 
## **Contents**

Synopsis

Copyright

Acknowledgements

Title Page

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Book Two, Preview
The Toil and Trouble Trilogy, Book One  
by Val St. Crowe

The jettatori are male witches. They make and sell illegal magical charms. Their underground network controls the city, and it's boys' club—no women allowed.

Eighteen-year-old Olivia Calabrese is tough as nails. She not only wants in, she wants to be boss.

She's got the pedigree. Her father ran the crew until he was arrested and locked up.

She's got a secret weapon. Brice Ventresca—super powerful, super gorgeous.

Now all she has to do is survive the competition against her cousin and scrabble her way to the top.

Except her cousin's not playing fair. He whispers something to her that throws her off track. Says that her dead mother wasn't killed by stray bullets from the police, like she thought. It was a hit, one ordered by her father.

Now Olivia's determined to find out the truth.

And gorgeous Brice? Well, he's contracted a magical virus that makes him turn into a rage-filled monster every night at midnight.
THE TOIL AND TROUBLE TRILOGY, BOOK ONE  
© copyright 2011 by V. J. Chambers  
http://vjchambers.com  
Punk Rawk Books

Please do not copy or post this book in its entirety or in parts anywhere. You may, however, share the entire book with a friend by forwarding the entire file to them. (And I won't get mad.)

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I am indebted to my beta readers Stacey Wallace Benefiel and Kate Danley for their help in getting this manuscript into shape.

THE TOIL AND TROUBLE TRILOGY

BOOK ONE

BY VAL ST. CROWE

CHAPTER ONE

"Why'd you drop out of school, Calabrese?" asks Brice. He's lying on the bench inside the dugout of the community baseball field behind The Shakespeare Theatre. It is close to midnight. Hours ago, Brice and I were in the opening night performance of Macbeth . Most of the other members of the play are over twenty-one, and they have all abandoned the opening night party for bars. Brice and I have been drinking backstage for more than an hour. We have been drinking too much and too fast, but we don't realize this, because right now, it feels too good to be buzzed drunk in the night air.

I am sitting up, looking at the dark baseball field through the chain link fence around the dugout. "Family stuff."

School gets in the way. No one takes you seriously when you're always trying to do algebra homework. And I've been trying to convince the family that I'm serious about taking over the business while my dad's in jail.

"Too bad."

"Why? You sad you never got to ask me to prom?" I ask. Brice is one of those guys who really spreads it around. A real ladies' man. Player. Whatever you want to call it. Generally, I'd steer clear of him, but tonight, I need a distraction. And being seduced by Brice Ventresca is better than thinking about watching Joey Ercalono gasp on his own blood because my first shot didn't do the job properly.

Brice chuckles. "Maybe."

I snort. "Whatever. No one asks me out."

"Because they're afraid of your cousins," says Brice. "You're always walking around with half a dozen thugs. You think a guy doesn't get the message that if he gets within a foot of you, those guys will break his face?"

I look down at him. I haven't ever thought of that before. Maybe my cousins do scare off guys. "I just figured I was butt ugly."

Brice sits up a little bit to crack open another beer. "Yeah, that's part of the male gender's evil plan. We're in a conspiracy to convince all girls that they're unattractive. It makes it easier to get into their pants."

I shove him. "Asshole."

His beer spills. "Hey!"

I just laugh.

Brice pushes himself into a sitting position, rubbing at the beer that's spilled on his shirt. "You should apologize, you know."

"I'm sorry you're an asshole."

"Hey, fuck you, Calabrese."

I keep laughing.

Brice takes a big swig of his beer. "I was going to tell you that you were the farthest thing from butt ugly that I could imagine. But now that you've insulted me and spilled beer all over me, I don't think I will."

I open another beer too. "Well, that's sweet of you, Ventresca."

"Why don't you call me Brice?"

"Why don't you call me Olivia?"

He shrugs self-consciously. "Teachers at school always called you by your last name, I guess. Besides, it fits you. You're all tough and everything."

I start laughing again. "Oh, tough, huh? You know, Brice, I really expected you to be better at this, given your reputation and all."

He leans his head against the back of the dugout. "What are you talking about? Better at what?"

If I weren't so drunk, I'd be too embarrassed to say any of this. "At, you know, getting in my pants."

He sits straight up, and beer sloshes out of his can again. "That's what you think I'm trying to do?"

"You're not?" I feel disappointed but not mortified, the way I'd be if I were sober.

"No, back up." He sets his beer down. "You thought I was trying to put the moves on you, and you were cool with that?"

I shrug. "It's been a bad day."

Brice is staring at me. He doesn't say anything. He picks his beer up and takes a drink. Then he sets it on the ground. He scoots closer to me on the bench.

I can smell the beer on his breath. I tense up but don't move away.

Brice's arms come around me. It seems so natural the way one arm encircles my shoulders and his other hand settles on my waist. His face moves closer.

I slam my eyes shut. This is happening , I think drunkenly. This is actually happening.

Brice's lips are against mine. His tongue is in my mouth. It's nice. It makes me tingly. Tentatively, I move my tongue against his. Ooh. Nice. Even more tingles.

Abruptly, Brice pulls away. "What did you mean, my reputation?"

I struggle to even remember what he's talking about. My first kiss has dazed me. I've thought about kissing guys before. Sure I have. But if I'd known it was going to be that nice, I would have tried to make it happen before. Plus, I'm thinking, if I'm reading everything right, that all I had to do was tell Brice I wanted to, and he was all about it. Maybe this whole thing is way easier than I thought. I stare at him blankly. "Reputation?"

"You said I had a reputation. What are you talking about?"

Oh. Right. I did say that, didn't I? What does it matter? I just want Brice to kiss me again. "You know, you're Brice Ventresca. You're always with girls. You're like a player or whatever."

"I am not," says Brice. He picks his beer back up again. "I'm totally stupid with girls. I dated Megan Pettacia for like three years, and we only broke up like two months ago. And since then, I've only like..." He takes a drink of his beer. "Do you really want to have sex with me?"

I giggle. I can't help it. I am completely wrong about Brice. He's as clueless as I am. I hold up a finger. "That would probably be moving way too fast." My voice sounds slurred, I realize. I am drunk. Good. At least I'm not thinking about Joey Ercalono.

Brice nods. "Yeah, totally."

"After all, who wants to be the girl who had her first kiss and lost her virginity all in one night?" I drink some beer. I look at Brice. "Do you think that would be slutty?"

"Uh..." Brice shrugs.

"Do you want to kiss me again?"

"Definitely," says Brice. And he does.

This time, I pull him close to me. I am drunk, and I feel completely free. I don't worry about whether I'm doing it right or whether Brice will think I'm inexperienced. He knows I am. I have nothing to lose. The kiss makes me feel like I'm drowning in something warm and sweet. With my eyes closed, I don't know that I'm in the dugout. It feels like I'm swirling in outer space, like kissing Brice has transported me someplace perfect.

Brice puts his hand inside my shirt. I let him. It feels good, my skin going goose bumpy in response to his feather-light caresses. I lose myself in the sensation. If I'm doing this, I'm not thinking about Joey Ercalono's blank, glassy eyes, about the little bit of blood sliding out of the edge of his slack, open mouth. Now. Brice's mouth. Brice's hands. That is real. That is all I care about.

To push the thoughts of Joey even further away, I put my hand inside Brice's shirt too. He is warm and smooth. I can feel his muscles move under his skin. He gasps against my lips when I run my fingers over his ribs. I like the idea that I'm making him react.

Brice eases me back on the bench, so that I'm lying under him. I don't stop this either. Everything is tingles and warmth and excitement. My body feels taut, like something inside it wants to be released. I help him push my shirt up. I can't control my breathing when he puts his hands under my bra. It's too nice. Too good. I arch my back against the bench, wanting him to touch me more. He kisses my neck, my earlobe. A moan escapes my lips.

Brice's voice is breathy. His lips tickle my ear. "I thought you said..."

Said? Said what? Does any of it matter? This feels good. I like it. I don't care what I said. I'm drunk. I'm running from the memory of the man I shot today. I shot him over and over again. And he's dead. He deserved it, sure, but it was me that killed him, and I... "Kiss me," I say, and when Brice puts his lips on mine, I fumble to find the button on his jeans and undo it.

He pulls back. In the darkness, I see his eyes searching mine. He looks confused but not unhappy. "How drunk are you, Olivia?"

"I want to," I say. "I don't care if I am slutty."

"You're not slutty," he says. He looks down at me, my clothes in disarray. "Well... look, whatever you are, I like it."

Sure he does. Isn't that what guys want, anyway? Willing girls? I unbutton my own pants and wriggle out of them, so that I'm lying on the bench in my panties. The air feels chilly against my skin. I shiver.

Brice swallows hard. "Whoa." His gaze runs over my body, up and down, then back again. "Um...we should...we need..." He yanks his wallet out of his back pocket. He has to sit up to go through it.

I'm confused. I sit up too, hugging my knees to my chest. "What?"

He pulls out a condom, looking triumphant.

"Oh," I say. "Good." I feel a stab of panic. How drunk am I, if I'm not even thinking about things like that? Maybe I shouldn't... But then I flash again on the way Joey's body looked when the first bullet burst into his skin. I remember the way it jerked. I remember how surprised he looked. I kiss Brice again, desperately wanting the sensation to wipe it all away.

Before I know it, we're lying on the bench again, kissing furiously. My legs are wrapped around Brice. He's running his hand from my knee, up over my thigh, my hip, and back again. The taut feeling is back. And so is the feeling of being lost. Being away, swirling in some warm dark place—a cavern of goodness. I don't want to leave here.

But Brice pulls away again.

"What?" I say, propping myself up on my elbows.

He's struggling with the condom wrapper.

I take it from him and rip it open. I hand it back.

"Thanks," he says. "I'm just kind of... This is..." He grins at me.

He's nervous, I realize. That's what's turned him into a bumbling idiot. It's adorable, actually. Reassuring too. "Have you done this before?"

"Uh..." He looks away from me. "Sort of."

"Sort of?" What kind of answer is that?

"It's kind of a long story," he says. "I kind of don't remember exactly."

I raise my eyebrows. That sounds strange.

"There was this actress chick that I met last month and—"

I unzip his pants to shut him up. "I don't care." And I don't. Too much talking means there's not enough warm tingly feelings. "Put the condom on."

"Yeah," he says. "You're really something else, Calabrese."

I bite my lip. "Call me Olivia." For some reason, I don't want him to think of me as tough right now.

"Sure," he whispers. "Olivia." He kisses me again but doesn't touch me because he's busy with the condom.

He's done in a minute. I can feel him pressing against me. There's nothing between us but the thin cotton of my panties and a piece of latex. My heart thuds in my chest. I feel frightened suddenly, unsure of whether getting myself into this situation has been a particularly great idea. There's the whole fact that premarital sex is a sin, for one thing. But there are lots of sins. I've committed those too. This won't be different.

I touch his face. "Brice," I say.

"You okay?"

Can he tell that this is suddenly real to me? That I'm realizing exactly what I'm doing? "Yeah," I whisper. I wriggle one leg out of my panties. I spread my legs.

Brice's body settles against mine. It seems like he is wearing so many more clothes than I am. He puts his lips on mine.

I brace myself. Is this going to hurt? Don't they say it hurts?

Then I feel it. Him. Pressing against me.

In completely the wrong place.

I wriggle my pelvis, trying to move him into the right spot.

It doesn't work.

Should I reach down and, like, move him? I feel too shy to touch it. I wriggle again.

No dice.

Suddenly, Brice's entire body spasms.

Jesus, I think. He didn't even, like, get in me.

But then Brice shrieks, and I know he's crying out in pain, not pleasure. In the distance, I can hear the clock downtown begin to strike midnight.

I look at his face, which is twisted in agony, his eyes squeezed shut. "Brice? Brice, what's—"

And he opens his eyes. They're glowing bright red.

I push him off me, screaming. Berserker. Brice is a berserker .

And I was going to have sex with him.

CHAPTER TWO

I scramble back into my clothes. Brice flails for me, a guttural sound escaping his lips. I dodge his grasp. Buttoning my pants, I'm ready to run.

But Brice cringes and drops to his knees. He lets out another shriek, the kind that sounds like he's in extreme pain. When he opens his eyes, they're not red anymore.

The downtown clock is beginning to dong the hour. I count the strokes.

One.

"What's happening?" Brice manages. He curls up, hugging himself.

Two.

I know what happens to berserkers who are found on the street roaming free. He's not going to completely transform until the last stroke of midnight. I have to do something. If I can get him to my grandmother, she can perform the first blessing. We can keep the transformation from being permanent.

"Get up," I say, yanking him to his feet.

Three.

He groans. "Olivia, it hurts."

"I know," I say, "but you have to run. You have to come with me to my car." I tear at him, taking off at breakneck speed and pulling him along with me.

He yells. And then he is running with me.

Four.

I careen out of the dugout, heading back towards the parking lot of the Shakespeare Theatre, where my car is parked. One glance over my shoulder, and I see that Brice's eyes are red again. He is not running with me. He is chasing me.

Five.

The car is feet away. I pump my legs and run with everything I've got. I close on the car. I fumble in my pocket for my keys. They arc out of my pocket, through my fingers, and land on the ground.

Six.

I stop to pick up the keys. Brice is on me in seconds. He growls as he shoves me to the ground. My head strikes the hard pavement. Pain explodes in my skull. I kick him in the stomach.

He oomphs. He falls back.

Seven.

I grasp the keys between my fingers and make a fist. The keys jut out from my hand like spikes. I have a weapon. There is a gun in my car too, if it comes to that, but I don't want to shoot Brice. Not with the taste of his kisses still on my lips.

Brice lumbers towards me. I pull back my fist.

Eight.

Brice's body spasms again. He flings his arms out from his body, and he is frozen there for a moment, stretched out and tense. I hear ligaments in his spine cracking. He cries out and then tumbles to the ground in a heap.

Nine.

"Olivia, what's happening to me?" His voice is full of tears.

I go to him. I take his hand. "Get up. You have to get in my trunk."

Ten.

He lets me help him to his feet, but his posture is different. He hunches forward, like an ape. His shoulders look broader. That is what the berserker virus does. It makes people into animals. "What? Your trunk? Why?"

I drag him forward several steps.

He screams in pain.

Eleven.

I put the keys in the lock of the trunk. I open the trunk. "You're a berserker, Brice. Get in the trunk, or you'll kill me."

Brice looks at me wide-eyed. "Berserker?"

"Trunk!"

And he climbs in. I slam the trunk closed on him.

Twelve.

I hear a growl from inside the trunk, and then Brice begins banging on it. He won't be himself again now that it's midnight.

I am breathing hard. I bend over and try to steady my breath, my heartbeat.

The car rocks from side to side with the force of Brice's pounding. There is no time to catch my breath. I get in the front seat. My hands are shaking as I try to fit the key into the ignition.

From the trunk, there is a ferocious cry of frustration. It sounds like a wild animal makes it and not a person. I gulp. I get my gun out of the glove compartment and make sure it's loaded. I set it on the passenger's seat. I start the car.

It seems as if we hit every red light on the way back to my house. With each stop, it seems as if Brice grows stronger. I'm afraid he'll be able to rip through the metal.

When I get home, I run inside without closing the car door. I search through items in the drawers near my grandmother's house altar until I find what I'm looking for. Blessed handcuffs. They'll tame him enough to get him inside. If I can just get them on him.

Back outside, I open the trunk. Brice springs out like a jaguar. We both go skidding onto the pavement behind my car. I have a moment of panic during which I think I have just brought a berserker home to go ballistic through my neighborhood, killing everyone.

But I push the thought away.

Brice rakes his fingernails across my cheek. It hurts. I think I might be bleeding.

I brandish the handcuffs. "Most glorious Prince of the Celestial Host, Saint Michael the Archangel, defend us in the conflict which we have to sustain against principalities and powers," I intone.

Brice goes slack for a second. He makes a strange noise, like a mewling cat. I slam one handcuff over his wrist.

"Against the rulers of the world of this darkness, against the spirits of wickedness in the high places," I continue.

Brice mewls again.

I slap the other handcuff on him. Standing up, I pull on the handcuffs until Brice is standing as well. "Come to the rescue of men whom God has created to His image and likeness, and whom He has redeemed at a great price from the tyranny of the devil." I lead him into the house. He comes along easily, like a dog on a leash.

I am halfway into the ritual, running an egg over Brice's forehead, when my grandmother makes it out to see what all the commotion is. She is pulling her dressing gown over her nightgown. (Don't ask. She always wears it over her nightgown. I don't know why.) "Olivia, what are you doing?"

I stop what I'm doing to look at her. "Performing the first blessing on a berserker."

Since I'm not paying attention to Brice, he goes rabid again, reaching his handcuffed hands for me and grunting.

My grandmother walks over and snatches the egg from my hands. "Well, you stopped now. I'm going to have to start all over."

* * *

It's a little after one in the morning. Brice sits at our dining room table with a cup of tea steaming in front of him. He is sweaty. His eyes are bloodshot. He looks like hell.

My grandmother sets a plate of prosciutto and sliced mozzarella on the table. "How many times have you transformed?"

Brice shakes his head. "Never. This has never happened before." His voice is hoarse.

My grandmother leans over the table, getting in Brice's face. "Listen to me, boy, lying to me is not going to help you one bit."

Brice pulls away from her. "I'm not lying."

"He's in the play with me, Nonna." I am sitting across the table from Brice. "We were at the opening night party tonight. I don't think he knew it would happen."

Nonna gives me a look, and mutters something under her breath in Italian. I should learn to speak Italian so that I can understand her mutterings. She pulls out a chair and sits between us. "So you bring him here to me, then?"

"To help him," I say.

"Does it look like I'm running a hospital for berserkers?"

It's better not to answer questions like that from Nonna. I grab a piece of prosciutto and shove it in my mouth.

Nonna waves a finger in my face. Her hair is still in curlers because she was sleeping, and she is not wearing any makeup. She is a little bit terrifying. "You listen to me, Olivia. I don't want you running around with boys like this."

Brice looks down at the table, ashamed.

Nonna turns to Brice. "You buy those magic charms, yes? You buy lots of them, don't you?"

Berserkers most often contract the virus through the magic charms sold by jettatori families like mine. The spells we use to tie the magic to the objects are unstable. If people use the charms too often, they get the virus. It's not particularly great from a business standpoint, considering it depletes our customer base. It's also something I'm not proud of. But the people who buy the charms know what they're getting into. They could choose not to use them. It's their vanity that destroys them, ultimately, not my family.

Brice is shaking his head. "No. I've never used one. My family is Benedicaria, like you." He gestures at Nonna.

Nonna practices magic in the old way. Her spells are combinations of folk magic and prayers to the saints. Most women who have any talent turn to Benedicaria. They are called benedette. If men want to use their talents, however, they aren't allowed to train. Benedette believe that magic is not for men, only for women. They feel that men are too swayed by lusts for power and money. They may be right, considering the only men I know who use magic are jettatori. At any rate, there's a divide between families like mine, whose men are jettatori, and families like Brice's, whose men aren't magical at all. The benedette look down on the use of charm magic. They say it calls down the Evil Eye. Having seen Brice's transformation, I can't help but think they're somewhat right.

Nonna leans forward. "Don't lie to me, boy. You come into my house like a beast, and I will not forget it. So do not think that you can impress me anymore." She points at me. "She is not for you. Not now."

"I've never used the charms," Brice insists. He stands up. "I can walk home now. It's not that far."

I get up. "I can drive you."

"No," says Nonna to me.

I sit back down. Sometimes, she's tough to argue with.

