see who you want to tear to shreds once you’re one of us. My bet is I’ll be your best friend.” Devina cast a sly glance at Evan. “What role will you play, Evan?”

  “That’s enough, Devina!” Ginevra warned her. “This isn’t a game. Get it through your head!”

  “No matter what happens, I’ll never play on your side, that’s for sure,” Evan told her contemptuously. Devina shrugged, pretending to let his remark slide. But it had been a fierce clash, and Evan hadn’t come out of it unscathed. I took his hand and he forced a smile. I knew that what he most feared about the transformation was the chance that I might hate him. But that could never happen . . . or could it?

  I wasn’t so sure any more.

  DANGEROUS NOSTALGIA

  After Sophìa had left us, Simon and Evan received execution orders and went off on their missions. Meanwhile, Ginevra went downstairs with the other Witches to check on the remaining prisoners and make sure none of them had attempted suicide. Lying on the couch with one arm over my eyes, I distractedly petted Irony. The big cage was still there in the middle of the living room. It was so strange, being there all alone in its presence. It emanated a strange energy, as though it weren’t just an object but a living being.

  I felt someone staring at me and opened my eyes. A large panther rested its muzzle on my cushion and let out a low, vibrant growl. I smiled. It was Anya. Her jade-green eyes stared at me, inches from my own. I moved my head closer and she rubbed hers against me, purring. Just a year earlier if someone had tried to tell me something like that could happen I would have called them crazy. Instead, I was face to face with a large panther . . . and I loved her so. Recently my bond with Anya had grown stronger, partly because we’d been living together. It felt like I’d always known her. She nudged Irony over with her muzzle and curled up at the foot of the couch to guard me, though it wasn’t necessary. The Deva twins had escaped, but they wouldn’t attack me at our house. For a long time I stared at the cage, attracted by its power. How could a simple object be powerful enough to stop two immortal beings? Without realizing it, I had moved closer, driven by the urge to feel it beneath my fingers. I could sense Sophìa’s power flowing though the carbonado and was drawn to it—helplessly.

  I raised a hand to touch it and my fingers cautiously traced the curves of the bars. I could feel the blood racing beneath my skin. I took a deep breath, overwhelmed by the intensity of the energy, loving the sensation of strength it created in me. All at once the black stone came to life, slithering at my touch like serpents in a dark dance. The cage door opened and I held my breath, eager to enter it.

  “What are you doing?” Ginevra burst into the room and I took a step back.

  “Nothing,” I said defensively. “Just admiring the cage.”

  Ginevra’s face darkened and she glanced at the panther, secretly communicating with her. “We’d better take it down,” she finally murmured to herself. “You know, it might be dangerous . . . for Evan and Simon.” I don’t know what kind of power it might have over her.

  “Don’t lie, Gwen. I heard you,” I said.

  “Your powers are growing stronger.”

  “It’s inevitable, with all these Witches around.”

  Ginevra wrapped her hand around one of the carbonado bars and the cage folded up, collapsing into a prism of black diamond.

  “How will it happen?” I asked her point-blank. I didn’t need to say anything else for her to understand that I was referring to my transformation. “Will I have to . . . die?”

  Anya leapt off the couch and left us alone. Ginevra smiled. “No, Gemma. That’s not going to happen.” I followed her up the stairs and into her room. “Our bodies don’t die like a Subterranean’s. They transform. It’ll be a rebirth. The venom will flow through your veins, making your body stronger. Invincible. You’ll have full power over yourself and your senses. And the energy that now controls you will become part of you. You’ll be in control of it.”

  I sat down on her bed. “Will the others notice anything different? My parents, Peter . . . ?” I didn’t want the change to take away my old life and the people I cared about.

  “They’ll all see you in a new light. No one will be able to say no to you any more. Your charm will dazzle them. There are four different kinds of pheromones and the Witches control them all. You’ll have sway over mortals . . . and all the Subterraneans.”

  That was what unsettled me the most. “Gwen, do you think the love between Evan and me is tainted by my power?” It was clear there was a very specific explanation for the wild attraction I’d felt for Evan the first time I saw him—I just hadn’t realized it yet.

  “The feelings Evan has for you are pure, Gemma. You two didn’t fall in love because of your nature. I’ve never had any doubt about it, and neither should you.” When Evan had been in Hell, Devina had tried to convince him it was true. “Devina just wanted to separate him from you. That was her goal all along, but she never succeeded. The connection between you two doesn’t depend on what’s inside you—otherwise you would have felt the same thing for Simon, or for Drake. The same thing goes for Evan. He fell in love with your soul. I saw it. He was lost the moment he realized you were capable of seeing him. The only thing your power did was make it possible for you to meet.”

