Chapter Nine

I wasn’t shocked to see Antonio waiting up for us when we crept into the kitchen.

“Ahh, there you are signorinas .” He pushed off from a low chair in front of the hearth and stood, rubbing his round gut. “So glad you safe. My wife, she no home from work yet.”

“Oh, okay,” I said, forcing a smile. “Hopefully, we can meet her tomorrow.” I thought about telling Antonio about the people who followed us, but I feared he’d become more protective if he knew.

“Hopefully,” he repeated, his voice dropping as his gaze drifted to the window above the kitchen sink.

“Well, we’re off to bed,” I said as I tugged Ethyl and Des toward the stairs.

“ Buona notte ,” he called to us.

“Goodnight,” I called back.

We hurried into our bedroom while ignoring the bleating and bouncing mattress spring sounds coming from one of the hallway doors. Just lovely. The horrific sounds of goat sex to enhance my nightmares. I hoped I fell asleep fast, not just so I could drown out the bleating, but this headache was worsening, and my healing spells weren’t cutting it.

I shut the bedroom door behind me, falling against it with a sigh. “That was close,” I said to Ethyl.

She took Puffy from Des and plopped onto the bed. “Too close.”

Des looked at me while crossing his ankles. “I have to pee.”

“Okay, Des.” I took his hand and, using my wand as a flashlight, walked with him to the bathroom. I let out a groan of frustration when the door was locked, and I could hear water running. How many satyrs were staying here? “Looks like the satyrs are in the bathroom.”

He made a face while bowing forward. “I have to go bad.”

“Alright. Alright. Let’s find another toilet.” I led him downstairs and didn’t see any doors other than the one that Antonio said led to his private living quarters. I didn’t want to bother them there, so I led Des toward a bush outside. It wasn’t ideal, but desperate times. I motioned toward the bush. “Go out here.”

Des gave me a look as if I’d just ordered him to kick a puppy. “Out here?”

“Sorry, buddy,” I answered. “We’re out of options.” I aimed my wand light at the bush, then turned my head. “I won’t look, and nobody else will see.” At least I hoped not. Antonio had a rather high brick wall encircling his property. The only way anyone would see was if they flew over the property. Hopefully, all witches had tucked away their broomsticks for the night.

I whispered a concealment spell, just in case any striga were flying by overhead. I was so proud of my boy the moment he unzipped his pants and peed into a bush. I knew that sounded weird, but you’d understand if you saw how many strides Des had made over the past few years. He hadn’t been fully potty trained until he was almost five due to fear of the flushing sound toilets made. Then for the next five years he’d only go in one particular bathroom. Goddess, the struggles we faced when we first moved into the condo. At one point, I had to drive him over to my ex’s house in the middle of the night, just so he could go number two in a toilet he trusted.

I removed the concealment spell and rubbed his back after he zipped up his pants. “Better?”

He nodded, then held out his hands as if they were covered in tar. “I need to wash.”

“Okay,” I said. “The satyrs should be finished by now. If not, we’ll use the kitchen sink.”

We had just turned to leave when we heard a banging sound coming from the old shed behind the house.

I froze, sharing a look with Des. “Do you hear that?”

Des waved at the shed. “Shoo!”

“What are you shooing?” I asked. “Gnomes?” Goddess, don’t tell me Antonio’s place was infested with gnomes. I wasn’t about to put up with goat turds and gnome droppings.

He tugged on my arm, pointing toward the shed as the banging grew louder. “No, shoo!”

“ Signorina , bambino . What are you doing out here?”

I spun around with a gasp, looking into Antonio’s hooded eyes. The banging stopped, and I had a strange feeling, as if all fresh air had been sucked from the garden, and that headache returned, morphing from a gnome with hammer to a troll with a power drill.

“Sorry.” I clutched my son’s arm. “Des had to pee, and the satyrs are in the bathroom.”

“Oh.” He motioned toward the house. “They out now.”

“Thank you.” I pulled on Des and hurried past Antonio.

No surprise there were more turd balls on the floor and floating in the toilet in addition to more goat pubes everywhere. Des made a face while washing his hands, acting as if the entire bathroom was infected with cooties. Those gnome-roaches were looking more and more appealing.

AFTER FRESHENING UP , I crawled into bed beside Ethyl, bemoaning my aching head. Ethyl was already asleep, her little nostrils flaring as she let out a snore that would rival a taurus in heat. Her dragon slept curled up in the opposite bed beside Des, rings of smoke pouring from his snout with each breath.