Nonna folds her arms over her chest. "If you never use the charms, then there is only one other way to get the virus. Fornication."

I cringe. I wish she didn't have to be so biblical about it.

Brice squeezes his eyes shut and opens them again. "Thank you for the tea, Mrs. Calabrese." He walks out of the dining room.

Nonna gets up and follows him, so I follow too. "I am not a Calabrese," she calls after him. "I have nothing to do with those sinners. I am Graziani. Benedetta. You are corrupting my granddaughter." Nonna is my mother's mother, not my father's. It's the Calabrese family that is jettatori and sells magic charms.

Brice is in the hallway, heading for the door. He snorts.

That makes me want to punch him, but he's been through enough tonight. Still, I don't want Nonna to ask why he snorted. Sometimes, it's better to keep Nonna in the dark about my life. She doesn't understand everything. I rush forward and stop Brice. "Wait. You need herbs, and you need an incantation. For at least the first week. If you don't, the transformations will get worse and—"

"I know about it," Brice cuts me off. "My family is Benedicaria, remember?"

Right. I nod. I step back. "I can still drive you."

"Absolutely not, Olivia," says Nonna.

"It's fine," says Brice. "I'd like to be alone, actually." He opens the door and leaves.

Nonna shakes her head disapprovingly at me. "Olivia, I worry about you."

I roll my eyes. Not this speech again. Nonna is wonderful, and I love her, but she expects a lot of me. Of everyone.

"I'm only glad your mother didn't see this."

That gets to me. It always does. My mother's dead. Nonna knows it bugs me. She's trying to let me know she thinks this situation is serious. I go back into the dining room. There's good prosciutto going to waste. "It's not like you think, Nonna." I eat a piece of prosciutto. "Brice is just a friend from the play. I wanted to help him. I wouldn't... be with a berserker."

Nonna takes a piece of prosciutto too. "Girls your age do lots of stupid things because they think they're in love. Your mother married your father, didn't she?"

I sigh. I take another piece of prosciutto. "I'm going to bed."

* * *

I get to the deli late the next day. It's nearly noon, and all of the other guys are already there. My uncle Guido, who's running the business while my dad's in jail, greets me with, "About time, Olivia." He is sitting at the head of a table set up in the back room of the deli. This is where we do all our strategizing and business.

I sit down in an empty chair, feeling annoyed with myself for sleeping too late. It hasn't been easy getting the guys to accept me as serious about being part of the jettatori. I'm a girl, and even though my father doesn't have any sons and power is handed down through bloodlines, they don't think I'm capable of doing what they do. I have to prove them wrong. I want to run the Calabrese family. It's my birthright, and it's the only thing I've wanted to do since my mother died. "Sorry," I say. But I don't sound sorry. You can't admit you're wrong if you want to save face with the guys. I slouch in my seat.

"We thought maybe dealing with Joey yesterday was too much for you," sneers my cousin Vincent. Vincent is Guido's son. He's my competition. If anything were to happen to Guido, God forbid, either Vincent or I would be the next logical choice to take over. Vincent knows I'm a threat. He hates me.

I have another flash of Joey's dead body. It bothers me, but I don't let it show. "Bastard got what was coming to him."

Tommy, who owns the deli and is my second cousin, claps me on the shoulder. I'm sitting next to him because he's the closest thing I have to a friend around here. "Shoulda seen her. She was brilliant."

Tommy helped me with Joey's body yesterday. But no one helped me shoot him. I killed him myself. The fact that it makes me sick to my stomach is no one's business. I'll get used to it. I have to.

"Glad to hear it," says Guido. "You got a lot of Lucio in you, kid." He grins at me.

Lucio is my dad.

"So," Guido continues, "now that we're all here, we've got to talk about the docks. There's cops swarming the place." He gets up from his seat and begins to walk around the room. He likes to walk while he talks. I try to focus on Guido and what he's saying and not what I can see through the window behind him. It isn't that the back alley behind the deli is interesting, it's just that I've always had a hard time sitting and listening while people talked at me. It's one of the reasons I didn't mind dropping out of school too much.

Guido's voice starts to take on a droning quality, however, and before I know it, I'm not listening to a word he says. Instead, I'm thinking about Brice and what happened the night before. Brice is a berserker. The berserker virus is sexually transmitted. Brice and I didn't have sex, but we were awful damn close. His... dick was touching me. Through a condom, sure, but condoms aren't protection against the berserker virus. It isn't like AIDS or something. It's a magic disease. Am I going to become a berserker too?

It takes a month for the virus to gestate. In twenty-eight days, I'll know. One way or another.

Something moves outside the window, but I'm not focused on the window, either. I'm focused on figuring out what I'll do if I become a berserker. The virus can be contained with benedetta magic. The rituals will strengthen your body, like your magical immune system or something, make it so you can fight the virus back. But all the rituals can achieve, the best it can be, will be that I'll be absolutely vicious and crazy, out of my mind, for one hour a night. If I've contacted the virus, my best case scenario is that I'll become a berserker every night at midnight. My worst case scenario, if I don't have the rituals, is that the virus will get worse and worse, making me a berserker for longer and longer periods, until eventually, I'm a berserker all the time. That was why I did the ritual for Brice. The earlier you start the treatments, the better chance you have at stopping the virus from getting worse.

There is more movement through the window, and this time I realize someone is out there. With a gun.

"So we'll have to divide and conquer, laying low," Guido is saying. He walks in front of the window.

I get to my feet.

I'm too late. There's a bang. The window shatters. Glass tickles against the floor. And Guido crumples to the floor.

A brick sails through the broken window. It lands on the table in front of me. There is a piece of paper wrapped around it. I pull it off. "For Joey," it says.

* * *

Joey Ercalono is—

Was.

Joey Ercalono was two or three years older than me. We went to school together. He was not a nice person. I remember when we were in grade school, and he used to bully the little kids out of their lunch money. Once, Joey got so mad at this kid who was avoiding him (because the kid didn't want to give up his money and didn't want to get beaten up) that he took the kids pants off and hung him bare-assed from the monkey bars. The teachers never found out who did it. The kid wasn't talking. Joey promised if he did, he'd do way worse things to the kid.

I never liked Joey. Last year, he started dating my cousin Tressa. I talked to Tressa about it, but she swore up and down that Joey had grown out of all that kid stuff, as she called it. I didn't believe it. The kind of mean Joey is—was—you don't grow out of. Sure enough, Tressa started showing up places with sunglasses and scarves and stuff. Pretty soon, she couldn't hide her bruises. Now, this kind of thing is enough for someone in my family to step in. Tressa wasn't married to Joey, so it was still technically family business.

Anyway, Guido decided not to say anything directly to Joey yet. Instead, he went to the head of the Ercalono family, Joey's grandfather, Michael. There was some discussion, and according to Guido, Michael Ercalono promised he'd whip Joey into shape. Sure enough, we didn't see any more bruises. The guys all assumed everything was fine.

But I knew it wasn't. Last week, I cornered Tressa outside the bathroom at a family dinner. I asked her if Joey was still hitting her. She got scared and told me that everything was fine. I didn't like the fact she was scared. I asked her what Joey threatened to do if she told. She broke down. She told me that Joey was still hitting her, but that he'd gotten smart. He only did it places that didn't show. She told me that the worst thing was that she was pregnant with Joey's baby, but she was afraid to tell him, because he'd marry her, and she was afraid for the baby.

I asked her if she wasn't afraid for herself. She told me that Joey only hit her when she deserved it.

I should have killed the bastard then.

But Tressa made me promise not to tell. She said she'd told me woman to woman. She hadn't told me as if I were a jettatori. There's a kind of girl code, you know. I didn't tell. I tried to get to her to leave. I said we'd protect her. I said we'd protect the baby. But she was equally freaked out about having a baby when she wasn't married. Our family is pretty Catholic, and they aren't very cool with that kind of thing.

I guess she did tell Joey. But he didn't marry her.

Because two days ago, they dragged Tressa's body out of the water near the ferry terminal. That rat bastard killed her.

The guys didn't want to let me be the person to kill Joey. After all, I'm a girl, and they didn't like the idea of it. But I convinced them. It had to be me. Because if I hadn't kept my damned mouth shut, Tressa might still be alive. I couldn't bring her back. But I could give her justice.

But even with everything he did, it still bothered me to do it. It bothered me to see him dead. It bothered me to pull the trigger. I don't know why. Tommy says it gets easier. And Joey is the first person I ever killed.

* * *

The hospital hallway is packed with my cousins and aunts and uncles. There are so many of us that I haven't even been in to see Guido yet. Not that it really matters. Guido is in a coma, or so I hear. He was shot pretty bad. They were shooting to kill. That they didn't is a miracle. That's what I keep hearing my family say anyway.

"Oh, it's a miracle he's alive," someone says every two seconds.

"Thank God," says someone else.

I am wondering if it will be bad form if I perform in Macbeth tonight. If I can't go on, I have to tell someone right away. I don't have the hugest part in the play. I'm Hecate. I'm only in one scene. But if I'm not there, it will screw everything up for everyone. I don't want to mention the play to anyone, because I'm kind of embarrassed that I'm doing it in the first place.

I dropped out of school so everyone would see I was serious about taking over for my father. I've always done plays at the Shakespeare Theatre for fun. They open auditions to the community, even though the big parts usually get cast by professional actors. I really like being on stage. I like Shakespeare too. It's hard to get those old English lines to sound like normal talking, but I'm good at it. Anyway, I know it's kid stuff, but this play is going to be my last one. After that, I'll only focus on the family. I don't want to let anyone down.

I sit in a waiting room, thumbing through a magazine while my family rushes around me, reassuring themselves about miracles. Vincent sits down next to me.

Even though we're rivals, and Vincent's rude to me, I feel bad for the guy. His dad is really hurt. "We can, um, thank God he's alive," I say to Vincent. So it's unoriginal. I mean it to be nice.

Vincent laughs, and it sounds ugly. "Don't pretend, Olivia. I know you want him dead. That way you can get your daddy to set you up as the boss."

I'm shocked. I lower the magazine in disbelief. "Vincent, I would never wish Guido dead. He's my uncle. Family first."

Vincent sits back in his chair. "You're not fooling me."

"You know, my mother died. I would never wish that on someone. Losing a parent. It's horrible."

Vincent puts his hands behind his head. "Oh, yeah, your sainted mother. I don't know what's funnier, Olivia. That you still believe the police accidentally killed her in the crossfire when your dad was being arrested or that everyone else knows it ain't true."

I don't speak for several seconds. I have no idea what he's talking about. "It's not true?" I finally get out.

Vincent smirks. "Your mother was a rat, Olivia. She sold your dad out. He had that bitch capped."

I feel the blood rush to my face. Anger floods through my entire body. How dare he say something like that about my mother? And to imply my father would have my mother killed? He's crossed a line. I grit my teeth.

I'm about to slug him, but Tommy yells out, "Olivia, get over here. We got your father on the phone."

I'm shaking as I stand up. I want to say something to Vincent, so that he knows he's not off the hook, but he strides past me before I get the chance.

My family is crowded around Tommy, who's holding up a phone. He's got my dad on speaker phone. I try to take calming breaths as I listen to the disembodied voice of my father.

"We can thank God he's still alive," he says. "It's a miracle."

My father is not particularly original either.

"The Calabrese family will weather this storm the way we always do," he continues. "Together. As a family. We will draw strength from our love for each other. We are a strong people. We will lean on each other in this time of crisis."

Maria, Guido's wife, wipes tears from her eyes. "That was beautiful, Lucio."

I glare at Vincent. This is the man he thinks ordered a hit on his own wife? How could he possibly think such a thing?

My father says some other comforting words, and then he asks to talk to Tommy alone. Suddenly, it hits me. Guido is out of commission for the foreseeable future. The Calabrese family is without a leader on the outside. If my father is talking to Tommy, it may be because he is asking Tommy to step in. Tommy is older than both Vincent and me. He might be the logical choice. But Vincent and I have the pedigree. We are the next in the bloodline. No wonder Vincent was being so nasty to me. He must have realized what this could mean for one of us.

When Tommy gets off the phone, he jerks his head in the direction of the hallway. All of the adult men follow him. I do too. My father has given Tommy news about the business. We can't have that conversation in front of everyone. Tommy leads us all into the elevator. He punches buttons. When the elevator starts moving, he hits a button that stops it. We are trapped between floors and away from anyone who might hear us.

"Lucio is confident that Guido's going to recover," says Tommy. "But he doesn't want to leave the family without a leader on the outside. He asked me to do it, but I don't want it. So naturally, Lucio thought of his daughter. And he thought of Guido's son."

No one says anything for a second, but then someone speaks up. "They're both just kids, Tommy."

Tommy spreads his hands. "This is straight from Lucio's mouth. You know he was about their age when he took over. You want to argue with him about it, you talk to him."

No one says anything else.

"So which of us is it?" asks Vincent.

"It's both of you," says Tommy.

Both of us? I shoot Vincent a look. He looks just as confused as me.

"For a few weeks, Lucio wants to see which of you brings in the most income and observe how well you do with leading. You'll each have half of the family to work with. Whoever does a better job will take the position, assuming Guido doesn't recover during that time."

So I'm going to have to compete against Vincent. And I'm going to have to bring in more money than him. I cross my arms over my chest. I can beat Vincent at anything.

CHAPTER THREE

I manage to make it to the performance that night. Eventually, people just started leaving the hospital, so I did too. I'm not sure if I can stay in the play, though. Not now. Not if I'm competing against Vincent. I can't be distracted. I decide I'll wait until after the show to talk to someone about it, though. Beforehand, everyone's focused on the upcoming show. It will just piss them off. Later, they'll still be pissed off, but it won't be hanging over them all during the performance.

My character doesn't show up until the middle of the play, so I don't bother getting into costume yet. Instead, I play cards with the kid playing Fleance backstage.

Towards the end of Act One, Brice finds me. He is still wearing his old man wig, and he has stage blood on his face. Brice is playing King Duncan. He is dead. He has nothing to do until curtain call now. It's actually kind of weird that they cast Brice as King Duncan. He's at least five years younger than the guy playing Malcolm, Duncan's son. They just shoved a gray wig on Brice, though. And I have to admit, Brice is good. Plus, he likes having a death scene. "Can I talk to you?" he asks.

"Sorry Fleance, I gotta go for a minute," I tell the kid.

"My name's Toby," he says. "Stop calling me Fleance, Hecate."

I stick out my tongue at him.

He sticks his tongue back out at me. As Brice and I are walking away, Toby makes kissing noises. I turn around and glare at him. He stops.

Brice takes me into the depths of backstage, back to the hall behind the dressing rooms, to a dimly lit corner. I'm not going to be able to hear my cues from back here, so I have to make sure that I don't stay too long. But I'm not on stage until Act Three, Scene Five, so I've got time.

"I swear I didn't know," Brice says. "I'm so sorry."

"Yeah, well," I say, "I guess I learned my lesson about being slutty."

"Oh come on, Olivia. It wasn't like that."

What dugout was he in? I was pretty sure I threw myself at him, and all because I was freaked out about that jerk Joey Ercalono. "It was like that, Ventresca."

Brice shakes his head. "So now I'm Ventresca again, huh?"

"Sorry," I say. "I was drunk last night. I'm embarrassed. I don't usually act like that."

"You're embarrassed?" says Brice. "Think how I feel."

I consider. Yeah, Brice probably had the worse deal.

"I guess it's good that we didn't actually do anything," Brice says. "I mean, for you, it's good."

I chew on my bottom lip, unsure of how to ask what I want to ask him. "If you got the virus from screwing, Brice, how come you couldn't, you know..." I can't finish. It's too embarrassing.

Brice buries his face in his hands. "Oh God, Olivia."

"Sorry," I say, "should I not have brought it up? It's just that you said you'd done it before and—"

He lifts his face. "I told you I don't remember what happened with that actress woman. She was older, and I was really drunk, and I blacked out."

I feel very sorry for him suddenly. Since Brice is a berserker, that may be the only time he ever has sex for the rest of his life. And he doesn't remember it. "That sucks."

He leans back against a wall. "I wish it had never happened. I wish last night... I wish that you and I... Well, I mean, there's no way you'd even want to be around me anymore, is there?"

"We're still friends, Brice."

"Right." He sounds bitter.

"Look, even if something had happened last night, it's not like you'd have wanted to date me or something. Last night was just a thing. Right now, you're feeling lonely, that's all. It's understandable. But we're still friends."

"Yeah," Brice says. He doesn't sound any happier. I guess there's not much you can say to console a guy when he's just figured out he's going to turn into a monster for one hour a night, every night for the rest of his life, and if he has sex with anyone, he'll turn that person into a monster too. It's a devastating thing to find out. Poor Brice.

"Um," I say, "I think I'm going to have to quit the play. But, you know, you can call me or something if you want to talk."

Brice stands up straight. "Wait. Why are you quitting the play?"

"Family stuff."

"No way, Olivia. You have to tell me more than that."

"I can't," I say. "You don't want to know."

"Because it's illegal?" He sounds eager.

"Brice."

"I'm a berserker now. If they find out, they'll put me in one of those sanitariums. Come on. We're on the same side."

It would be nice to talk to someone about it, I guess. I tell him. I don't tell him everything. I don't tell him about killing Joey Ercalono or why Guido's in a coma. I just tell him about how I've got to compete against Vincent to become the boss.

Brice is riveted. "Whoa. That's insane. You're really going to be the jettatori boss of the Calabrese family?"

"Well, I have to beat Vincent first. And I won't have time if I'm doing this play. It's not like I have a big part, anyway."

"Oh, come on. You have that whole monologue. You say more than me. You gotta stay in the play."

"I can't."

"You gotta. You need money, right? Well, we'll use the play to make money."

"How are we going to do that?"

Brice shrugs. "I don't know yet. But we've got a whole audience out there that pays money to see the show. We can get money from them, maybe."

I shake my head. "You don't understand. We're talking half of the money that the family business needs to survive that I've got to bring in."

Brice is thinking. Then he grins at me. "Yeah, okay. How much would you pay for a charm that made you feel like you were Macbeth while you were watching?"

"Like I was part of the play, you mean?"

"Exactly. Doesn't that sound cool?"

"Sure, but I don't know how to make something like that. No one in the family does either."

Brice looks around the hallway to make sure no one is listening. "I, uh, have a little bit of talent. I'm not supposed to use it, you know, because I'm a guy. But I've always been able to just do things."

I'm confused. "Do things? What kind of things?"

"I kind of...think about it, and it happens. It's hard to explain. But I've always been able to do it. My family has always told me never to show anyone. But I want to help you. Bring me a charm, and I'll show you."

I consider. I know that there are some benedette that are so powerful, they can cast spells without chanting. I've never heard of a guy who could do it, though. Of course, the benedette wouldn't want that to get out, I guess, considering they don't want men to use magic. "You can really do that?"

He nods. "I'll help you make the charms if you stay in the play."

This whole thing sounds crazy, but I really do like being in the play. "We'll give it a week," I say. "We'll see what happens."

"Excellent," Brice says. He grins at me. His eyes seem to dance in delight.

I'm happy I'll be seeing him almost every day too.

* * *

That night I have this dream that I'm turning into a berserker like Brice. It freaks me out, and I wake up the next morning all sweaty and scared. I can't go back to sleep, so I get up and start making breakfast for Nonna and me. I'm an okay cook. I'm not great at it, like Nonna is, but even though I'm jettatori, I'm still a woman, and you can't get away from learning how to cook in a Calabrese household. Or a Graziani one, for that matter, since Nonna is my mother's mother.