  I nodded, thankful for what she’d said. “Have you ever missed sleeping?”

  “Are you kidding? There are so many things to do and learn that I can’t even imagine wasting half my life doing nothing.”

  “Sleeping isn’t doing nothing,” I protested, getting a wink from her in response. “What else is going to change with my transformation?”

  “I’ll show you something you’ll like.” Ginevra raised her hand and a book flew into her palm. When she looked at it, it snapped open and the pages flipped over rapidly before her eyes, which now sparkled green. The book closed and she smiled at me. “Ask me what it’s about.”

  My jaw dropped. “Don’t tell me you—” She nodded. She’d read the entire book in seconds. “I’ve always wished I could do that—there are so many books out there!”

  She looked at me affectionately and then grew serious, finally answering my question. “Lots of things will change with the transformation. Your skin will become impenetrable. Nothing will be able to scratch you—nothing human, at least. Your senses will sharpen, you’ll smell more smells, hear more sounds, taste more tastes. You’ll have a powerful relationship with food.”

  “More powerful than it already is?”

  “Actually, I wouldn’t count on it.” She laughed. “Anyway, whatever substance you put into your body after the transformation will be burned off by the venom in your blood.” Ginevra gazed at me. “And then, the powers, obviously. And your eyes . . .”

  “What’s going to happen to my eyes?”

  “They’ll still be the same, but they’ll have a sparkle no one can resist. And whenever the power flows inside you, your pupils will lengthen, showing the animal souls that rule within you: the panther and your Dakor.”

  When the power possessed the Witches, their eyes glinted with energy like molten metal and their pupils took on the threatening shape of panthers’ pupils or the lethal ones of venomous snakes. My eyes would transform like that too. The thought made me tremble, yet part of me was secretly excited.

  “Tell me about the powers.” What will it be like to be able to read anyone’s mind at any time? I wondered.

  “It’s not always fun to know what people are thinking. It can be frustrating sometimes.”

  “You can’t really believe that.”

  “Sure I can. You have no idea what it’s like, hearing every thought, knowing every emotion of the people around you, even people who mean a lot to you.”

  “I thought it was the coolest part of all.”

  “No, it isn’t. Everyone has something they’d rather keep to themselves, even out of politeness.” A bitter smile escaped Ginevra. “But with me around, no one can do it. When you have an argument with someone you can decide to keep the nasty remarks to yourself, but you can’t control your thoughts. And sometimes you don’t want to hear them because they hurt more than words—they go straight to your heart.” She sighed and sat down beside me. “I won’t lie to you, Gemma. I don’t want to tell you I don’t like what I am, that you should stay away from my world and renounce your nature, because that’s not how I feel. My connection to you is strong, and if the possibility you’ll be able to transform without leaving us turns out to be true, then I couldn’t be happier. But I don’t want to lose you, Gemma, and the risk of that is high. The powers and everything else are extraordinary, but there’s also a dark side you’ll have to reckon with. Witches are spellbinding creatures who awaken the evil in every human on Earth. Sooner or later everyone faces their Temptation, and Witches are lying in wait, ready to creep into their consciences. They instill doubts, feed insecurities, pull out the dark side lurking in each mortal. They’re corruptors of Souls. Some mortals, the weaker ones, can’t resist, and the Witches work on them slowly. Others, the ones who are already too corrupt, are taken at once.”

  “I thought it was the Màsala who determined the time allotted to each mortal. Do Witches work on Death’s behalf too?”

  “Of course. If a Soul is corrupt, a Subterranean isn’t assigned to it. The Witches decide how and when to deal with it, and it dies by the Witches’ hand. Death has two faces: Subterraneans bring Radiant Death with them; Witches are Dark Death. The difference is that for the Children of Eve, killing and ferrying Souls is a duty while for the Witches it’s a pleasure. Gemma, you can’t let yourself be dazzled by the desire for powers, even if it’s difficult to resist. I have to admit I would never want to be a normal person, but only because I’ve already won my battle against the darkness. For me the worst is over, but you still have a world of challenges to face. I would give up my powers if it was enough to guarantee your redemption.”

  “Oh, Gwen . . .” I hugged her tight and a tear streaked my face.

  Ginevra wiped it from my cheek and kissed me affectionately on the lips. A comforting warmth trembled in my heart. It wasn’t a kiss like Sophìa’s, which had been one of possession, brimming with erotic undertones—it was a kiss of love. “I’ll never let them hurt you.”

  “Thank you. Though I haven’t transformed yet, you’re a real Sister to me. You, Evan, and Simon are my whole world.”

  “Hey, don’t forget about the baby.” Ginevra stroked my belly and I smiled through my tears.