I stared up at a creaky ceiling fan while ruminating on the events from the past two days. Something was off about Antonio. I couldn’t quite place it, but his demeanor changed from cold and grumpy to warm and friendly at the drop of a wand. I thought about how I’d gravitated toward his car today, almost as if I’d been spellcast by his smile. And was it purely coincidence that migraine had started after meeting Antonio?

You’re under his spell, a little voice whispered in my subconscious.

Though I wanted to think I was being paranoid, this gnawing in my gut told me it wasn’t safe to fall asleep, so I got up and went to the bathroom once more, shocked to find blood on the toilet seat. What the heck were these satyrs up to? Then again, judging by the moaning sounds coming from their room, at least one of them was in heat. Either that, or they were into very rough foreplay. I did my best to get that visual out of my mind.

After finishing up, I crept down the stairs and into the kitchen while telling myself I wasn’t being nosey. I simply wanted a glass of water to go along with the full glass by my bedside. One could never have too much water.

Rows and rows of salami hung from hooks on the ceiling. They certainly liked their cured meats. Odd how there wasn’t a single pastry anywhere. Whoever heard of a bed-and-breakfast without pastries?

Succubi, an inner voice whispered to me.

For the first time I noticed there were no televisions or radios, and Antonio had already said there was no wi-fi. Succubi hated the static noise, or any noise for that matter.

I could almost hear Colin snickering in my head. You’re being paranoid, Luce.

Was I?

I checked the shelves for any sign of a biscotti or even a candy and found nothing. The fridge had just salami: No orange juice, no fresh fruit. Just meats. Salted meats.

I clutched my throat when I spied the flour and sugar canisters on the top cabinet shelf. Maybe they were planning on baking in the morning.

Using my wand, I quietly floated the sugar canister down to the table and opened the lid. I pinched a few granules between my fingers and dropped them on my tongue.

Salt!

Though my hand shook, I managed to replace the salt canister. Then I used the floating spell to move up the stairs as quickly as possible. By the time I softly shut our bedroom door, my mind was reeling.

We had to get out—now.

I tried to lock the door, but the latch was broken. How convenient. I floated the dresser until it was pressed up against the door. If Antonio came after us, at least the dresser would buy us some time.

I shook Ethyl awake, holding a finger to my lips when her eyes flew open. I leaned down and whispered into her ear. “Pack your things. Be quiet. They’re succubi.”

I slapped my hand over her mouth when she let out a gasp. I gently shook Des awake, and he quietly dressed as if he already knew what to do. We packed our suitcases using only the glow of my wand for light. I thought I heard something (possibly underwear) fall out of my suitcase and land behind the bed, but I had no time to look for it. I grabbed butterscotch candies from my purse, wondering why I hadn’t thought of them sooner, and made everyone take one. That fog in my head instantly started to clear, reinforcing my suspicion that they were succubi.

Ethyl clutched her pentagram necklace charm, her eyes wide with fear. “How do we get out of here without Antonio seeing?”

I nodded toward the outside door. “The terrace.”

We crept outside, and I floated everyone down. I was the last to go, Puffy fluttering behind me.

I grabbed our suitcases, motioning to Des. “Follow me.”

He tugged on my shirtsleeve, nodding toward the shed. “Shoo!”

“Not now, Des,” I hissed. “We have to go.”

He hung his head but thankfully followed me.

We were almost to the gate when car lights flashed on the other side. Ethyl let out a squeal, but I quickly concealed us with a masking spell just as the gate opened and a sedan pulled into the drive.

We pressed up against the wall as the sedan drove by us, the tires nearly running over my feet. I looked over my shoulder as we slipped out of the gate, noticing the older woman with a hook nose get out of the car, followed by three hooded figures who were all armed with wands.

They were here for us. Too bad for them we’d be long gone by the time they broke into our bedroom. I had no doubt the succubi were hunting us, just like they’d hunted my parents, but they would soon find out they’d messed with the wrong witch.

IF WE HADN’T HAD SO much luggage, we would’ve flown by broom to the hostel. Unfortunately, we had to walk ten blocks, especially since I no longer trusted the city’s cab drivers. The walk gave me time to suck on a few more candies and clear my head. I kept my wand at the ready, shooing away creepy vampires and shifters who tried to flirt with us. Some of them recognized Ethyl, which made things much worse, although aiming my wand at their crotches and threatening to shrink their balls was a good deterrent.