I decide to make a frittata with some of the leftovers we have in the refrigerator. I get out eggs and some plain cooked macaroni. I dig around until I also find some sausage. I take an onion out of the vegetable crisper. There's always tons of food in my fridge, because Nonna grocery shops like she lives in the old world, which means she goes to the market daily to get whatever food she needs for the meals. She also cooks like she's feeding a family of five instead of just the two of us. Occasionally, I have to go through all the leftovers in the refrigerator and throw them out, because we have no room. That always makes Nonna mad. She hates to waste food. If it were up to her, I'd be two hundred pounds by now.

I peel the onion and begin chopping it on the cutting board. I don't think I really got the berserker virus from Brice, but I don't know. Because it's a magical illness, no one's really sure why it's sexually transmitted. They haven't done studies to see if you can get it from kissing or anything like that. The theory I've heard the most is that it's transmitted through sexual energy, especially through orgasm. Which neither of us had. So. I should be okay.

But what if I'm not?

I transfer the chopped onions to the skillet and put a pat of butter in as well. While they start sizzling, I crack open a few eggs. I can't be a berserker. I just can't.

Nonna comes into the kitchen in her curlers and dressing gown. "Smells delicious, Olivia." She stirs the onions in the skillet, and then leans over my shoulder. "Make sure you whip those eggs very well."

"I know." She is like a backseat cooker. She can't leave anything alone. I get out a whisk, add some cream, and began to whip the eggs. "Nonna, is there a benedetta cure for berserkers?"

"Really whip them," she says. "Are you asking me this because of that boy?"

"No." I double my egg beating efforts.

"You know I don't want you to see him again."

"He's in the play. I see him every day we have a performance." I check the onions. They are nearly translucent, so I lower the temperature on the stove, add the eggs, and put in the sausage and macaroni as well. I preheat the oven to finish the frittata.

Nonna inspects the egg mixture in the skillet. "You could have whipped them more."

"It'll taste fine." I transfer my cooking materials to the sink and begin to rinse them off. "I'm just curious. Has anyone who got the disease ever been cured?"

"You didn't put in any cheese." Nonna gets some shredded cheddar out of the refrigerator and begins dumping handfuls over the frittata.

"I like to add it later." I open the dishwasher and stack the rinsed dishes inside. "You're not answering my question."

"If you put it in later, it doesn't melt in with the egg. The flavor is different."

"Nonna."

She turns on me, gesturing with the bag of cheese. "I do not want you to see that boy anymore. He is no good for you. Do you understand me, Olivia?"

"Nonna, this is not about him."

"Hmph." Nonna returns the cheese to the refrigerator. "I can see the way you get when you talk about him. You have to nip the whole thing in the bud. What would you do with a man like that? You couldn't have any children."

"I'm not interested in Brice."

"Your mother said the same thing about your father. And look how that turned out."

She says things like this all the time. It's no secret that Nonna doesn't like my father. I always assumed it was because he was jettatori, and my mother was not. But now, I remember what Vincent said to me yesterday. My stomach drops. "Nonna? How did my mother die?"

She gives me a strange look. "You know how she died."

"She was killed in the crossfire when my father was arrested."

Nonna nods. "That's right." She stirs the cheese into the frittata on the stove.

"So, my father didn't... He didn't want to hurt Mom, did he?"

Nonna turns sharply away from the stove. "Why would you say that?"

"It isn't true, is it?"

"I don't know anything more about it than you do." There is anger in her voice. "The jettatori, they say whatever their boss tells them to."

I feel frightened. I know Nonna hates my father, but I didn't think she thought he was capable of murdering my mother. Whatever happened to my mother, it was horrible. They didn't open her casket at her funeral. It would have been upsetting, they said. She wasn't recognizable. If my father did that to her...

No. I refuse to believe that. He wouldn't do it. And my mother would never rat on my family. Never.

* * *

After breakfast, Nonna and I go to mass. I have to wear a dress, which I don't like, because they're not comfortable. Nonna has this thing about pantyhose too, which makes it even worse. She's horrified by bare legs. I hate pantyhose. They never stay where I put them. They're always inching down my legs. I try to pull them up discreetly, but Nonna always nudges me and tells me to stop. They drive me insane. I always see other girls with bare legs at mass. I have pointed this out to Nonna, but she's stubborn.

Mass itself isn't that bad. I like to go. I like how pretty the inside of the church is, and I like the way everything feels ceremonious and serious. Being in church makes me feel part of something ancient and powerful. I feel tied to tradition. It's similar to the way I feel about family.

Today, in addition to feeling uncomfortable in my pantyhose, I'm feeling uncomfortable because I killed Joey Ercalono. I know that Joey deserved to die. I don't know if God would feel the same way about it as I do, though. I also know from Catholic school that if I confess the crime to a priest, he can withhold absolution unless I turn myself in.

Which I won't be doing.

I spend all of mass contemplating the state of my immortal soul. Am I going to Hell?

Joey Ercalono was evil. He just was. Through and through. Some people are like that. And what about Tressa? Did she deserve to die? Would God have forgiven Joey for his sins?

Maybe, I decide, it's a good trade off. If I've sentenced Joey to an eternity in torment, then I don't mind if I have to do the same. I hope that if Joey tried to confess the murder of Tressa, the priest withheld his absolution too. Are there priests that will give absolution for murder? Even if there are, do their absolutions mean anything? Penance is part of absolution. I know for sure that Joey Ercalono didn't do any penance, because he wasn't sorry. He was never sorry for anything.

Anyway, it doesn't matter, because to get absolution for sin, you have to be repentant. And I don't feel sorry that I killed Joey Ercalono. Not really. I didn't like seeing him like that. I didn't like doing it. But he's better off dead, and I'm glad I did it.

Thinking thoughts like that in the church makes me feel like I might burst into flames. I guess I'm lucky that God isn't like he was in the Old Testament, smiting people all the time. Sometimes I wonder about why God stopped smiting people and turning up in burning bushes and stuff. I wonder if he got bored with us, or if after he sent Jesus, he just got fed up. He was like, "I let you people kill my Son, and you're still screwing everything up. Forget about it." I mean, that doesn't sound much like God, I know. But I wonder.

Tommy is at mass with his wife and their little boy. Afterwards, he comes to talk to me. "How are you holding up?"

I'm not sure why he's asking this. Is he asking me if I'm worried about Guido, about being the boss of the family, or about Joey? I shrug. "I'm okay."

"It can be tough, the first time back in church afterwards," he says. "If you need to, there's a church in the city. A priest there, Father Santavenere, he gives different sorts of penances, if you know what I mean. He's got no love for the police. If it's, you know, bugging you."

I smile gratefully at Tommy. "Thanks." But after what I've thought about today, I'm not sure if "different sorts of penances" really mean anything. "I know it was the right thing, though, Tommy. I don't regret it. I'm not sure if you can be forgiven for something you're not sorry for."

He shrugs. "That may be true, Olivia." He claps me on the back.

I like the fact that Tommy always treats me like one of the guys. He never makes me feel different or weird because I'm a girl. He's always straight with me too. I remember what I asked Nonna this morning. If anyone would give me the truth, it would be Tommy. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"It's about my mother."

"Your mother? I didn't know her very well."

"I know," I say. "Vincent said something to me at the hospital about the way she died. I think he was just trying to get under my skin, but it's bothering me."

"What did Vincent say?"

"He said my mother ratted out the family and that my father had her killed because of it." I pause, waiting for Tommy to say something. He doesn't. "Is it true?"

Tommy shakes his head. "If it is, Olivia, you have to understand how difficult a position your father would have been in."

I swallow. It is true, isn't it?

"Hey, I see that face you're making," says Tommy. "I don't know one way or the other about it. Lucio didn't share that kind of thing with everybody. He did a lot of things himself too. You're like him in that way, stepping up to take down Joey. You took the responsibility. That's the way he was. If he was in jail, though, he would have asked Angelo to do it."

Angelo is dead. "So you're saying there's no way to know, unless I point blank ask my father."

Tommy puts a hand on my shoulder. "Olivia, stop thinking about this. It's better if you just let it go, whether it's true or not."

I shake him off. "If you know something, Tommy, and you're not telling me..."

He backs up a step, holding up his hands. "I don't know nothing, I swear to you. But you gotta ask yourself, if it is true, what's the point in knowing?"

Because it's the truth. Because knowing the truth is important. But I just nod. "Maybe you're right." I still have to know. Tommy's reaction doesn't make me feel any better. There's something I don't understand. I have to find out more.

* * *

Brice gives me a plastic bag with a necklace inside. We are backstage again. He's in his King Duncan costume. I haven't put on my Hecate costume yet. "What is this?"

"Go out into the wings where you can see the play and put it on," he says.

"But what is it?"

"It's the charm I told you about," he says. "Go try it."

No way am I putting one of these things on. I'm not going to tempt fate. It's still possible I got infected with Brice's berserker virus. I'm not putting on a charm and getting the virus from it too. "Sorry, Brice, but I'm not getting the berserker virus."

He shakes his head. He looks excited, and his eyes are doing the twinkly thing they do. "I didn't make it like that."

I'm confused. "What do you mean?"

"The jettatori tie magic to regular objects using the virus, but I don't. It's perfectly safe."

I raise my eyebrows.

"I'll show you," he says. He takes my hand. I'm wearing a watch, and he runs his fingers over it lightly. He closes his eyes. I feel a jolt. Little sparks, like tiny bolts of lightning flow from Brice's hand to my watch. He pulls his fingers back. "Now go out in the wings and check it out."

I'm stunned. How did Brice just do that? I've never seen anything like it. I struggle to say something, but Brice propels me out to the stage area. He stops right at the edge of one of the leg curtains, so that I can see the action of the play, but the audience can't see me. The best way to determine this is to make sure you can't see the audience. If you can see them, they can see you.

"I have to go get killed," Brice whispers. "Enjoy."

I look out on stage. It's the beginning of Act Two. Almost at once, I feel as if I've been swirled up into another world. It's not the stage I'm looking at, but the stone walls of a castle. And I am Macbeth, standing alone, staring into the night. I don't see an audience. I'm not an actor. But when I begin to speak, I feel the agony of the decision placed upon me. My wife thinks it's a good idea to do it. The witches told me I'd become the king. And yet, I'm not sure if it's the right thing to do. Still, when I hear the bell, I mutter, "Hear it not, Duncan, for it is a knell that summons thee to Heaven or to Hell." And I know I'm committed to doing it. To killing my sovereign.

By the time Brice yanks the watch off my wrist, I'm a mess. I've been washing the blood off my hands. I've stabbed Duncan to death, and I can hardly handle it.

Even seeing the world as it is normally hardly helps. I'm too much reminded of Joey. "I'm afraid to think of what I have done," I whisper. "Look on't again I dare not."

Brice shakes me, laughing. "Snap out of it, Olivia. It's just a play."

Right. Just a play. And Joey is not Duncan, the king. Joey wasn't innocent. And I didn't kill for ambition. I killed for justice. But if I hadn't killed Joey, would I still have the place I have in the family? Wasn't it the way I proved myself to them? Am I like Macbeth? Is this just the beginning of the awful things I will do?

"So it's cool?" Brice asks me.

"It's very intense," I say. "It feels so real."

"Yes! I'm glad it works. People will pay for it, don't you think?"

I nod slowly. It's quite an experience. People will pay for it. Brice has done something very well. He's good at this. "Yeah, I think people will." I pull Brice away from the stage. "How did you do that, anyway? When we make charms, we have to use herbs and incantations. We don't have lightning coming out of our hands."

"I told you, I have a little talent."

"A little? I've never seen anything like that in my life. I mean, I've heard that some of the benedette are powerful enough to cast spells without speaking, but they have to have training for that. Did you have training?"

"No. I'm a guy."

The benedette don't train men. No one thinks men have very much talent for magic anyway. Even the jettatori acknowledge that most of what they can do isn't much more than parlor tricks. What Brice can do is amazing. And a little scary. "So how do you do it?"

He shrugs, looking self-conscious. "I've just always been able to do things like that. I'm not supposed to. My mom caught me once and told me to hide it. But I wanted to help you. This will help, won't it?"

It will definitely help. "How many of those charm things can you make by Wednesday?" That's our next performance date.

"Lots," says Brice.

"It doesn't make you tired or something?"

"Does magic make you tired?"

"No. But it seemed like the power was coming out of you. I thought you could get depleted or something maybe."

He shakes his head, smiling again. "Not at all. Bring me charms, Olivia. I'll make them magical."

CHAPTER FOUR

To make this work, I need to practically redesign the way that the family operates. We generally work with established clients—people who call us when they need more product. We move a small amount of highly priced product to a small amount of people. Doing it this way, selling Brice's charms, means moving a lower priced product to a higher volume of people. I've been given half of the family's resources, which means half of the guys. Not all of the guys are Calabrese. Some of them are kids that we hire from the neighborhood. They usually do menial errand running tasks, or things like packaging and distributing. I'm putting them all on the streets before our performance, selling directly to the audience.

They are excited about it. They've never done any direct selling. It's a step up for them. But they're also rough around the edges. I make them dress in suits, because they are selling to a theater-going crowd. I have to teach them not to use swear words or to speak in slang when they are talking to the potential customers. It's a lot of work.

It takes up most of my Monday and Tuesday. Between training the guys and getting Brice charms, I am a little overwhelmed. Vincent wanders through at one point and openly makes fun of me for doing things differently. I ignore him. He'll see how well my idea works when I deliver more money next week. At least I hope this idea works. I really do. I'm putting a lot on the line just so I can stay in the play.

Also on Monday, I go to Tressa's funeral. I follow the hearse out to the cemetery and watch them lower her casket into the ground. Around me, everyone is crying. I kind of wish that I could too. But I haven't cried since my mother's funeral. I remember that day, sobbing my eyes out, and being all alone, because my father had been taken into custody and was awaiting trial. I had known then that I was all alone and that I had to rely on myself. I didn't think crying was going to help me fix anything. I decided right then not to do it anymore. And I haven't.

Still, sometimes it looks like it's making people feel better.

After the funeral, my cousin Antonia, Tressa's younger sister, comes over to me. Antonia and I were close when we were younger. We're about the same age. We used to play together when we were little girls. As we got older, though, we went our separate ways. Antonia is into dresses and makeup and fingernail polish. I'm not. We don't have a lot to talk about anymore.

Antonia's face is red and puffy. She's wiping her nose with a crumpled tissue. Other than that, she looks flawless, her dark hair is in a perfect French twist on the back of her head. I even think she must be wearing waterproof mascara or something, because her eye makeup doesn't look smeary. "I heard it was you," she says.

I don't know what she's talking about. I wish I would have listened to Nonna's advice and worn a dress to the funeral. Nonna isn't here because she won't attend Calabrese family events. She is very sorry about what happened to Tressa, though. I feel underdressed in my dark slacks and button up shirt, even though it's what all the guys are wearing. I touch my unfancy ponytail self-consciously. "What was me?"

Antonia swallows. "I heard it was you that got Joey."

Oh. This is strange. Jettatori business usually doesn't get shared with the women in the family. What should I do? Should I admit it? No. I shouldn't. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Antonia hugs me. "Okay, you don't have to say." She pulls back, fresh tears spilling out of her eyes. "You are so brave, Olivia. I wish I could be like you. I wish I could be tough and deadly. I wanted to kill that son of a bitch so much." She dabs at her eyes. "Thank you. I'm glad it was a woman that did it, you know?"

I look at the ground, embarrassed. Why would Antonia want to be like me? I'm a freak of nature. But what she said only affirms my feelings that Joey got what he deserved.

Antonia grabs my hand. "Hey, I know we aren't as close as we used to be."

I look up at her. "Well, we were kids back then."

"Yeah," she says. "But you're my cousin, and I love you. And I'm grateful for what you did. So I want you to be the maid of honor in my wedding."

I snatch my hand back. "You're getting married?"

"You didn't know?"

"I..." Did I know? Maybe I just didn't pay attention. I have a big family, and I've been distracted. "Well, congratulations, anyway. Are you marrying Seth?" Seth is the guy she's been dating for a few years.

"Of course," she says. "Maddie was my maid of honor, but she said I should have you do it after what you did for Tressa, and I agree."

This is sweet, really, and I get that Antonia is trying to do something nice for me, but I don't want to be the maid of honor in a wedding. "You should give it back to Maddie. I'm not, like, maid of honor material. And, you know, that should be your closest girl friend. And we've grown apart."

"No arguments, Olivia. You're my maid of honor, and that's all there is to it."

"Look, Antonia, I appreciate it, but you really don't have to do this." I will die if I have to be a maid of honor. Just die. The thought of some awful dress and being stuck in pantyhose in front of a whole bunch of people. No. Please no.

"Yes I do," she says. "Of course I do. And I want to. Plus, you're going to love the dress."

I really doubt it.

* * *

Wednesday night is the first night that my guys try to sell Brice's charms. I'm nervous. Wednesday night isn't generally a big house. More people usually come on the weekends. But the guys seem to have a good night, selling a lot of the charms. Afterwards, I watch people leaving the show, and they look transformed, as if they've had an experience they can hardly believe. I hear hushed conversations amongst the people who had the charms. They know they're illegal, and that they can't broadcast the fact they used them. But all of them seem awed.

Brice watches too. "Good response," he says. "They'll tell people. We'll have even more people requesting them tomorrow night."

I think he's right. It's raining, and he asks me for a ride home. Brice doesn't have a car.

I drive him back to his house, which is only a few blocks from mine.

In the driveway, he tells me that he'd ask me in, but his family might be weird about it. "You know, because you're a Calabrese."

He means because I'm a jettatori. "I understand," I say. "Nonna was not exactly polite to you when you came over to my house."

Brice shrugs. "Well, you know, old people."

We laugh.

I give Brice more charms, and he promises to magic them up for me before tomorrow night. I want to ask him if he's hiding the fact that he's a berserker from his family. I want to ask him where he goes during that hour every night. Most people have to lock themselves up someplace. But he gets out of the car before I can.

The next morning, I get up early and take the ferry over the city. From there, I catch a subway to take me to the jail. It's the same jail my father is in, but I'm not going to visit him. Instead, I'm going to visit Tito Calabrese. He was Angelo's best friend. Angelo was my dad's right hand man until he got killed. If anyone would know about the people that Angelo wasted, it would be Tito.

I've been to the jail before, so they recognize me. I don't have too much trouble getting in to see Tito. I'm not technically on his list, but being a Calabrese means you can get in to see other Calabreses pretty easy. Anyway, they bring Tito out to the visiting area where I'm waiting for him.

He doesn't recognize me at first, because he's been inside for a while, but finally, he says, "Olivia. You've grown up."

"Thanks," I say, even though I don't know if it's actually a compliment. It's not like Tito and I ever spent much time together before. He wasn't some crazy uncle who bought me things when I was a little girl or anything.

"I been hearing things about you. That you're following in your old man's footsteps. That got something to do with why you're here to see me?"

"Not really," I say. "I came because I wanted to talk to you about Angelo."

"What about him?"

"You guys were best friends. And Angelo did things for my father a lot. You know, he took care of people." I say the last part so that he understands that I mean "killed people."

"That was a long time ago," says Tito. "And Angelo never talked to me about none of that stuff. What he and your father did was between those two."

Well. This was a long trip for another dead end. I nod. "I thought maybe so, but I had to try and ask you anyway." I get up. "Sorry for dragging you out of your cell and everything."

"It's no trouble," says Tito. "In here, I got nothing but time."

"Thanks anyway." I turn to go.

"Wait," says Tito.

I turn back around. "Yeah?"

"Is this about your mother?"

My heart starts to race. How has he figured that out? I sit back down. "What do you know?"