  “I never could. He’s a part of me.” The thought of the baby brought to mind a more disturbing one. “How are we going to capture the Deva twins?” I asked. “What powers do they have?”

  “We had our suspicions after they attacked you, but Devina confirmed it. As you know, all Subterraneans have powers that help them ferry mortal Souls and cause the natural death of their bodies. The twins have the power to paralyze. One of them can influence the muscles of the body and the other controls circulation. Generally one of them is enough to accomplish a mission, but—”

  “But for me they sent both,” I finished her sentence, and she nodded grimly.

  I understood now. One of them had paralyzed my muscles while the other worked on my circulatory system. I’d bled from my nose and ears. When Evan healed me once we were back home, he’d been particularly careful to check whether they had damaged my internal organs.

  “We’ll get them,” Ginevra reassured me. “We’ll come up with a plan tomorrow. But now you need to rest. You’re safe here—the house is protected. Take this.” She held out her hand and put something into my palm. “You can keep it if it’ll make you feel more at ease.”

  I opened my fist and stared in surprise at the black diamond. “Thanks. Though I already feel safe with all of you.”

  “Stay here in my room, if you want. I’m going down to have a snack. All this agitation has made me hungry. Want me to bring you something?”

  I smiled. To Ginevra any excuse was a good excuse to eat, and I was becoming more and more like her. “I’m fine, thanks.”

  “If you change your mind . . .” Ginevra winked at me and walked out the door.

  I got up from the bed. I would rather rest in Evan’s room, where I could smell his scent. In the hallway I almost screamed with fright when a panther leapt down in front of me. A red splotch stood out on her right paw. Devina. “Hey, carrot top. Next time use the stairs.” She bared her fangs and growled, the harsh noise echoing off the walls. I turned my back on her and walked toward Evan’s room. It was horrifying to think that if I transformed, my mind would be connected to Devina’s. I didn’t want to read her thoughts. If there was one person I hated most in the world, it was her. Not even Sophìa made me feel such deep hatred.

  Turning the knob on his bedroom door, a strange nostalgia suddenly gripped me. I hadn’t read Jane Eyre in months, and in the state of tension I was in, the thought that I could hide away in its yellowed pages was comforting. In the margins were notes I’d written when my life had been normal, when Witches, Heaven, and Hell existed only in novels.

  I kept walking. I missed my Rochester, especially now that Evan was gone. I climbed the narrow ladder that led to the attic, where Evan had stored all the things I’d brought from my parents’ house. I had no idea when he would be back from his mission. No matter how many crushes I’d had during my lifelong career as an avid reader, no book boyfriend could hold a candle to Evan, as far as I was concerned.

  With effort, I pushed open the wooden door in the ceiling, climbed through it and immediately turned on the yellow lightbulb hanging in the middle of the room. A gust of wind crept in through the round window. I shivered and hurried to close it. Outside it was dark and had started to snow. I rubbed my arms from the cold and examined the large storage boxes. I had so much stuff in there! I closed my eyes and let myself be enveloped by the smell of the books, the paper, the ink . . . the smell of stories. The most wonderful fragrance in the world. I knelt down and looked through a few of the boxes, reliving with a smile the memories the old books’ covers conjured up in me.

  Something behind me moved.

  I spun around, my heart leaping in my chest, but the attic was deserted and surprisingly eerie. I filled my lungs with courage. There was nothing for me to worry about. Kneeling down again, I went back to rummaging around and finally found the old Charlotte Brontë book when a sudden noise made me start. I jumped to my feet. Something was moving in the corner. A box. I fought the urge to flee and reached out to see what it was hiding.

  A gray squirrel chattered with fright and I let out the breath I’d been holding. “What are you doing up here, huh?” The squirrel hid in the corner, clawing the wall as though wanting to dig a hole in it. I reached out to pick it up and the window banged open, letting in a gust of snow.

  “Ow!” The squirrel bit me and I yanked my hand back. “Hey, what did I ever do to you?” I grumbled. The wind made the lightbulb sway on its cord, illuminating the squirrel’s face intermittently.

  I tried again, lowering my voice. “C’mere. I’m not going to hurt you.” I picked it up and found it was trembling. “Don’t worry, little fella. You know, when I was a little girl they used to call me Squirrelicue? Actually, they still do, though I can’t stand it.” I stroked its head and something dampened my fingers. When I stared at my trembling hand, my eyes went wide. It was blood. It wasn’t the finger it had bitten—there was too much of it. It was the squirrel, bleeding from the ears. Its gray fur was matted with red. I gagged as the squirrel squeaked in pain, and a terrible suspicion took root in me.