No surprise, the hostel was in the dregs of Rome. We passed rough-looking striga, some with missing eyes and others with mangy fur. And the succulent smells of roasting garlic and spun sugar were replaced with the scents of urine and mold.

The entrance to the hostel was below ground. I dug my nails into my wand as we walked down darkly-lit moss-covered stairs before heaving open the warped door that read ‘Single Female Striga and Accompanied Minors—No Sirens or Sailors.’

Every witch knew ‘Sirens or Sailors’ was a euphemism for loose witches. Apparently, some striga still lived in the Dark Ages, practicing the same morality of the puritans who’d once tried to hunt down and kill us.

We walked into a lobby that smelled like wet dog with a roof so low, it nearly scraped the top of my head. The ugly floral wallpaper was stained with what I hoped were water leaks. A three-legged chair beside the back wall tipped on its side as if it had fallen against the end table beside it. The magazines on the table were so faded, I could barely read the dates, though the girls with bell-bottoms and afros indicated they had been printed in the ’60s. I leaned against the front counter and rang a rusty bell. Then we waited, and waited, so I rang the bell again.

A woman’s curse echoed from the closed door behind the counter, and the door shoved open, revealing a gorgon with a scowl so deep, her eyes were practically crossing. And, no, unlike the popular husk myth, gorgons didn’t have fish tails and they didn’t turn us to stone when we looked at them. The rumor was fitting, though, since they were known for their stony expressions. Her pink cotton bathrobe and fluffy bunny slippers were a stark contrast to the dozens of snakes slithering around on her head. I backed up a step, pushing Des behind me when the snakes hissed at us.

“Whaaat?” she drawled before plopping on a stool behind the counter.

“Uhh,” I answered. “We’d like room and board.”

She gave us a dismissive nod. “Did you not read the sign? This hostel is only for single female striga.”

“And accompanied minors,” I added.

Her top lip curled back in a snarl as her snakes hissed louder. “How old is he?” she demanded while nodding toward Des.

“Twelve,” I answered. Though Des was sometimes mistaken for an older teen, he was simply tall for his age.

She thumbed toward the door. “There’s a single-men’s hostel down the street.”

My mouth fell open. “Are you serious? He’s too young to stay alone.”

She let out a snort before drinking from a flask that was tucked inside her robe. “Children aren’t pampered here like you soft American witches.”

Soft American witches? I squeezed Des’s arm. “I’m not parting with my son.”

She waved me off with a disinterested slur. “Then you can stay in a hotel.”

Ethyl tugged on my jacket, pulling me toward the stairs while whispering in my ear. “Can we afford a hotel?”

I shook my head. “Not without maxing out my credit card,” I answered in a strained whisper while also berating myself for not asking the ghosts for more money. Foolish me for expecting dead people to factor in inflation.

“What do we do?” she asked.

I tossed a glance over my shoulder, very aware that the gorgon and all her serpents were staring at us. “A persuasion spell.”

The color drained from her face. “That’s illegal.”

“I know.” I casually dug my hand into my purse and clutched my wand. “What choice do I have?”

Before I could stop him, Des pushed past us and walked straight to the counter.

“Please let me stay with my mama.” He clasped his hands in a prayer pose while getting within inches of the gorgon’s face. “Please.”

I grabbed Des’s shoulder, pulling him back before he was bit or worse.

The gorgon blinked at my son and then flashed a dazzling smile. “Of course, darling.”

What the heck?

I looked at my son as if seeing him for the first time. There was something different about him. Though I couldn’t see it, I felt the thrum of an invisible aura that pulsed off him in strong yet subtle waves.

Holy heck! He was enchanting her! I didn’t have time to question my son as the gorgon handed me a set of keys.

“Last door down on the left.” She pointed to a warped, spiral stairway that looked on the verge of collapsing. “It’s unoccupied and reserved for families, so you should have some privacy.”

“Thanks?” I took the keys, unable to keep the question from my voice. Then I grabbed my son’s hand and led him upstairs.

I nearly tripped over my own feet when I saw rows of missing striga posters plastered all over the walls, and most of them were satyrs.

A trill of dread raced up my spine as I thought of the satyrs staying with the succubi, and I prayed that the salami didn’t taste like goat.