Tito shrugs. "I hear rumors is all. People say things. I don't know if anything the people say is true or not. But I did know your mother, Olivia. She was a nice woman. She was real nice. And I don't know if she knew as much about your father as she should have when she married him, you know?"

I guess he's saying that my mother might not have known my father was involved in illegal things when they got married. Maybe he's saying she was shocked. "You're saying she did do it? That she turned my father in?"

Tito shakes his head. "Now, that's a serious accusation, Olivia. Would I say that about Lucio's wife? Would I call her a squealer? I wouldn't do that if I didn't know for sure, now would I?"

So maybe he was saying that my mother did turn in my father, but that my father didn't want anyone to know.

"Truth is," says Tito, "no one knows that for sure about your mother except the police. Right?"

"I guess so," I say. But I'm getting more and more frustrated. Why won't anyone just be straight with me?

"Look," says Tito, "I don't think Angelo whacked your mother. She was dead right after your father got arrested, and there wouldn't have been any way your dad could have issued a hit on her while he was being taken into custody. So, no matter what she did or didn't do, I don't think Lucio ordered her killed."

That does make sense, I guess. I know my father wasn't allowed to see anyone right after he was arrested. And my mother died that same night. So, at least I can be pretty sure my father didn't kill her. Unless... unless he did it himself that night. Unless he shot her in the confusion, while the police and my father were trading gunfire. I shiver.

"Does that make you feel a little better?" Tito asks.

I'm not sure. "Thanks, Tito."

He smiles. "Any time. You know where to find me."

* * *

Saturday is the day we usually go through money and figure out what kind of earnings the family has brought in. It's been an entire week since Guido was shot. I can hardly believe it. Even though I've only had three days of selling charms outside the play, I've done pretty well. Brice was right. More people have been coming to the show every night. They're all interested in purchasing charms. We nearly ran out last night—Friday. Luckily, it doesn't take Brice much time to make more. I can bring him a box of charms, and he just puts his hand over it, makes some blue sparks come out, and I've got a whole bunch more.

What works well about the setup is that no one suspects the jettatori of selling stuff on the street, so my guys look just like normal street vendors, hocking jewelry to the theater-goers. I like it because we've been able to work directly under the nose of the police thus far. While the vendors aren't strictly supposed to be there either, not without a permit, the police don't spend too much time trying to stop them. I think I've stumbled onto a winner here. And it's all because of Brice.

When I bring in my money on Saturday, everyone is pretty impressed. We count it all up. I'm doing better than the family usually does. And my earnings have totally blown Vincent out of the water. Vincent is not happy about this. I can tell.

They counted his money first, and he seemed pretty pleased with himself. As they're counting my money, however, he begins to get more and more agitated. His face gets red. By the time they're done, he gets out of his seat, knocking the chair over. It clatters against the ground.

He points at me. "You're rigging it somehow."

I grin at him. "Rigging it, Vincent? We sell stuff illegally. How much worse could I rig it, anyway?"

"This is a pretty impressive take," says Tommy. "You're doing something different, aren't you?"

I shrug. "Yeah. I'm trying something out. We'll see how it goes."

Vincent is fuming. He addresses everyone else at the table. "That bitch has no right being here. She's a girl. Hell, how do we know she's not just spreading her legs for that money?"

I raise my eyebrows. "Last week, you were calling me a dyke. Now people would pay to screw me. Which is it, Vincent?"

"Fuck you," he says. "I'm going to show you. There won't be a cunt running this family. There just won't." He storms out of the deli, the door crashing behind him.

It's quiet for a few minutes. I'm holding a stack of money, prepared to start putting it in the safe we keep in the back of the deli. I don't move. I'd expected Vincent to be pissed, but he seems to be overreacting a little bit.

"Don't worry about him," says Tommy. "He's jealous."

"He's acting like a kid," says one of the guys whose working with Vincent, "but he's not wrong about it being kind of a problem to have a woman running things here. I mean, what will the other families say?"

There's a murmur of agreement. Apparently, they'd only gone along with what my father said because they were convinced I'd never beat Vincent. That makes me angry. I've been battling this since day one. But instead of yelling and screaming, which will just make me look even more female and hysterical, I stay calm. "I think you're all forgetting who my father is."

No one says anything.

I wave the stack of cash at them. "I have the highest Calabrese pedigree going for me. And since my father didn't have any male children, we can only assume I've got everything a man and a woman would have. Plus, I think I'm proving myself."

"Olivia, you're a sweet girl," says another of the guys, "but this business we do isn't easy on the stomach. It's not for tender eyes."

"Tender eyes?" I repeat. I cannot believe I'm hearing this. "Where were your tender eyes when I was pumping bullets into Joey Ercalono, huh? Where were your tender eyes when I was watching blood burst out of the little holes in his skin? Where were your tender eyes when Tommy and I were cleaning up his body? You can try and say all you want that I'm too soft for this job, but you have to face the facts that every assignment I've been given, I've taken. I haven't screwed up once. I am one of you, girl or not." I set the money down. "If you don't believe it yet, you will."

No one says anything else. Tommy and I start putting money in the safe. Everyone disperses after that. They don't do much talking. I'm worried. What kind of boss am I going to be if my own family doesn't even believe in me?

* * *

I'm in the dressing room backstage, struggling into my Hecate costume. It's pretty cool, even if it is a dress. It's black and shredded at the ends. I look like a very creepy witch. I wear my hair down in my face, and I make it all tangled. It's fun. Something's been sort of bothering me about what Tito told me. He said that the only people who would know for sure if my mother was a rat are the police. He's right. I have to know the truth about my mother. Which means somehow I'm going to have to go to the police. I know I can't just march into the police station and ask them, however.

I've got to figure out another way to get information about it. And I've only got one idea.

I find Brice before I go onstage. He's chatting with the chick playing Lady Macbeth's maidservant. She goes to St. Anne's. I used to remember her name, but I don't. She's got blond hair. She's really pretty. For some reason, it kind of bugs me that Brice is talking to her. It kind of feels good to interrupt them and ask Brice if I can talk to him.

Immediately, he follows me away from the girl. "What's up? Do you need more charms?"

"I think we're good for now," I say, "but I did want to ask you about something. Can you do other things besides make charms like these?"

"Like what?"

"Like, maybe make an invisibility charm?"

Brice's eyes light up. "Who needs to be invisible?"

I don't want to get into this with him. "Just, can you do it?"

"I might be able to. I don't know. I've never tried. What are you pulling here, Olivia? You think people want to buy things that would make them invisible?"

I think, actually, that my family might make something exactly like that. But it will have the virus in it, and Brice's won't. I want his charm instead. I hear a few lines from the stage. Crap! "That's my cue. I'll talk to you about this in a minute," I tell him.

I go onstage and do my scene. It's a lot of fun, being creepy Hecate. My part in the play isn't huge. In fact, I think sometimes, when Macbeth is performed, they actually cut the character. The Shakespeare Theatre has this thing about doing uncut Shakespeare, however. We pride ourselves in doing the plays the way Shakespeare would have done them. It's cool, because it means that people like me can have small parts in the show. I'm not like Brice. I don't have any desire to be a professional actress or anything. This is just fun for me. After I deliver my monologue, I exit.

Brice is waiting for me the minute I get offstage. "What are you planning, Olivia? I have to know."

"I don't want to sell it," I tell him. "It's for something else."

"What is it for?"

"I could pay you for it." I happen to have some money these days, even though most of my take went to the family. I get to keep some of it.

"I don't want money for it, Olivia. I just want to know what's going on."

"Brice, you know I can't tell you stuff like this."

"Hell, I practically work for you now."

He's kind of right. I realize that I'm making a lot of money from Brice's charms, and I'm not paying him. "Actually, I should be paying you for what you're doing. We're doing well, and it's because of you, and—"

"I don't want your mob money, okay," says Brice. "I don't need to be involved anymore than I already am. Let's keep this money-free."

I shrug. If that's the way he wants it. But it kind of doesn't make sense. He doesn't want money from my family, but he also wants to be all up in my business.

"You know all my secrets," he says. "Why won't you tell me yours?"

I sigh. Fine. I drag Brice all the way back to the place we talked before, past the dressing rooms. It's dark there. We stand in the shadows. Somehow, the lack of light makes it easier to talk about my mother and my father and the fact that I might not know anything about either of them. That both of them may have betrayed me. My mother by selling out the family. My father by killing her. I finish up by explaining that I want to break into the police headquarters to look for files on my mother. I want to see if I can find out the truth.

When I'm done, Brice says, "Parents do lie. We should find out the truth."

"We?" I say. "I don't want you involved in this."

"You'll need me," he says. "We can go after the show tomorrow, okay? There are other things my talents might help with besides being invisible. Besides, it sounds exciting." His eyes are twinkling again. I like it when they do that. I remember kissing Brice, just for a second. How nice that felt. But that's never going to happen again, so there's no point in dwelling on it.

Maybe it would be good for Brice to come along with me. Maybe he could help. "Okay, we'll both go. But we have to be careful."

"Of course," says Brice.

I guess we don't need to be hiding back here anymore. But neither of us has anything to do in the play until curtain call. I'm not sure what else to talk to Brice about. I definitely don't want to talk about kissing.

"Olivia," says Brice, "what will you do if it is true?"

Do? I wasn't planning on doing anything. I just wanted to know. I hadn't thought that far ahead. "Well, I won't be able to do anything about it, really."

"I mean, will you stay in the jettatori if it's true? Will you still be loyal to your father if you find out he killed your mother?"

"I..." I hadn't thought of that either. I don't like the way I'm feeling towards either of my parents these last few days. But not being loyal to my father? He's my father. "If he killed my mother, it would be because she betrayed us. She would have deserved to die."

"Do you really believe that?"

"Of course I do." I don't give myself time to think about it.

"Hold up," says Brice. "Your father's killed people, right? Maybe not your mom, but other people. You know that, don't you?"

"I guess so."

"But you'd side with him, just because your mother turned in a criminal to the police?"

When he puts it like that, it sounds idiotic. But he doesn't get it. His family isn't like my family. "There are things that are worse than killing someone. Betrayal is one of them. You don't sell out your family. Family first. Family is everything."

Brice shakes his head. "I don't know if I believe that."

"Maybe my dad isn't the only person who's had to kill someone, you know?" I say.

Brice gives me a funny look. "What are you saying?"

"Nothing. I'm not saying anything." This was a stupid idea. I start walking up the hall.

Brice comes after me. "Okay, maybe it's a good idea if you don't tell me everything. But I still want to break into the police office with you."

I smile at him. "Sure. Fine. You're coming."

He slings an arm around me. "You and me, Olivia. It's gonna be cool."

CHAPTER FIVE

Michael Ercalono is fat with wisps of graying hair on his head. He sits at the head of a table in the back room at Franco's Pasta House, a restaurant the Ercalono family controls. There are two other men with him. Tommy, Vincent, and I stand in the back room, surveying them. Michael gestures with one meaty hand at the empty chairs at the table. "Sit."

We sit.

Almost immediately, a girl comes in with a heaping plate of spaghetti and meatballs. She sets it in the center of the table. Wordlessly, we all begin to serve ourselves. The atmosphere is tense, even though we're all sharing a meal together. I'm not sure what to expect. The Ercalono family called this sit down. I'm guessing they want to talk about what happened to Joey.

Michael twirls spaghetti on his fork using a spoon. "There were men at my house last night. Men with guns. My little granddaughter Sophia was staying with us. She was very frightened." He's conversational about this, but there's a tinge of threat in his tone.

I don't know anything about men coming to his house. I look down at my spaghetti and wonder if I should say anything. Instead, I just take a bite.

"Well," says Vincent, "my niece Tina was crying because her grandfather wouldn't wake up last night."

Inwardly, I groan. It's pretty clear that Vincent is responsible for the men at Michael's house last night.

Michael points his fork at Vincent. "There's a code we follow here, boy. You're young. You might not understand. But we don't go after each other in our homes. Now, Guido was a regrettable incident. It was done without my knowledge. I didn't authorize it. I know better than to directly mess with Lucio's family. But my family is reeling from the loss of Joey."

He's denying responsibility for the hit on Guido? Why would he do that? Either it's true, or he's angling to keep us from retaliating further. I speak up. "It's regrettable that anyone showed up to threaten your family. That was done without my knowledge. I didn't authorize it."

Michael looks at me for the first time. He raises his eyebrows, smiles and little, and tucks another bite of spaghetti into his mouth. He chews. We all wait. "You're Lucio's girl, right? I've heard about you."

I don't know if he's trying to tell me that he knows that I'm the one who whacked his grandson or not.

"The fact is that your people shot my father and took responsibility for it," says Vincent. "How could we not retaliate?"

Tommy shifts in his seat. "I'm sure you're aware, Michael, that the loss of Guido has left the family without current leadership. We're in a transitional period right now."

I'm not sure Tommy's admitting that is a good idea.

"So," says Michael to Vincent, "you're claiming responsibility for coming to my home last night? For terrorizing my family?"

"My father deserves justice," says Vincent.

"I think what he's trying to say," I break in, "is that we were under the impression that you were guaranteeing Joey would not hurt Tressa. When that confidence was broken, we acted."

"I agree," says Michael. "I would have done the same thing had something like that happened to one of my young daughters. That's why I didn't authorize anyone to attack Guido. You'll make sure your father understands that, won't you?"

Why is he insisting he didn't authorize it so strongly? There's definitely worry in his eyes. I know my father is feared and respected, but he's in jail right now. He's not calling the shots anymore. Doesn't Michael know that? Or does Michael know something that I don't know? "Whether you ordered it or not," I say, "the fact is, Guido's still in a coma."

"That's right," says Vincent, "and I won't rest until justice is served."

I glare at Vincent. He is screwing everything up. That's why there should only be one boss. So there aren't conflicting interests. "It's his father," I say to Michael. "Of course he's upset. Anyone would be."

"I don't want there to be more violence between our families," says Michael, twirling some more spaghetti.

"Well, you should have thought of that before you shot my father," says Vincent, and his voice is starting to get louder. "Because there will be violence now."

What? Is Vincent trying to start some kind of jettatori war? Doesn't he know anything? The last war between families happened when my father was a child. It was chaos. It was bloody. It was awful. No one wants to go back to that. Besides, it significantly cut into everyone's profits. "Unless," I say, "we have some recompense."

Vincent seethes. "You can't listen to her. She doesn't speak for the family."

"Vincent," I say sweetly, "I know you're angry, but that's no reason to take it out on me. I didn't hurt your father." I turn back to Michael. "If you didn't issue the hit on Guido, you won't mind rounding up the men who did and turning them over to us for punishment."

"What about the distress you've caused my granddaughter?"

"Vincent's addressed that you've caused distress to our daughters as well," I say. "We won't kill the men. We'll return them to you. But you agree to let Vincent get justice for what was done."

Michael rubs his double chin with one hand, thinking. "All right, I suppose it's fair." He reaches a hand across the table to me to shake hands.

I grasp it.

Then he offers his hand to Vincent. Vincent glares at me and glares at Michael, but finally, he also shakes Michael's hand. Michael shakes Tommy's hand last.

"You'll deliver them to us by the end of the day today?" I say.

Michael nods. He smiles at me again. "You remind me a lot of Lucio, Olivia. Well played."

Afterwards, we go back to the deli to report to the rest of the family what's happened. Tommy heads inside, but Vincent grabs me and stops me before I can follow him. His eyes are dark with hatred as he surveys me. "You're just a girl," he says to me. "You can't take this from me."

I shove him. "Let go of me, Vincent."

"I'll show you," he says. "You just wait."

* * *

The maid of honor dress is dark green. It has no straps. This means I am going to have to wear a strapless bra. Usually, I wear the most comfortable bras I can find—ones without under wires or sculpted cups or padding. The idea of a strapless bra sounds like torture. I haven't even put one on yet, and I know I'm going to hate it. I'm trying on the maid of honor dress with my regular bra on, so when I look at myself in the mirror, I can see the straps.

Antonia and her mother are watching me as I come out of the dressing room at the bridal shop. Antonia claps her hands together. "Olivia, you look beautiful."

I steal another glance in the mirror. I look like a girl. I mean, I always look like a girl, but in this dress, I look like a real girl. Like the way other girls look. Girls who aren't me. Who aren't driven to become the heads of their jettatori families. I can't help kind of liking the fact I look girly.

Antonia's mother comes around me and starts tugging on various parts of the dress, seeing if it's loose anywhere. "I think it will work," she says. The maid of honor dress was originally fitted for Maddie. I guess Maddie and I are about the same size.

I never meant to be such a different kind of girl. But after my mother died and my father went to jail, I was really sad. I didn't fit in with anyone, because I was so sad. At least, I didn't feel like I fit in with the other girls. They were interested in things that seemed stupid to me at the time. They talked about cute boys in bands, and they wanted to go out and buy clothes. I didn't see the point in any of that stuff. It wasn't that I felt like I identified with boys or anything. They were equally as shallow in their interests in cars and video games and sports. During that time, when I was about twelve, everyone else was becoming an adolescent. I was becoming tough. That was when I taught myself not to cry anymore. That was when I taught myself how to get through the sad times. I learned to focus on something, to let it consume me. As long as I focused on a goal, I could stop thinking about how awful everything was. When I was twelve, I made goals like getting straight A's on my report card or learning how to make frittatas. But those goals got too easy. I kept having to make them bigger and bigger. There's no goal bigger than being the first female boss of a jettatori family. I've been consumed with that goal for years.

It's easier to talk to boys sometimes. Not because they have big goals like me, but they understand needing to prove yourself. They understand challenging yourself. Girls just make me feel like hiding, with all their hugging and talking about feelings and stuff. Plus, somehow, while I've been retreating into myself and focusing on my goals, they've all got to be these graceful, poised people. I'm still just as awkward as I was when I was a little girl climbing trees. When I'm around girls, I felt like they're real girls, and I'm some kind of clumsy circus freak. For instance, I'm terrified I'm going to trip over this dress if I try to walk in it.

A dreadful thought occurs to me. "I'm not going to have to wear high heels, am I?"

Antonia's mother fiddles with the skirt of the dress. "Well, it is kind of long..."

"I'll fall down," I say. "I can't walk in heels."

"Maybe wedges," Antonia suggests.

I don't think that's going to make any difference. I imagine falling when I'm coming down the aisle at Antonia's wedding, ruining everything. I feel sick to my stomach. "Antonia, are you sure you don't want to let Maddie be the maid of honor?" Please?

"Don't be silly. I picked you. Besides, you look so good in the dress. Doesn't she, Ma?"

Antonia's mother nods. "You look just like your mother, Olivia."

My mother? I look at myself again, trying to see it. If I don't move, my arms do look slender and graceful. My mother always looked like that. I wonder who my mother even was? Did she betray my father? "Do you think my mother was happy?"

Antonia's mother looks at me strangely. "Why would you ask something like that?"

I shrug.

Antonia's mother pats me on the cheek. "I think you made her happy, Olivia. I know she was so proud of you. I remember how she carried you everywhere after you were born."

"But... besides me?"

Antonia's mother shrugs. "I'm not sure she was cut out for this kind of life. It takes a special kind of woman to be with our men, if you know what I mean." She chuckles and nudges me back into the dressing room to take the dress back off. "God rest her soul."

Not cut out for this kind of life? That's not what I want to hear. I let Antonia's mother help me unzip the dress. It falls off me and pools on the floor in liquid green shimmers. Would my mother be proud of me now?

* * *

The invisibility charm looks just like the charms we're selling outside the shows. Brice shows me how it works backstage during the play. He slips it over his head, and he simply disappears. It's pretty neat. After the show, we get out of our costumes as quickly as possible. It's ten o'clock, and we only have two hours. All magic stops at midnight, so the charms won't work after that. Also, there's the fact that Brice will change into a berserker. Which I don't like to think about.

Brice is excited. We take the bus into the city. I don't like to drive there. I can never find anywhere to park, and the car always seems like more of a hassle than it's worth. We don't talk about what we're going to do as we stare at the lights of the city across the water through the bus window. Instead, Brice insists we should pretend we don't speak English. He says it will be fun, because it will be like an acting exercise. We have to try to communicate without actual words, just using inflections.

We make up gibberish words and babble them to each other constantly as we get on the bus. We pretend we can't understand if anyone says anything to us like, "Can you move your feet out of the aisle?"

It's hard not to erupt into giggles, but I manage to "stay in character." I don't point out to Brice that being foreign people who speak a language no one has ever heard before probably makes us more conspicuous than we would be otherwise. It doesn't matter that much anyway. I doubt that we have to worry about arousing suspicion.

Because the jettatori families are a city-wide problem, I know that the records are kept in a central location. The Records Bureau is housed in the back of the Midtown Precinct. I know this because Nonna brought me here to meet a lawyer once, when my father was going to trial. I've never been inside, but I saw the door when we were there. The lawyer came out of it carrying a big box of files. Overall, the lawyer didn't do a very good job for my dad. I guess most of those files were about how my dad really was a criminal.

The bus drops us off within a few blocks of the Bureau. We duck into an alley and don charms. Instantly, Brice winks out of sight. I do too. It's very strange to wave my hands in front of my face and not see them. I laugh in delight.

"Where are you?" says Brice's disembodied voice. Something collides with my face. It's Brice's hand. "Oh, there you are."

"Ow."

"We should hold hands so we don't get separated."

"Good idea."

It takes a second for Brice and me to find each other's hands. Then we start off down the block. It's very strange. I've never realized before how much I rely on seeing my legs to walk. For the first block or so, it's slow going as Brice and I step and stumble, trying to figure out how far to lift our legs and how far to step. Eventually, Brice whispers to me, "It's probably easier if you just stare straight ahead."

So we try that. And it is easier. Mostly. Except we do nearly go sprawling when we encounter uneven sidewalks.

The Midtown Precinct is open, but we stand outside of it when we reach it. I don't want to open the door and have someone inside think it's weird to see the door open on its own. Finally someone comes by and goes into the building. I tug Brice forward so that we can slide in before the door closes.

Inside, there is a metal detector right as we come in. I lead Brice around it. The guy who is manning the metal detector doesn't even look up from his magazine. Behind the metal detector, there is a polished dark wood counter with carved wooden edges. Two women are behind it. Both of them are on the phone. There's a little swinging door, only the height of the counter, which allows people to walk back into the rest of the building. On the far wall, I can see the door labeled "Records."

Brice and I follow the person who went in the door before us, who's just gotten through the metal detector, through the swinging door. We dodge people walking around behind the counter and weave our way back to the Records door. I try the knob.

It's locked.

I feel immediately idiotic. What was I thinking? Of course the door would be locked. What are we going to do? Stand here and hope someone who has the key comes by and opens it? How could I have been so stupid? I swear under my breath.

"Is it locked?" Brice whispers.

"Yes."

"Hold on." I can feel him reach around me and put his hand on the lock. All I see are a few blue sparks.

I look around anxiously to see if anyone else saw. But the women at the counter are still talking on the phone. They aren't even facing us. And any other people around are only paying attention to where they're walking.

The doorknob turns. Brice must be turning it. The door opens a little bit. I take one more look around. Then I drag Brice after me into the Records Room. Once we're inside, I carefully shut the door.

It's dark inside.

A beam of light appears right next to me. "I brought a flashlight," says Brice.

Thank God one of us has a brain. Honestly, I'm glad I let Brice talk me into letting him come. This would have been a really useless trip without him.

The beam of light sweeps the enormous room. There are rows and rows of shelves, each straining under the weight of file boxes. The shelves travel so far back that I can't see the end of the room. How are we going to go through all of this?

"Whoa," says Brice.

"Yeah," I say.

Brice shines the light up onto the side of one of the shelves directly in front of us. "Files by Suspect Last Name," it says. "Ba-Br."

Good. At least there's a relatively easy to understand filing system.

Brice suddenly pops into sight next to me, holding his charm. "No one's in here, anyway," he says.

I take mine off too. It's a relief to see my body again. I take a second to look it over, just to make sure everything's still there. I don't think I like being invisible that much.

"Let's find the Cs," says Brice.

I follow him down the aisles between the shelves as he shines the flashlight on the boxes. We search for a long time, but eventually, we find the boxes labeled Calabrese. There are a lot of them. Some of the boxes have files on more than one person in them, so the box is labeled, "Calabrese, Paul; Calabrese, Pia; Calabrese, Oscar." My father has two boxes all to himself. My mother is sandwiched in a box with my great-grandfather and two of my uncles. It's on the top shelf. We have to hunt for a step ladder to get up and get it.

I climb up and take the box off the shelf. I hand it down to Brice. Together, we take the top off and search for the files on my mother. There's only one folder. I pull it out. My heart is pounding in my chest. There's a picture of my mother paper-clipped to the front of the folder. I look into her eyes, wondering if I really do look like her. I'm not sure if I see it myself.

I open the folder.

The door to the Records Room opens and someone flicks on a light switch. The room is bathed in light. Brice put his charm back on. I do too.

A woman is walking into the room. She's dressed in a black suit. She wears a name tag clipped to her label and a badge on a necklace around her neck. She doesn't wear any makeup, and her hair is pulled up in a ponytail. For some reason, I feel a strange kinship with the woman. There is something about the way she walks. She seems tough too. If things were different, maybe we'd be friends. But she's the police. The enemy.

She is humming to herself as she strolls past the shelves.

Brice and I don't dare move the box. It would make noise. We're still crouched on the floor, the file box open on the ground.

The woman is about to walk past the aisle where we are hiding.

I hold my breath.

She walks right by.

I let the breath out.

She stops walking. She backtracks. She looks down the aisle. She sighs. "Guess they figure I'll clean it up, since I'm a woman," she mutters. She starts down the aisle.

I try to back away from the box without making any noise, but I'm still holding my mother's file. It drags against the ground. I freeze at the sound.

The woman makes a face, confused. She looks around. "Hello?" she calls. When no one answers, she surveys the box. "Fuck it," she says. She turns and heads back up the aisle, continuing on to wherever she was going in the first place.

I wait for several seconds, until I'm sure she has really gone. Carefully, I put my mother's file against my chest. I stand up, feeling around for Brice. I can't feel him.

I can hear the woman a few aisles down, still humming to herself. I can't speak to Brice. She'll hear me.

I stretch out in every direction, dragging my invisible hand through the air. No Brice. Where is he? Did he move? I take a silent step in the direction towards the door and feel around again. Still nothing.

I take another step and repeat the process. I can't find him. I'm afraid I'm moving in the wrong direction. I have the file. I'd like to just get out of here. But I can't leave Brice. I have to find him.

How long can that police woman stay in here, anyway?

Right now, she's turning down an aisle, still humming. She walks halfway down, so she is exactly even with me. She crouches down to read the names on the bottom shelf. I can see her face. If I weren't invisible, she'd be able to look right over at me and see me too. My heart is pounding.

The woman slides a box out. She pulls out three file folders, then puts the lid on the box and slides it back in place.

Good. Maybe now she'll leave.

But she doesn't. She goes to another file box and does the same thing. Then another file box, this one further away. While she's in the depths of the file room, I tiptoe around the aisle, feeling for Brice as I do. I still can't find him. I don't know what to do.

In all, the woman goes to six different boxes. It seems to take an agonizingly long time. During all this, I still can't find Brice. I walk up and down the entire aisle. He doesn't seem to be anywhere. I wonder if he's just gone without me. Did he go to the door? Is he waiting for me outside? If only I could be sure.

Finally, the woman comes back in the direction of the door, her arms full of file folders. She pauses at the opening to the aisle where I've been waiting. She shrugs. "Ah, what the hell?" She comes down the aisle and places the lid on the box we've left lying on the floor. She looks at the front of the box to see where it belongs.

She narrows her eyes when she sees the name. She stands up straight, looking around the file room. Her eyes slide over me and stop. I could swear she can see me, but I can't even see myself.

She crouches down by the box again and lifts the lid. She shuffles through the contents.

Damn it. She's looking to see if anything is missing.

"Gianna Calabrese," she murmurs. My mother's name. She knows the file is gone. She shakes her head. "No one would be using that file. Would they?" She looks around the file room again, suspicion all over her face.

I really don't like this.

Suddenly, fingers brush my own. Brice! He takes my hand in his.

I can't stand being in here anymore, so I head towards the door and pull him along with me. Once there, I slowly and quietly turn the knob. As the door opens, I keep my eye on the police woman. She doesn't notice. Brice and I tumble out of the records room.

It isn't until we're blocks away that we stop running. Both of us are out of breath. Brice drops my hand. I hear him wheezing next to me on the street. "Where were you?" he asks. "I couldn't find you anywhere."

"I was trying to find you," I say.

A man on the street next to us cocks his head and looks confused as to where our voices are coming from. We're still invisible. We join hands again and walk until we find a space between the buildings where we can duck out of sight and take off the charms.

I'm relieved again to see my body, and to see Brice, who pushes sweaty hair away from his forehead. "You got the file, right?" he asks.

I show it to him. I want to sit down right here and read it, but it's dark, and we need to keep moving. "That woman knows it's gone now."

"No one could know we have it," Brice says. "They couldn't see us."

He's right, of course, but it makes me nervous.

When we get back to the bus stop, there are a bunch of people crowded there. It seems like more than would usually be taking a bus back to the island at this time on a weeknight, but I don't regularly take the bus, so I don't know. Still, as I look around at the throng, I wonder if we're all going to fit. Brice, being much more outgoing than me, strikes up a conversation with one of the people waiting.

"What's going on?" Brice asks.

The man is smoking a cigarette. He flicks ash from it furiously. "The 11:15 bus didn't show up," he says. "And the 11:26 bus is already five minutes late."

It's eleven-thirty already? How did it get so late? We must have spent more time searching for each other in the records room than I thought. This isn't good. It's getting too close to midnight.

"That sucks," Brice says. "Any idea what's wrong?"

The man puffs on his cigarette. "We're at the mercy of the transit system here."

The only other way home besides the bus is the ferry. The ferry terminal is blocks and blocks from here, a long walk—maybe even an hour. It's probably not worth it even to consider. Of course, maybe we could take the subway to the terminal. "Does the ferry run overnight?"

"It leaves on the hour," says the man. "I'm thinking about heading down there myself. Who knows when the bus is going to show up, or if they'll even be enough room."

I swallow hard. If the ferry leaves on the hour, then the next one won't leave until midnight. Which will be too late. We can stay and wait for the bus, but even if we get on it before midnight, we won't reach our destination before midnight. Brice is a ticking time bomb.

Brice smiles at the man we've been talking to. "Thanks man." He leads me away from the crowd at the bus stop. "You were right. I shouldn't have come," he says to me in a low voice.

"I didn't think it would take so long in the records room. I'm sorry."

"No, I pushed for it. I wanted to come. It was a stupid idea."

"Look, if we can find someplace to lock you up for an hour, we can catch the ferry back afterwards."

"At two, you mean? Because we'll never make the one o'clock ferry."

With a sinking sensation, I realize he's right. We're not going to get home until late.

"Where are we going to lock me up, anyway?" he says.

And if I can't contain Brice, he might not be going home at all. A berserker on the streets will get picked up by the police in a second and taken off to one of the asylums. If he's crazy violent, or if he's killed someone, the police might shoot him. I'm starting to feel panicky. Think, think, think, I order myself. Where can we lock up Brice? "I don't know yet. It needs to be someplace that you can't break out of. Someplace sturdy."

"Yeah, I guess the trunk of your car wasn't great before."

"I don't have my car anyway."

"There are cars around, though, aren't there? If we could open a trunk, would it be safe?"

"I don't know. How would we do that anyway?"

Brice waves his hand at me. Sparks of blue travel between his fingers. He did open the locked door at the police station, didn't he?

"What about a basement?" I say. "These old apartment buildings have basements, right?"

"Yeah, if they haven't turned the basements into illegal apartments, I guess they do."

We don't find a basement for at least twenty minutes. It's a difficult process, wandering around the building, looking for doors that lead down, putting on our charms and going inside to scope out the doorways. I'm nearly ready to shove him in a trunk when we do find a basement. It's small, and it's dank and dusty, and it doesn't look like it's going to be fun in there, but the door is solid, and I don't think Brice will be able to get out. By this point, he's starting to get antsy, and I can tell the change is coming soon.

I kind of hate locking him up in there. He doesn't complain, though. He just gets inside. As I'm closing the door, he says, "I'm sorry about this, Olivia."

But there's no more time to talk about it.

It's a long hour. At first, I can hear Brice screaming in pain as he changes. Then I can hear thumps and roars of rage as he tries to get free of his prison. I sit outside on the sidewalk because I'm afraid he'll get loose. I'm also worried about what people will think if they see me sitting there, but I can't make myself invisible, because the charms don't work anymore. Once activated, all magic tied to objects breaks loose at midnight. No one really knows why. It just stops working. From a business perspective, it's a good thing, since it means that once we sell someone a charm, they can't use it indefinitely, so we've never tried to work around it. Right now, I wish we had.

I don't feel frightened, even though I'm alone in the city. Maybe I should, but my worry is focused on Brice and our situation. I don't see too many people, and most that I do see walking by don't pay much attention. A bum does wander by and ask me for change. I tell him to get lost, and he does.

After what seems like a very long time, it's one o'clock. I let Brice out of the basement. His hands and face are bloody because he's been throwing himself up against concrete walls. His fingernails are ruined from scrabbling at corners, trying to dig himself out. He looks tired and haggard.

We make our way to the subway station and catch a train to the ferry terminal. As we sit inside the train, which only has a few other people on it, Brice asks me, "So what did the file say?"

I realize I haven't even looked at it. I take it out and open it so that we can both look. The heading on the first page says, "Gianna Calabrese-Informant."

I slam the file closed, shaking my head. It's true. My mother betrayed the family. My mother ratted people out to the police. It's the worst thing I can think of to do, and my mother did it. I feel disgusted and numb. And I also feel bad that I've made Brice go through everything he's gone through tonight, all for this information. Information that I almost wish I didn't have.

Brice gently pries the file out of my hands and opens it. "You were hoping she didn't give the police evidence, huh?"

I don't say anything. Brice is reading the file. I almost want to take it from him and rip it up into little pieces, but I don't do that. I don't do anything. I do my best to wrap my head around this new piece of information, which makes my mother seem like a completely different person than I thought she was.

Brice keeps reading until we get off the subway. Then we make our way into the ferry terminal, which is practically empty. We have to wait another half hour or so before the two-o'clock ferry arrives. We sit on some benches. Brice hands the file back to me.

"I'm sorry about all of this," I tell him. "I'm sorry I got you involved. This hardly seems worth it now."

"But you know the truth," says Brice. "No matter how bad it makes you feel, at least you know the truth."

I don't respond.

"Do you want to know what else is in the file?"

I start to say that I don't, but I realize that I'm lying. I do want to know. "Yeah, I guess I do."

"She did help them nab your father," says Brice, opening the folder. "You can see the information she gave on different occasions. Most of it is about your father's whereabouts. She didn't know much about his illegal activities, apparently, so she never has much to say about that."

"My father would have kept it from her. It's not jettatori practice to talk business with women."

Brice raises his eyebrows at me. "So how are you doing anything you do, then?"

"I'm not like other girls," I say. "I'm not particularly feminine."

Brice laughs. "Right."

"What? You disagree?"

"I, um..." He blushes. "I think you seem pretty feminine. I mean, from what I remember, anyway."

I realize he's talking about what happened in the dugout. I feel embarrassed too. "I was just drunk that night. It was a bad day."

He looks away. "Yeah, I guess it was. What happened to me must have been pretty horrible for you. I mean, we were almost... and then..."

I clap him on the back. "Hey. It was rougher for you, I'm sure. And tonight. You're all bleeding and scratched up. I keep getting you into messy situations."

"I'm okay. I'm fine." He gestures at the file. "You want me to keep going?"

I nod.

"She was supposed to testify against your father at his trial," says Brice, "but she disappeared."

"She was killed," I say. "By stray gunfire when they arrested my dad."

"The file says disappeared," Brice says.

I snatch it from him. He's right. There's no mention of her death. Does that mean that she wasn't killed by stray gunfire? Did my father shoot her? Did Angelo shoot her? I don't know the answer to that question. "Why would my mother do this? Why would she betray us?"

Brice takes the file away from me again and closes it. "One thing I've learned is that you can't trust your family."

I can't believe he's said that. Family is the only thing I trust. The most sacred thing. "What do you mean?"

"I mean they lie to you. They screw you over."

"No. They're your family. They're the only people you can trust."

"Not my family," he says.

I think about Brice's family. His parents are benedette. They're older, and they're traditional. They seem solid. I don't get it. "Your family is—"

"All a lie," says Brice. "My parents aren't my parents."

"You're adopted?" That seems strange, because Brice totally resembles his family.

He laughs, but he sounds bitter. "Not exactly. I found out a year ago. My parents are actually my grandparents. My sister is actually my mother. She got pregnant right out of high school. She didn't want anyone to know, so they hid it."

Oh. "I'm sorry."

"She got married when I was seven or eight. She had two other kids. And to this day, even though she knows I know, she still treats me like a kid brother. She left me. She abandoned me. I'm like a dirty secret she just pretends never happened. Do you know what it's like to find out that everything you ever believed about yourself and your family is a lie?"

I look down at the file. Maybe I do know. I take Brice's hand. We look at each other. I squeeze his fingers. He squeezes mine back.

CHAPTER SIX

Nonna is waiting up for me when I get home. She is not happy. "Have you been with that boy, Olivia?" she says the minute I come in the door.

The truth is that I have. But it's not like that. So I dodge the question. "I wouldn't be so stupid as to get involved with a boy who's a berserker. Give me some credit." I go back the hallway to my bedroom.

Nonna follows me. "You know how that disease gets spread, don't you, Olivia? If you and that boy are sinning, God will punish you. You will become a beast, just like him."

"I wouldn't do that, Nonna. Why don't you believe me?"

"If you weren't with him, where were you?"

"I lost track of time," I say. "After the play, I was hanging out with the cast, and we didn't realize how late it was."

She shakes her head at me. "You are lying to me."

"I'm not."

"I hear things about you. I hear things from people. At church. They say you are working with your father's family. That you are working with the jettatori."

Nonna doesn't know about what I'm doing. We aren't supposed to talk to the women about it. And besides, she wouldn't understand. "Listen," I begin.

But she cuts me off. "I tell them that the jettatori don't allow teenage girls to work for them, and they say to me that you are different. They say to me that you are the one who killed Joey Ercalono."

Jesus. How is this getting out? If everyone knows this, I could be in trouble. A lot of trouble. I'm a murderer, and if the police find this out... "That's crazy, Nonna."

"That's what I say. I say that's crazy." She grabs my arm and turns me, forcing me to look her in the eye. "But here you are home in the middle of the night. And I hope to God that it's because of a boy. Tell me you are just in love. Tell me it's only that."

"It's nothing," I say. "I lost track of time. Really."

Her eyes are welling up with tears. "I told your mother that if she married your father, I would never speak to her again, but I couldn't hold to that promise because I loved her too much. And I can threaten you that if you are doing things with your father's family, that I will disown you, and I will kick you out from under my roof, but I don't think I will do that. Olivia, you are all I have left."

She's making me feel uncomfortable. Guilty. I try to pull away from her. "Nonna, I'm tired."

"Be careful, Olivia. And be sure you know what you're getting into. Please, be careful."

"I was just out late after the play," I say. But she doesn't believe me. I can see that. "I'm always careful."

She nods. Once. "Good." Then she toddles down the hall, looking suddenly like a very old woman, despite all her fire. I feel like I want to cry, but I swallow it down, the way I always do. I hate to think I'm hurting Nonna. I love Nonna.

I undress and get into bed. I lie there, in the darkness, wishing I knew what to do. If my mother betrayed my father, maybe she did it for a good reason. If my father is responsible for my mother's death, how can I obey him? Do I know what I've gotten myself into?

Before I fall asleep, I think once more of Joey's glassy eyes. I yank the covers over my head and try to think of anything else. But his empty stare haunts me and follows me into my dreams.

* * *

Nonna goes to the market the next day without mentioning one word about the night before. I sit in the living room, eating chips and flipping through channels on our television, wondering if it's a good idea to stay here anymore. If the money I'm making from selling Brice's charms continues at the rate it's going, I can easily afford my own place. I don't like the idea of leaving Nonna completely alone, however. Still, if I'm mixed up in things like shooting people, maybe it would be safer for her if I wasn't around. I don't know what to do.

Almost as if it's on cue, there's a knock at my door. I take my bag of chips to the door and open it. It's the police woman from last night. She's dressed about the same. I'm so surprised to see her here, I drop my bag of chips.

"Olivia Calabrese?" she asks.

I nod.

"Mind if I come in?"

I step outside the house and close the door. The police can't come in unless they have a warrant. If they ask a question like that, you can always say no. I fold my arms over my chest. "What can I do for you?"

"Just some questions." She mimics me, folding her arms over her chest. "You're not in trouble or anything."

We are like mirrors of each other, both in sloppy ponytails, both not wearing makeup. She is like my dark twin or something. "Why would I be in trouble?"

"You're not. Would it be okay if I came inside now?"

"You can ask your questions out here, can't you?"

She sighs. She turns and looks out over the neighborhood. I follow her gaze. There are a few people out walking or jogging. One woman pushing a baby stroller. She looks back at me. "Tressa Calabrese was your cousin, right?"

I nod.

"Were you two close?"

I shrug. "Close enough. I was pretty wrecked when they found her body."

"Who wouldn't be? She was pretty banged up. It definitely wasn't an accident. Someone killed her and then threw her body into the water. Anyone who'd do that is scum, don't you think?"

Oh, God. I see where this is going. And she has the nerve to tell me I'm not in trouble? I can't believe this lady. "Absolutely," I say. "Scum."

"Luckily for us, the guy was pretty sloppy," she says. "He left his DNA all over the place. Even the water couldn't wash it all away. So, it should be pretty ironclad. Open and shut thing, you know? But we can't seem to find him anywhere."

I am stone. I refuse to have an expression. I refuse to react. "That's too bad."

She shrugs. "Maybe it is, maybe it isn't. In a case like this, a guy like this, sometimes the law can't find something bad enough for him. You know what I mean?"

I see what she's trying to do. She's trying to pretend like she's on my side. She thinks I'll just admit everything to her if she makes it sound like she agrees with what I did. Does she think I'm an idiot? I shake my head. "Not exactly, no."

She smiles grimly at me. "Well, people in families like his and like yours, they sometimes just disappear. They fall off the face of the earth. You haven't seen Joey Ercalono, have you?"

"No," I say. "I can't say that I have."

"Well, like I said, maybe that's not such a bad thing."

I press my lips together. I don't say anything.

"Maybe someone took care of him, if you know what I mean."

I don't like her innuendos. I don't like her at all. "Is there anything else I can help you with, Officer?"

She drops her arms and turns to go. Then she stops. She looks back at me. "Calabrese, right? Gianna Calabrese your mother?"

My heart stops. She knows about the file. She knows it was me. How can she know this? "Yes," I say, and my voice sounds shaky.

"I was thinking about your mother last night," she says. "She's another one, you know. Someone who just dropped off the face of the earth."

I can hardly breathe. What is she talking about? Why is she asking me about this? Is this about Joey or not? "My mother died," I say in a strangled voice. "I went to her funeral."

She nods. "Yeah. Funny thing about that. I was looking into it last night. Like I said, I started thinking about her. There was no announcement in any of the papers about her funeral. No obituary. And I swear to God, I looked all over, and I couldn't find a death certificate. I made a couple calls, and the funeral home around here has a record of burying her. Someone made her a tombstone, even. But...it all just seems a little strange to me."

I dig my fingernails into my arms to try to keep from shaking. What is she saying? Is she saying my mother isn't dead? My mother doesn't have a death certificate? What could this possibly mean? I feel terrified.

She looks over her shoulder again, surveying the joggers and wanderers in the neighborhood. "You sure I can't come inside and talk to you, Olivia?"

I back away. "Now isn't a very good time," I say hoarsely. I feel behind me for the doorknob.

"Okay, then. Another time, maybe?"

"Maybe," I say, yanking the door open. I back into the house and slam the door in the woman's face. Why did she come here? What does she want? I'm frightened.

* * *

I try my best not to think about any of it for the rest of the day. Not my traitor mother. Not why my mother wouldn't have a death certificate. Not what my father has to do with all of this. It's too much. I have other things to worry about. Vincent, for instance. Selling charms, for instance. The play, for instance.

The day proceeds just like any other, except for the fact I'm running from my own thoughts. At the play that night, I load up my guys with charms and send them out to sell. I stay backstage and play cards with Toby, the kid that plays Fleance. I try not to notice the scratches on Brice's face from when he was locked in a basement in the city last night. I try to pretend that everything is normal, but I'm reeling. I'm freaked out. I'm forcing myself to function.

The actor who plays Malcolm comes back in from having a smoke outside. "You're Olivia, right?"

That's weird. This guy is a professional, with his Equity card and everything. Why is he talking to me? "Yeah."

"Some guy is out back. He wants to talk to you. Seems like it's important."

That's even weirder. I thank the actor who told me and go outside. There's a little spot behind the theater where the actors who smoke usually go for cigarette breaks. One of my guys is standing out there. His name is Josh. He's been working for the Calabrese family for a few years. I like him, especially because he's always telling stories about how he's used his "special skills," as he calls them. Josh is a whiz with explosives. He's breathing hard.

"What's going on?" I ask him.

"The police showed up," he says. "We all had to scatter. We saved the merchandise though." He opens his suit coat to show me that all of the charms are still there.

"The police?" Is this a coincidence? Or is that lady from earlier out to get me? What does she know exactly? "You think they knew we were selling magic charms?"

"They knew something," says Josh. "They said they'd be keeping their eyes on us. We may have lost this whole area for selling."

"Damn it," I say. I'm angry, and I'm frightened. But there isn't anything else that Josh and my guys can do at this point. I tell them to get out of here. We'll divvy up what take they got later. "You're sure nobody got nabbed?"

"Yeah, pretty sure. We scattered quick."

That's good at least. The last thing I need is for the police to have one of my guys in custody. Most of the guys who work for me aren't officially part of the family. They might rat me out.

But thinking of that makes me think of my mother. And I don't want to think about any of that.

He smiles wryly. "If there were a way for me to use my 'special skills,' I would."

I crack a smile too. Josh and his special skills.

After Josh leaves, I force myself to concentrate on the problem at hand. Up until now, I've been outselling Vincent hand over fist. If I lose my one source of revenue, then I'm going to be screwed. I don't let myself wonder if I even want to be the head of the family if everything is so screwed up. Of course I want it. I've always wanted it. It's been my goal since my mother died—

If she's even dead.

These thoughts are driving me crazy.

I have to figure out another way to make this money, but it probably means going back to the charms my family makes and selling the old way. I should have known these charms Brice makes were too good to be true.

As if he knows I'm thinking about him, Brice comes backstage in his King Duncan outfit. He's covered up all the scratches on his face with stage makeup. "How are you holding up?" he asks me.

Without thinking about whether or not it's a good idea, I spill everything to Brice, from the police woman that came to my house today to the fact that the police have broken up my sellers outside the show. When I'm done, and he's looking at me with wide eyes, I feel bad. "I'm sorry to burden you with this. You're still all scratched up from last night. You know, Brice, it would probably be better if you just stayed away from me."

"I don't want to stay away from you." He grabs my hand.

Why is he doing that? I look at Brice and wonder if I've made a huge mistake in all of it. Brice was supposed to be the kind of guy who wouldn't want anything from me. He was supposed to be the kind of guy who didn't get attached. Maybe he's romanticized all this danger and mayhem I've brought into his life. Maybe... I pull my hand away slowly. "You're gonna get hurt."

He gives me a wry smile. "I don't think I care if I do."

What does that mean? "Look, I shouldn't tell you any more about what goes on in my life. I should keep it to myself. Go back to working on your Equity card and flirting with all the actresses and stop thinking about me."

Brice looks annoyed. "I don't flirt with all the actresses."

I roll my eyes.

"Hey, I don't. I mean, not intentionally, anyway."

Sure he doesn't. I don't even bother to respond to that.

"It doesn't matter anyway," says Brice. "No one's ever going to love me. Who would want to be with a berserker? No one."

Poor guy. I clap him on the back. "You're like me, then, Brice. We're too weird for regular people to want us. I've gotten used to it, and you will too."

"Olivia, you're not weird."

I wasn't saying that so he'd make me feel better. I wasn't angling for a compliment. I decide to just let it go. "See you around, Brice."

"Wait, you're leaving?"

Was he deaf when I said all that stuff about not telling him things and that he should stay away from me?

"Hold on," he says. "I have an idea for something you could do to keep your sales up."

It's not going to hurt to listen to an idea is it? Besides, Brice's ideas are usually pretty good. "Okay, tell me about it."

"You know where there are lots of theaters?"

"Where?"

"The city."

"You're saying I should send guys to shows in the city to sell charms? Would these charms even work there? I thought they were made for this show."

"They'll work on any show. They're not made specifically for this one."

I consider. It would definitely increase my cash flow. But there might be issues with territory disputes. Technically, there are families that control different parts of the city. But the theater district really doesn't fall under anyone's jurisdiction, considering no one's really ever tried to sell things there. It might be okay. It might be really awesome. I have to smile at Brice. "You're kind of a lifesaver, you know that?"

He grins at me.

* * *

I'm stopped on my way to the parking lot by Josh, who's apparently hung around through the show. The back of the Shakespeare Theatre opens onto a narrow alley, which is flanked by tall buildings on either side. To get to the parking lot, I have to walk down the alley, which is usually pretty dark at night. So when Josh jumps out at me, he nearly gives me a heart attack.

"Josh? What are you doing here?" I say.

He gives me a roll of bills. "I'm not going to be able to come in tomorrow to turn in my take," he says. "I thought I'd give it to you now."

Which is okay, I guess. I'm a little worried about what he's going to be doing tomorrow, so I ask.

He says it's a dentist appointment.

Seriously? A dentist appointment? But I tell myself I'm paranoid. If Josh is going to turn me in, then certainly, he wouldn't bother to give me money right now. He'd just hold onto it, or give it to the cops. For evidence or something.

I'm just tucking away the roll of bills and sending Josh on his way, when I hear my name. "Olivia Calabrese?"

I turn in the direction of the sound.

She's coming down the alley from the opposite direction of the parking lot. The cop lady who showed up at my house earlier. I can tell it's her because I see her ponytail and her badge swinging around her neck as she walks.

In seconds, it all comes crashing down. I've been set up by Josh. He handed me the money. The cops have observed that. Now I'm going down.

I run.

"Wait!" the police woman yells after me. "Olivia!"

My feet pound against the pavement. It's dark in the alley. I can hardly see where I'm going, but I've walked up and down it hundreds of times. I know there's a dumpster from one of the buildings on the left side coming up, and so I swerve to miss it.

Behind me, I can hear the sounds of footfalls. She is running after me.

I try to run faster. The alley doesn't last forever. If I can get to the parking lot—

Then what? I get in my car and drive off? They'll be able to find me if I go home.

This is bad. This is very bad.

I'm so caught up in thinking about this that I forget to swerve back to the left to miss the next dumpster.

I collide with it. It smells bad, and it scrapes up my arm.

The footsteps behind me are closer.

I shove away from the dumpster and start running again. But I'm out of breath now, and my arm is throbbing. I know I'm not going quite as fast.

"Olivia, I only want to talk!" yells the police woman. She is right behind me.

I push myself to go faster. Yeah right, she wants to talk. She wants to talk to me while she's arresting me. I know how these things go.

"Olivia!" Her hand brushes my back.

It's just enough pressure to make me stumble.

I fight for balance, but I lose, and I go sprawling all over the pavement of the alley. I've got more scrapes now. My hands. My knee. They smart in pain.

But it's too late now. She's standing over me. She caught me.

She's barely out of breath, but I'm gasping like a steam engine. I try to get to my feet. Maybe I can make a break for it.

"I told you that you weren't in trouble," she says. "Why are you so skittish?"

I stand up, brushing myself off. Between wheezes, I say, "You trying to say you're not going to arrest me?"

"For what?"

I'm not such an idiot that I'm going to give that information to her. I plant my hands on my hips, trying to steady my breathing. "So what do you want then?"

"My name's Donna Fitzpatrick," she says. "I want to talk to you about your mother."

I feel wary. I don't know how to respond. Instead, I get insulting. I think I'm just trying to throw her off-balance so that we're both on equal footing. "A mick, huh? Funny, you don't look Irish."

"Yeah, well, my mother's a wop," she says. "We going to trade racial slurs all night?"

She's not trying to arrest me. If she were, she would have done it by now. Maybe she does want to tell me about my mother. "Why do you want to talk to me?"

"Let's call it a personal stake, okay?" she says.

I'm not sure I like that. It's pretty vague.

She keeps talking. "What I said before about things in your family staying in your family without police interference is just a fact. I realize that. So if I want anything done about it, I've got to find someone on the inside who might think it's a problem. I don't know a lot about you yet, Olivia. But when I started thinking about Gianna Calabrese last night, I did some digging. And you seem unconventional for a gangster."

"I'm not—"

"Spare me. I don't need to hear denials. None of this is on the record, okay? I'm not here. You're not here. We're not having this conversation. You can probably guess what might happen to me if my superiors found out I was doing this."

Wait. She's taking risks to talk to me? Why? "What do you want to tell me?" I begin to grudgingly trust this woman. I've already respected her in a way, because I felt a kind of kinship between us. I'm ready to hear what she has to say.

"Your mother knew things. There's a file on her, but it's disappeared." She looks at me pointedly. She does know. How could she know? "That file, however, doesn't tell everything that went on. That file leaves some things out. Your mother came to us because she knew something about the way your family was conducting business. Something that was different than the way other jettatori families do it."

All families are a little different, but for the most part, people do things the same. Except for what I'm doing with Brice, I guess, which is a little out of the ordinary. "What do you mean?"

"It has to do with the berserker virus. Something in the way your family does things makes the virus behave differently."

"How?"

She sighs. "I don't know. And if your mother knew, she didn't tell anyone. She didn't have the chance."

"Because she died."

"Maybe," says Fitzpatrick. "Maybe she did die. She fell off the face of the planet, that's for sure. But where's her death certificate? None of it makes sense." She sighs. "I meant what I said about Joey Ercalono. Death was too good for him. Sometimes, not always, but sometimes I meet people in your line of work who are... moral. Who aren't doing what they're doing to make money no matter who it hurts. I like to think those people are on the same side as I am, no matter what the law says."

Moral? Is she saying that she thinks I'm a moral person? I'm not sure if I am.

"I've heard that the charms you sell don't have the virus in them," she says.

"I'm not selling—"

She holds up her hand. "Right, right. You may not know this, but a big reason that the selling of magic charms was outlawed in the first place was because of the berserker virus. If there's no virus, there's no crime. At least to my way of thinking." She shrugs. "I might not be able to bust your family and stop them from selling that mutated strain of the berserker virus. Hell, we've got Lucio in jail, and it makes no difference, does it? But if you found out something was going on, something that might have hurt your mother... Well, let's just say the important thing to me isn't busting criminals, it's stopping crime, okay? I'm hoping talking to you makes a difference."

And then she's gone. But she's left me with more questions than answers. I don't know anything else more about my mother, except that she may still be alive. And what Fitzpatrick has said to me doesn't settle well. She implied I'd stop my family from doing something wrong if I found out about it. Because she thinks I care about the right thing to do. But to me, the right thing to do has always been to protect my family. First and foremost, above all else, I've believed that. If she's asking me to betray my father—

Like my mother did.

Why? Because of a different berserker virus? None of this makes sense. The virus is an unfortunate side effect. A downside to the way we do business. It's not a good thing. It's the kind of thing that makes it hard to sell our product and makes our customers dwindle. There's no solid reason for making the virus behave differently or for messing with the virus in any way shape or form. I can't see why my family would do that. I've got to find out what's different.

But as I start back for my car, cradling my skinned up hands and still lost in thought, a dark figure streaks up the alley from the parking lot and tackles me.

CHAPTER SEVEN

I land on my back with someone's heavy weight over me. My body feels painfully jolted. I don't moan, even though I want to. I smell the breath of my attacker, a mix of alcohol and garlic. Then I recognize him. Vincent.

Has he heard my conversation with the cop? Is that why he knocked me over? Because he thinks I'm betraying the family? "Were you listening to me?" I say.

"Shut up, Olivia. I couldn't care less what tricks you turn in this alley," he says. His voice is a little slurred. He's been drinking a good bit, I think. And it doesn't sound like this is about my conversation with the cop. "I'm here to let you know that you're no match for me."

Great. I push at him. He's heavy, and he smells bad. "Get off me, Vincent."

He laughs. He seizes my ponytail, wrenching my head to the side, and pulls it so that my neck is strained. It hurts.

I scrabble at his face, this time trying to hurt him back. This isn't funny. "Let me go, Vincent."

"You think you can outsell me and take my position in the family, don't you?" he says. "But you're just a girl. You're nothing but a weak little girl." Abruptly, he shifts his hand from my ponytail so that it's sprawled over the side of my face. Then he grinds the other side of my face into the pavement.

The rough surface bites into my skin. I cry out.

"Weak," Vincent says again. His hand is on my ponytail again. He yanks on it once more, pulling me to my feet.

I think he has pulled hairs out of my scalp. The pain is excruciating. "Stop it, Vincent. You're my cousin." It's all I can think of to say.

Vincent drives a fist into my stomach.

I double over, my hands going to my belly. Inside, my guts and ribs are screaming in pain.

He punches me again. This time he punches my face.

I pull a hand away from my stomach to my cheekbone. God. It hurts.

He shoves me, and I fall onto my backside, wincing.

He kicks me. He's wearing boots. The tread tears at my skin.

I don't know what to do. I curl into a ball, trying to protect the soft parts of myself, my breasts and belly, from his blows.

He keeps kicking me. He kicks me and calls me names.

I tuck my head inside my arms. I barely register the torrent of "bitches" and "cunts" that are flowing out of his mouth. I just try to hold on while his feet make impact over and over again.

But I don't cry. I refuse to cry.

Eventually, he's done. I hear him retreat down the alley. It's quiet.

I just lie there for a while. I'm too shocked to know what to do. Finally, I manage to get up. Everything hurts. My bones ache. My face is bleeding. So are my arms and legs. The cuts sting as I try to move. It's an effort just to stand. I spit, and there's blood in my mouth. Vincent's really done a number on me.

I feel for the wall of a building behind me and sag against it.

There are voices in the alley.

"You should talk to him," says a female voice. "I know he's looking for someone about your type. Young handsome guy. You might be right for the role." It's probably one of the actresses from the play. I cut out pretty quick tonight. Sometimes people linger backstage before they leave.

"Well, I've still got a few weeks of this play left," says another voice. Male. "Would that interfere?" I recognize it then. It's Brice. Brice talking to an actress who's calling him handsome. Well, it is what I told him to do, isn't it?

I don't want Brice to see me like this. But I don't think I can move fast enough. I rest against the wall, hoping that I'll fade into the shadows. That he'll walk by me without noticing.

"I don't think the actual rehearsals start for a few weeks. He hasn't even started official auditions. But you've got a headshot and resume, right?"

"Yeah," says Brice. "Nothing too impressive on it, though." They sound closer.

"I'll talk to him. Give it to me and I'll pass it along. You really are talented, you know. And you've got a face. Having a face is important. It's a leg up in this business," the actress says. I wonder if she's the one who plays Lady Macbeth. Her name is Dana or something. She's got a face. She's absolutely gorgeous. But professional actors always are.

I can see them materialize out of the darkness. It's that Dana chick all right. Brice is shadowed, but I can see that he's smiling at her. I wonder if he's got that bright-eyed look he gets sometimes. When he's excited. I like that look.

They are paying attention to each other, so they probably won't see me. I try not to move.

But Brice says, "Hey, who is that?"

I don't say anything. I'm afraid if I try to speak, my voice will come out like an agonized scream.

"Olivia?" Brice and Dana both stop and stare at me.

Dana takes a step forward. "Sweetie, what happened?"

I manage to shake my head. "I'm fine." My voice does sound like I'm in pain. I curse it.

Brice is beside me now. His arms are around me. He is helping me away from the wall. "Olivia, my God. You're..."

"Should we call the cops or something?" says Dana.

"I'll take care of it," says Brice. "I've got her. You go ahead."

Dana already has her phone out. "I can't leave her like this."

"I'm fine," I insist. "No cops."

"She's a Calabrese," Brice says.

A flicker of recognition goes across Dana's face. She hesitates, phone in hand. Then she puts it back in her purse. "I don't think it's a great idea to get mixed up with this kind of thing, Brice."

"I've got her," Brice says again. And it feels good to lean against him. To have him close, supporting me.

* * *

I'm in the bathroom at Brice's house. His parents (or grandparents, I guess) are away for the evening, but he says he wouldn't care if they were here. Brice is undressing me. I'm trying to protest.

"Olivia, I saw you practically naked already," he's saying. "And you're hurt. We have to clean out all these cuts."

I flash on being underneath Brice in the dugout, how nice his lips felt on mine. I let him take off my shirt. "It's mostly my arms," I say. I remember that I curled into a ball to protect myself.

Brice runs his fingers over my ribs, where Vincent punched me. A large greenish bruise is already starting to form. "Jesus, Olivia, who did this?"

"Vincent," I mutter. "He's jealous."

"He's crazy."

I don't disagree. I let Brice put bandages all over me. I take the ice pack he gives me to put over my eye, where Vincent's fist exploded against my cheekbone. It's pretty clear I'm going to have a black eye.

"He can't do this to you," says Brice.

"He did," I say. "He called me a weak little girl. He's right. I never realized..." Maybe all this time I should have been taking self-defense classes and learning how to punch. I never thought my own cousin would beat me up. Family is supposed to matter. But it seems like nothing's sacred these days. Not anymore.

"You're not weak," says Brice. His eyes slide over my body. "And you're not a little girl."

"I couldn't fight him back. I just let him hit me. I couldn't stop him." And something worse than Vincent's punches hits me cold in the gut. I'm afraid now. I'm afraid of Vincent. That was why he did this. Not because he wanted to hurt me. Because he wanted to dominate me. And he's done that. He's succeeded.

Brice pauses, holding the Band-Aid he's about to apply to my forehead. "Maybe you shouldn't have to fight him."

"No, I do. If I want to make it in the family, I have to be as tough as they are."

"Why do you have to make it in the family?"

"I just do. It's what I've always wanted to do. I've worked so hard to fit in, so they'd think I was one of the guys. So they wouldn't dismiss me as a girl. And then Vincent has to go and make me into a girl. Make me vulnerable." I hate him.

"It's not bad to be a girl." Brice smoothes the Band-Aid over my skin. He looks into my eyes. He seems so concerned for me. We look at each other like that for several seconds. Neither of us says anything. And then Brice's face moves forward, and he's kissing me.

Instead of feeling nice, it hurts, because my face is so messed up. I wince.

Brice moves away. "Sorry."

I'm not sure whether I wanted him to keep kissing me or not. I mean, if it hadn't hurt. Because everything's too weird right now. I never wanted a boy to distract me from my goals, and Brice is a berserker, and... "It's just—"

"The virus," he interrupts. "I know." He starts to gather up the leftover parts of the Band-Aids to throw away.

"Maybe I have it anyway," I say. It takes a month for the virus to gestate. We don't know either way. "Maybe it doesn't matter."

Brice drops them in the trash can. "Why would you think you had it?"

"Well, we were kind of really close to... You were almost..." Inside me. But it's really hard to find the voice to say that aloud to Brice, because I'm not drunk the way I was in the dugout, and the whole thing is embarrassing and weird.

"We didn't fuck," Brice says.

I'm startled by the coarse way he puts it. "No, we didn't."

"You're fine. You can be happy I have a really idiotic knowledge of female anatomy."

"Brice." I put a hand on his arm. I want to comfort him somehow.

He just walks away from me. "I'll get you some other clothes," he throws over his shoulder.

Brice returns with one of his t-shirts and a pair of drawstring shorts. I'm grateful because my own clothes are bloody and torn. But if Nonna sees me in Brice's clothes, she'll assume the worst. I'm not sure I even want to go home tonight. I can't handle lying to her. I can't handle hurting her. I pull Brice's shirt over my head.

He's waiting outside the bathroom for me. I think it's funny that he didn't watch me get dressed, but he had no problem undressing me.

"You can't get it from kissing me, you know," he says.

"My face hurts," I say. I duck back into the bathroom to grab the ice pack. I press it against my eye, almost as if I'm illustrating my point.

"Right." He leans against the wall of the hallway outside the bathroom. He looks at his feet. "Why'd you do it, anyway, Olivia? Why'd you come onto me at all that night?"

"It had been a bad day. I was drunk. You seemed like the kind of guy who wouldn't make it, you know, mean anything."

He gives me a funny look. "What?"

"Because you're popular and cute, and girls are always fawning all over you. I figured if it couldn't be anything more than one time, you'd have lots of other girls to move on to."

Brice is looking back at his feet again. "You know, even if I hadn't found out that I was a berserker, I wouldn't be like that, don't you?"

"Brice, you were the heartthrob of our high school. Don't act like you never noticed."

He shakes his head. "I guess I was too busy trying to pursue this acting stuff. People were always nice to me, but I didn't... You misjudged me, Olivia."

I don't know what to say. "I'm sorry."

"Anyway, it doesn't matter," he says. "If the world you live in includes you getting beaten up like this, I couldn't handle it." He starts down the hallway. "You should probably go. It's getting late, and I'm going to change."

Right. Every night at midnight, Brice becomes a berserker. Brice drove my car here, and it's in the driveway. "Thanks for bandaging me up."

He grins. "No problem, Calabrese."

Why is he calling me by my last name again?

CHAPTER EIGHT

I don't go home at all. I'm at the deli when it opens, still in Brice's clothes. I must look awful, covered in cuts and bruises. I've helped myself to food that's in the cooler, so when Tommy shows up, I'm sitting in the back, eating a sandwich and drinking a Coke. Despite everything, I'm feeling strangely calm. And I'm going to distract myself from this Vincent issue by figuring out what the heck my mother knew. That's all I'm going to think about.

Tommy is carrying a big paper bag with meat in it. He drops it when he sees me. "Olivia, what happened?"

I just keep eating my sandwich. "I'm fine."

Tommy rushes over to me. He lifts my chin so he can look at my face. "Someone did a number on you."

I yank my head away from Tommy and take another bite of the sandwich. "It's not important right now."

"Not important?"

"Tommy, what do you know about the spells we use on the charms we sell?"

"Who hit you?"

"Are they different than other jettatori families' spells?"

"You tell me who hit you, and by God, I'm going to find him and—"

"No, Tommy. You're not going to do anything. That will just make it worse." I stuff the rest of the sandwich into my mouth and chew. "You think we could get our hands on an Ercalono charm?"

Tommy glares at me. He shakes his head, and he goes back to pick up his bag. He starts thrusting packages of meat into the cooler. "Did the Ercalonos do this? Is that what you're telling me? I thought we'd smoothed that over."

"It wasn't the Ercalonos," I say. "It was Vincent."

Tommy stops what he's doing. "Vincent? But he's family."

I laugh. "Exactly what I thought."

"I'm going to throttle him within an inch of his life." Tommy shoves more meat into the cooler, emptying the bag. He slams the cooler shut.

"If I weren't a girl, Tommy, would you still be rushing out to beat Vincent up for me? If were a guy, what would you say to me?"

He leans against the cooler, considering. Then he nods. "You're right. It can't be me. If you weren't a girl, I'd tell you to go and teach him a lesson. I'd tell you that the only way you could save face was to beat him worse than he beat you."

And there's the problem, isn't it? Because I can't beat Vincent. "He's stronger than me." I get up, taking the plate I was using for my sandwich to the front of the deli and depositing it in one of the sinks. I could wash it, but Tommy pays someone good money to wash dishes.

When I come back into the room, Tommy says, "Who says you have to use your fists?"

I don't understand for a minute, and then I nod.

Tommy comes over to me and inspects my face again. "You're very tough, Olivia. I know a lot of guys who'd be crying for their mommies after a beating like this. You belong as the head of this family. You're built for it. Don't let Vincent try to convince you any different."

"Thank you," I say to Tommy. And I'm filled with a surge of rightness, as if all the things I was worried about last night when I kept asking myself why I was part of the jettatori somehow don't mean anything. I was built for this.

* * *

Vincent lives with our cousin Benny in an apartment a few blocks from the deli. Benny's awake, because he's heading to the construction site he works at, and he lets me in with no problem. I tell him I want to talk to Vincent. He tells me Vincent's still asleep. I'm glad. That's exactly the way I want it.

I haven't taken the time to clean up at all, so Benny wants to know what happened to me. I tell him he should see the other guy. I tell him I'm going to go wake Vincent up. Benny shrugs. He leaves for work.

I go into Vincent's bedroom. Vincent is asleep in nothing but his boxers. He's thrown all his covers off while he's sleeping, so he's curled up on his side. One of his arms is clutching the pillow.

I stalk over to him. I pull out the gun I've brought with me. I place the gun right next to Vincent's head and fire into his pillow.

It would be cooler if it were a feather pillow and feathers started fluttering everywhere, but there's still a nice explosive sound and a big hole in his bed. Vincent sits up, his eyes wide. His hair is sticking straight up on one side of his face, because he's been sleeping on it. He looks bleary eyed and hung over.

I put the barrel of the gun on his forehead. "Good morning, Vincent," I say.

Vincent goes cross eyed, looking at the gun. He swallows. "Listen, Olivia, about last night. I might have gotten carried away."

"Don't talk," I tell him. "I don't want to listen to your stupid, whiny voice."

He swallows again.

I bend down so that I'm putting my swollen face right in front of his. I figure I look like some kind of monster, and I like that. "So, you're right about one thing, Vincent. I am a girl. I'm not nearly as strong as you." I cock the gun. "Funny thing, about being weak, though, Vincent. Seems like everyone's got a weak spot. Here you are, half dressed in your bed with your hair all mussed up. And here I am with a gun to your head. So, you can corner me in the alley and beat me up if you want. But that doesn't mean that you'll be safe from me."

Vincent licks his lips. "Olivia, we're family—"

"Shut up," I thunder. I lower my voice again. "We are family, Vincent. Which is why you never should have put your hands on me like that. Now I know I can't trust you. And when I'm head of this family, I'm going to have my eyes on you. And if you make one wrong move..." I tense my finger against the trigger. "Bang!"

Vincent jumps.

I laugh. "You hurt me again, you cross me again, I will kill you. It wasn't hard for me to get in here this morning, was it? It won't be hard for me to get to you again. I don't care if we are family, Vincent. That clear?"

Vincent nods, swallowing again.

I uncock the gun and put it away. "Good. Have a nice day."

It's only when I get out of his apartment that I start shaking. I just threatened the life of my cousin. I never thought I'd have to do something like that. But I think Tommy was right. It was necessary.

I wait until I'm sure Nonna has gone to the market, and I go home to shower and change clothes. The water stings against all the places that I've been cut and scratched up, but the steam feels good as it loosens my sore muscles. I'd like to wash Brice's clothes so that I can give them back to him, but I don't have time, so I just hide the clothes. I find a baseball cap to put my hair up into and a pair of sunglasses. I don't want anyone to see how bruised I am.

I take a trip to the other side of the island, to Fazioli territory. Tommy's comments about the Ercalonos make me think it's probably a bad idea to interact with them in any way for now. I wander for a while, waiting to see someone. Finally, I catch sight of Leo Fazioli. He used to go to St. Anne's with me as well, but he was a few years ahead of me. I approach him. I don't think he'll recognize me in with the cap on my head and the sunglasses. He might, but it's just a chance I'm going to have to take.

"You're a Fazioli, right?" I say.

"What's it to you?" he says. He is trying to figure out who I am, I can tell.

I keep my head down, my face in the shadow of the ball cap. "I want to buy a charm. You got charms?"

He shifts on his feet. "Not on me. But I can get one."

We haggle over price. After deciding, he tells me he'll meet me in an hour.

I let him walk off and then I follow him when I'm sure he doesn't think I'm behind him. One of Brice's invisibility charms would come in handy now, but I haven't got one, so there's no point in thinking about that too much.

Leo goes to a furniture warehouse. Selling furniture is one of his family's many covers. I can't get inside, so I have to settle for finding a window to watch through.

Like our deli operation, there are several jettatori set up at a kind of assembly line. They have big stacks of herbs and big boxes of charms. I watch as they mumble their chants over the herbs, as they wrap the charms in the blessed herbs, as they sprinkle the charms with blood from animals that carry the berserker virus. It's the way we do it. It's almost exactly like we do, except for the fact that the chant is different. I whisper it to myself over and over outside the window, memorizing it. I'm glad I've spent so much time memorizing lines for plays. It only takes me a few times through before I'm sure I'll remember the chant long enough to get home and write it down.

I meet Leo later and buy my charm.

Then I go to the deli, and I get one of our charms. I sit in my car for a while, staring at both of them. They look so similar. I don't put either on. I don't want to trigger the magic. I try several things I know about benedetta magic. A few little spells of inquiry. They don't produce much. If I hadn't been a jettatore, I could have been trained in Benedicaria, like my grandmother. But I made my choice.

Still I don't know what the implications of this are. I don't know why the chants are different. I don't know how to figure any of that out.

I feel confused today. I put a gun in my cousin's face. And Tommy told me I was built for being jettatori. What I'm doing with these charms, doesn't it undermine everything my family works for? Was that cop right last night? Will I work against my family if I discover they're doing something wrong?

Was it wrong to threaten Vincent? Was it wrong to murder Joey? Was it wrong to try to sleep with Brice? Was it wrong to involve him in any of this? I think of the scratches on his face. I'm not even sure if I really know what's right and what's wrong anymore.

Before, it was simple. The most important thing was to protect my family. Anything that did that was right. Anything that didn't was wrong. Now...

Finally, I start the car and drive home. It's getting towards late afternoon, and I have a show tonight. At least the play is easy. At least there, the lines are all written for me, and all I have to do is say them convincingly.

When I get home, Nonna is in the living room. She is watching television and knitting. She looks up at me. "You didn't come home last night."

I nod. "I wasn't doing anything with a boy, Nonna." The half kiss doesn't count. "But I think I need your help with something." I pull out the charms.

* * *

It's hard to figure out what to tell her and what not to tell her. It's against the rules to tell her anything at all. She's a woman, she's not jettatori, and she's not even Calabrese. But she is my family, and she's the most knowledgeable person about magic that I know. I decide to tell her what I know, but not how I know any of it. I tell her that I think that the family is changing the magic in the charms somehow. When she asks how I know this, I say, "I can't tell you, Nonna. It's safer that way for me and you."

She shakes her head. "Olivia, you are getting yourself into something dangerous."

"If we can find out what happened to Mom, I think it's worth it," I say. I tell her about what I saw the Fazioli doing earlier. How they use different chants that the Calabrese family uses. This is the hardest thing to admit, because they are tightly guarded secrets. Letting a benedetta know about jettatori magic is a betrayal of everything we stand for. I feel guilty, but I do it anyway. "Can you tell me why they're different? Can you tell me what our charms are doing?"

She gets up, her knitting forgotten. "Maybe if you wrote them down, if I did some looking."

I don't want to write them down. That seems worse than telling her. Then they'll be out there, where someone could find them. But I nod. I write them down.

"It will take me some time," she says. "I want to help you, though."

I realize suddenly what a dangerous thing I am asking Nonna to do. She is going up against my family, a very powerful force in this part of the world. She could be hurt. I almost take the chants back. "I don't want you to be hurt, Nonna."

She smiles at me, and she looks young and brave. "I can handle myself. Don't you worry about me. You just worry about yourself. Whatever you're digging yourself into, it might not end well."

She's right, of course. She tucks the handwritten chants away. And then, it's almost as if the entire conversation has been forgotten, and she is my old Nonna again. "So you stay out all night and do not even call me to tell me that you are okay? And what is that bruise on your face?"

"Nonna, please."

She wags her finger. "I don't like this one bit, Olivia Calabrese. You are not behaving like a good young lady should. I haven't a clue what to do with you."

Somehow, her scolding comforts me. I smile. "What's for dinner?"

She sweeps into the kitchen, opening the refrigerator door. "You expect me to believe you never saw that boy?"

I follow her. "He's in the play with me. Of course I saw him."

"He is a handsome one, that one," she says. There is a twinkle in her eyes as she looks at me. "But bad for you." She hands me an onion. "Chop this fine."

I get out a cutting board. "What kind of boy would be good for me?"

"Well, I had high hopes for the D'Annunzio boy. So polite."

"George? He has buck teeth!"

"He is going to be a priest, however, from what his mother tells me."

"Good for him. He's so ugly, only God could love him." I slice into the onion.

"Olivia!"

I think I've done the right thing. Telling Nonna. I can't be sure, but I think so.

* * *

The weekend passes without incident. I have to get the guys working in the theater district in the city since we can't seem to sell outside the play anymore. I spend time working with them. It makes me a little nervous, because I'll be stuck performing while they're out there, and we won't be close like we have been. By this time, however, my guys are seasoned charm sellers. They seem to take to it easily.

Brice helps me by making more charms, but we don't talk much. The scratches on his face have mostly healed up. My face is another story, of course. I have to drown myself in stage makeup to make myself look presentable as Hecate. Brice said something to me before I left his house about not being able to handle my world. I'm glad, because I don't want him to be in danger. But I can't help but feeling a little pang when he doesn't seek me out backstage. I tell myself to ignore it. I do my best.

Nonna doesn't say anything about the charms or the chants. I don't ask. It's as if the whole thing never happened. I come home on time every night. I try to be a good granddaughter.

Vincent stays clear of me for the most part. He is still not bringing in as much money as I am, but he brought in a lot more last week than he had before. I can tell he resents my success, but he doesn't meet my eyes when we are in the same room. I'd like to believe that the whole thing is over, but I can't imagine Vincent giving up so easily. If he'd beaten me with his take last week, it might be one thing. The fact I'm still kicking his ass has to irk him, though. I'm sure of it.

Monday rolls around, and I'm glad to have a couple nights off from the play. I catch up on television and help Nonna with the dinner dishes. Everything feels like it's returned to normal, even though I'm sure everything's more screwed up than it's ever been before.

When the phone rings around eleven o'clock Monday night, I answer it feeling like something bad has to have happened. But it's only Brice. He's drunk.

"Olivia, I'm at a party. I need a ride home," he slurs.

"Get someone at the party to drive you," I say. Why is he calling me?

"Everyone else is drunk."

I sigh. "Where are you?"

He tells me.

I can't believe it. "Do you realize what time it's going to be by the time I drive out there and pick you up?"

"That's why I need a ride. It's getting late."

The irresponsibility of the boy is appalling. Doesn't he know what will happen to all of the people at the party if he changes into a berserker? "How could you do this?"

He's sarcastic. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe the fact that my life is completely shitty right now makes me want to be wasted drunk. Maybe I just don't care."

"I'll be there as soon as I can," I mutter. I slam down the phone.

Nonna sees me gathering up my keys to leave. "It's that boy, isn't it?" she asks.

I don't even answer. I could kill him. "I've got to take care of something," I tell Nonna.

It takes me nearly half an hour to drive out to this party that Brice is at. I pull into a house in a suburban neighborhood. There are people smoking cigarettes on the lawn. I can hear the music floating out of the house. It's loud and obnoxious. I don't see Brice anywhere. I have to park the car and go into the house. Inside, the dimly lit rooms are packed with bodies. Every available surface is crowded with beer bottles and empty glasses. I weave my way inside, yelling for Brice. Eventually, I find him in the kitchen. He is slumped over the counter, his hand still clutching a beer. I shake him until he wakes up.

He is so drunk that he can barely focus his eyes on me, but when he realizes who I am, he seems glad to see me. "Olivia. Thank you so much. I didn't have anyone else to call. You're a lifesaver."

Funny. Didn't I say the same thing to him the other day? "Can you walk?" I ask him.

He can, sort of. We manage to make it back to my car with Brice leaning against me the entire way. I throw him into the passenger side and get in. As I start the car, I say, "If you're going to throw up, tell me, so I can pull over."

Brice hiccups. "I never throw up anymore. I'm not an amateur."

Wonderful. I drive. I don't speak to him. I'm extremely pissed off at him. Why would he do something so absolutely stupid?

Brice slouches in the other seat, resting his head against the window. "You're like the most amazing girl in the universe, do you know that?"

"Picking up your drunk ass does not make me amazing. I'm only here because I don't want you to change and hurt all those people."

"That's not why I think you're amazing," he says. "Although, I do appreciate it. Thank you so much."

I keep my eyes on the road. We're running out of time. I need to get Brice back to his house as soon as I can.

"You think all these girls were noticing me in school," Brice says. His voice is loose the way that drunk people often sound. "But you don't realize that people were noticing you too. That I was noticing you. We were in Grease together junior year. And you were one of the pink ladies, and I used to—"

"Yeah, and you were Danny Zuko and Megan was Sandra Dee. You were the lead in all our shows. I've always been in the teeny tiny role in the background."

"It doesn't mean I didn't notice you," he says. "And I was lucky in high school getting those roles. Small pond and all that. Guys have less competition in school. All the girls want to be in the play, but none of the guys do."

I guess he's right. I mean, it's true that every guy who tried out for Grease got cast, but at least ten or twelve girls didn't make the cut. I was lucky to have a speaking role. "Do you have a point here, Brice?"

"Just that I noticed you. That I thought you were pretty. That the thing in the dugout wasn't like what you thought."

I grip the steering wheel tighter. "We don't have to talk about that."

"I think about it a lot," he says. "I think about you a lot. The way it felt to touch you. The way you sighed when I—"

"Stop it, Brice. You're making me uncomfortable. I was drunk then, and you're drunk now. Let's try to learn from our mistakes and not do or say things we regret."

"You regret it?" He sounds crushed.

"I—"

"No, of course you do. It must have been horrible, me transforming like that. You must find me disgusting and terrifying."

"I don't think that," I say. And I don't, even though maybe I should. But Brice is just... Brice. He's a friend, now. A really good friend. I do care about him, or I wouldn't be out here picking him up.

"Now that I'm what I am, you could never love me. And I love you, Olivia. I think you are beautiful and strong. And it's hopeless, because I'm a monster now. I'm tainted and worthless."

I glance at Brice. "You don't love me." Then I look back at the road.

"I do," he says. "It's stupid, I know. I can't be with you, anyway. Even if I weren't a berserker, you're a freaking gangster. I couldn't ever date a gangster."

"I'm not a gangster."

"You're jettatori, then. Better term? And besides, I think that one time, you admitted to me that you kill people. Which is insane. So I shouldn't love you. It's stupid and pointless. But I do. Oh my God, I do."

I'm not sure what to do about this, exactly. I think most girls are supposed to like it when boys say they love them. Especially when the boy who's saying it is as gorgeous as Brice is, when he gets that sparkly look in his eyes when he gets excited about something, and when his kisses make me feel all tingly inside. But Brice is only drunk. And I'm...

"If things were different," he says. "If you weren't trying to take over the Calabrese family, and I wasn't a berserker, do you think you might have... we might have...?"

I chew on my lip. "Yes," I say before I can think about it.

The word just hangs in the air there, neither of us saying anything else. I can hear it echo in my head over and over. It seems so huge. I wish I hadn't said it. It makes everything seem different, and boys are something I've never really thought about before. I don't have time for them. What's the point in thinking about what it would be like if things were different? They aren't different.

"Olivia," Brice starts to say, but he breaks off with a howl of pain.

Crap. I check the clock in the car. It says 11:58. I'm still ten minutes from Brice's house. We aren't going to make it in time. I glance sideways at Brice, who is writhing in the seat next to me. I push the gas pedal down. I've got to go faster.

"I'm sorry," Brice manages. "This is my fault."

He's damned right it's his fault, but it hardly matters now. I'm in a speeding car with a man who's shifting into a berserker in the passenger seat. What am I going to do?

I can't get Brice home, so where can I take him that's closer? We're only a few minutes from the deli, and there's a storage closet in the back room. It's got a big bolt lock on it, because sometimes we store money in there before we count it and put it in the safe.

Next to me, Brice screams.

I'm going too fast to take my eyes off the road and look at him. I've got to make it two blocks before I can turn onto the street the deli's on. I'm going way over the speed limit. Ahead of me, a stop light turns red.

I slam on the brakes, screeching to a halt.

I turn to look at Brice. His head is thrown back against the seat. His eyes have rolled up in his head. His entire body is wracked with spasms. There is a horrid, shrieking noise coming out of his mouth.

I look back at the light. Still red.

Brice's limbs flail out striking the dashboard of the car and the window. He makes a gurgling sound in his throat. Then he vaults upright. He turns his face towards me slowly, an expression of gleeful rage all over him.

Screw the light. I switch my foot to the gas pedal and the car lurches forward.

Brice's arm swings around, and he grasps me by the throat.

I turn onto the street the deli's on.

Brice's fingers squeeze around my neck. I can't breathe.

I pull into the deli parking lot, one hand scrabbling at Brice's fingers, trying to yank them away. I park the car—it's not straight in the parking space—and tear the keys out of the ignition.

My lungs are screaming for air.

I make a fist with my keys jutting out between my fingers, like I did last time. But this time, I punch Brice in the face as hard as I can. The keys bite into the flesh of his cheek. Blood wells up.

Brice whimpers and lets me go.

I throw open the door the car and tumble outside. I take two steps to steady myself, and then I'm running again.

I hear Brice crawling out of the car behind me. He is roaring again, the way berserkers do. He sounds like a wild animal. I don't like it.

As I run, I sort through the keys in one hand, feeling for the key to the deli.

Brice is right behind me.

I slam into the back door, fitting the key into the lock. I'm turning the key and opening the door when Brice tackles me, sending us both through the open door.

We struggle on the ground, me on my back, Brice on top of me. He pins me with his legs. He wrenches my arms above my head. He snarls, his face so twisted, he hardly looks like himself. And then he lowers his teeth to my neck.

God no. "Most glorious Prince of the Celestial Host, Saint Michael the Archangel—"

Brice's teeth break the skin of my throat. I scream.

"—defend us in the conflict which we have to sustain against principalities and powers, against the rulers of the world of this darkness, against the spirits of wickedness in the high places," I continue, my voice shrill.

It's not working. Brice is still at my neck. His teeth scrape against my collarbone.

I fight to free one of my arms. I can't. I scream another benedetta spell at him. "In the name of Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior, strengthened by the intercession of the Immaculate Virgin Mary, Mother of God, of Blessed Michael the Archangel, of the Blessed Apostles Peter and Paul, and all the Saints, we confidently undertake to repulse the attacks and deceits of the devil!"

Brice pauses for a second, lifting his head. Why didn't I think to bring my grandmother's handcuffs with me?

"Cursed dragon," I spit in his face, "we adjure you by the living God and by the true God and by the holy God."

Brice's grip on my arms loosens. He gives me a slack jawed look, as if he is mesmerized by my words.

"Retreat Satan!" I yank my arms out of his grasp and slide my body away from him. "Cede the place to Christ in whom you have found none of your works."

I scramble to my feet. Brice looks up at me, his mouth open. He looks like a dog that's just been punished. I run to the storage closet and open the door. "Get in the closet, Brice beast," I say.

He crawls forward.

"That's it. Come to the closet."

Suddenly he springs at me, hurtling through the air for me with his arms outstretched.

I drop flat against the ground, and he sails over me into the closet.

I slam the door after him, fastening the bolt. Then I sit against the door and catch my breath. My neck is bleeding. I touch it. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. I think it over and over again until it's less a swear and more a prayer. Thank God I'm okay. Brice could have killed me. Brice almost ripped my throat out. Oh God. Oh God.

I rest my head against the door, my breath still coming in gasps. And then... I lose time. I think I pass out.

* * *

When I wake up, it's not from the sounds of pounding on the door. Brice as a berserker is loud, and I've slept through all of it. It's from his voice calling my name, asking me to let him out.

I open my eyes. It's starting to get light outside. I stand up, unlocking the closet door. "Sorry," I say as I open the door. "I fell asleep."

Brice's eyes widen when he sees me. He reaches out to touch my neck.

I look down. There's blood everywhere. It's soaked into my shirt. Most of it's dry by now, but it looks horrible.

"Olivia—" Brice breaks off. His voice trembles.

I take a step away from him. "I'll take you home."

He shakes his head. "I'll walk." He starts away from me. He stops. Turns. "I'm sorry."

"You have to be careful. You have to find a way to be locked up before midnight. If you'd been at that party..."

He nods. "I didn't think about it."

"Obviously not."

"I'm sorry. I never want to hurt you." His expression is so different from the one he wore when he was taken over by the change. It's so hard to wrap my head around the fact that Brice's body encompasses both of these entities—the maddened killer and the sweet guy.

"It wasn't you," I say. "Not really."

His face twitches. "So then who was it?"

There's nothing to say to that.

"What I said before in the car—"

"You were drunk. Don't worry about it."

He takes a deep breath. "Maybe it would be better if I stayed away from you."

I've thought this before, but hearing it come out of his mouth almost stings me. I don't react.

"I'll still make you the charms. I like doing that. I never get to use magic otherwise. It's fun. But... all things considered, maybe..."

I nod. "I think that's a good idea."

"Yeah." He turns and walks away.

CHAPTER NINE

When I get home, Nonna is already awake. She takes one look at the bite on my neck and ushers me into the bathroom so that she can clean it and bandage it. While doing so, she keeps up a steady stream of chatter, explaining that she warned me about "that boy," and that berserker bites often get infected because the human mouth is really dirty, and on and on.

I don't interrupt her. I feel like I've learned my lesson. When she stops, all I say is, "If I hadn't gone to get him, he would have hurt more people."

She nods then, as if she accepts this. She finishes bandaging me quietly.

"It happened because the spell I was using on him wasn't working," I say. "Why would that happen?"

She furrows her brow. "That is strange, Olivia." We leave the bathroom and start back for the living room. "I've heard from some of the benedette women I see in church that there's been similar happening recently in the berserker wards. One man broke out of his restraints and attacked one of the benedette while she was right in the middle of a spell. It never used to happen before."

"The berserkers are changing?"

She shrugs, picking up her knitting. "No one knows."

"Could it be from the charms I gave you?" I ask. I haven't mentioned it since I gave the charms to Nonna, and she hasn't told me anything either.

She looks at me as she sits down. "I don't know yet. I'm working on it. I'll let you know as soon as I know anything."

Could Brice's berserker virus be different than others? Could it have come from one of the Calabrese charms? I feel guilty, suddenly, in a way I never have before. If that's true, then I am responsible for Brice's monstrousness. I'm the reason he's like this. In effect, I've almost bitten my own neck.

"Thanks Nonna," I say.

I'm still tired, so I go back to sleep for a few more hours. As I lie in bed, I try not to think about the things Brice said to me before he changed. I try not to memorize the way his voice sounded when he said he loved me. I try not to make that moment a moment I can treasure and think of and return to over and over. Brice loves me.

When he's not trying to bite my throat out, that is.

And maybe only when he's drunk.

And besides, he said he would stay away from me. That's the right thing to do. I know it. He knows it. And my throbbing neck knows it too.

* * *

Later in the afternoon, I see Josh and few of my other guys at the deli. They all have bruises. Josh has a black eye. It matches mine. I ask them what happened. Guys get in scuffles, so I'm expecting a story about someone's girlfriend's honor being challenged or something, but instead they tell me that Vincent's guys jumped them on Sunday night and beat the crap out of them. I'm so angry I could spit nails.

I warned Vincent, but I guess he figures that if he can't hurt me, then my guys are fair game.

I go to Vincent's apartment, but he's not there.

Walking back to the deli, I meet him on the street. "What's this I hear about your guys beating up my guys?" I say by way of greeting.

He smirks. "Guess they're just as pussy as you are. Couldn't stand up for themselves."

I clench my hands into fists.

"Not so tough without a gun, are you, Olivia?" he asks.

"This doesn't make any sense," I say. "We work for the same family. We're making money for the same people. Trying to sabotage each other is ridiculous. We have to stick together."

"I don't recognize you as part of the family," he says to me. "You're a girl. You shouldn't be here. It makes everything weird. It screws everything up."

"Funny," I say, "this girl is kicking your ass in sales."

"Don't make me angry, Olivia," he says. "I might not be able to stop myself from beating your skull in."

I hate that a jolt of fear runs through me. I hate it.

"You might act tough," he says. "But I know what you really are. I saw you crumple under my fists. In the end, you're weak and vulnerable. And no one wants someone weak or vulnerable heading the Calabrese family."

"Yeah?" I say. "Well, I remember your face when I waved that gun at you. And you seemed pretty weak and vulnerable to me then."

"Not fair. Both of us with guns would be fair."

"It's not about fair, is it, Vincent? Because you are stronger than me, so if you beat me up, it doesn't say jack about you except that you're insecure about the fact that a girl is better at this than you are. Is it fair if my body's never going to be as strong as yours? I don't think it is. Life's not fair, Vincent, and the only thing you're good at is playing dirty and bending the rules."

"I told you not to make me angry." He raises his fist.

I flinch, and I despise myself for it.

His arm drops to his side. He laughs. "You threatened to kill me, Olivia. Why can't I threaten to kill you?"

I gulp. "Leave my guys alone. That's all I'm saying."

"You're not going to stand in my way forever, you know." And then he backs up and walks away from me on the sidewalk.

I start shaking all over as I watch him go. Vincent scares me, and I don't want him to. I don't want to be afraid of him. But don't I still have the bruises to show that he can hurt me? And if it came down to us alone in a fight, I can't be certain that he wouldn't be able to kill me.

It's crazy to be afraid of my own cousin, but this is my new life. My father lies to me about my mother. My mother betrays the family and tells the police our secrets. The boy who tells me he loves me tries to rip me to shreds. Nothing makes sense. Everything is backwards and messed up. And I am the most backwards part of all—the girl who wants to make it in a man's world.

If I want to be the head of the family, I'm going to have to deal with jerks like Vincent. I can't let him push me around just because he hurt me. I have to stand up to him. But how I'm going to do that exactly, I don't know.

When I get back to the deli, I'm angry and upset. I feel like my confrontation with Vincent was a failure. Josh is still there, eating a sandwich even though the other guys have left. Their napkins and plates still litter the table where Josh is sitting. "So how'd you get your shiner?" he asks.

"Vincent did it," I say. I don't even care if it makes me sound weak and vulnerable. I'm too frustrated to worry about it.

Josh looks horrified. "That's messed up."

"Because I'm a girl?" I demand.

Josh shrugs. "I guess so. I mean, he should know better."

I am seething. I sweep all the plates and napkins off the table Josh is sitting at. They crash against the floor and shatter.

Josh is startled.

"Fuck," I mutter. I go get a broom to clean up my mess.

When I get back, Josh says, "You know, you can't stop being a girl, Olivia." He takes a bite of his sandwich.

I pick up jagged pieces of broken plates. "I don't want to stop being a girl. I want to stop feeling afraid of Vincent."

Josh chews. "You could kill him."

I glare at Josh darkly. "He's family. I can't kill him."

He sets down his sandwich. "Well, it doesn't seem like Vincent's exactly working for the good of the family these days, you know. It's more like he's working for the good of himself. There's no place for that in the jettatori."

Which is a little funny coming from Josh, considering he's not even fully jettatori. He's just a hired hand. "I can't kill him," I say again.

"Then can I do it?" asks Josh. He grins at me.

I can't help it. I have to smile too. "He'll get over it. He's pissed off because we're doing so well." I deposit my stack of broken pieces in the trash can.

"Hey, you need any help with that?"

I roll my eyes. "Now you ask. When I'm practically done."

* * *

Wednesday night, I'm backstage at the play again. I see Brice, but neither of us acknowledges each other. It seems like the performance drags on. Usually, I'm not bothered by the fact that I spend so much time backstage, but it seems interminable suddenly. I have no one to really talk to. Even Toby, the kid who plays Fleance, isn't interested in playing cards.

Afterwards, I change out of my costume and head home. I see Brice talking to the actress he was with the night he found me beaten up by Vincent. I feel a funny little stab of something, especially when I watch the way she is smiling and laughing about everything he says to her. I know that Brice is right, that there are good reasons for us to stay away from each other. But for some reason, I don't like the fact that he's not staying away from other women.

I console myself by telling myself that Brice can't get close to her either. He can't be with her physically, and he wouldn't want to hurt her. I stare at the two of them for far too long before I go to my car and drive home.

Nonna is on her way to bed. We don't say much. I go back to my room and lay back on my bed. I hug my red blanket to my chest. My red blanket is a little blanket that my mother made for me when I was a little girl. It's too small to cover my body now, but I always keep it on my bed because it reminds me of her.

My mother. I never thought my mother was beautiful, but then children never think of their parents that way. She was soft and cuddly and warm. She loved me. She had long dark hair. She always wore it in a long braid that hung down her back.

Now that I know that my mother betrayed my father, I try to think back if there were any signs. I can't remember any. My mother and father always seemed happy together. I remember them around the dinner table, mostly. My father would make jokes and tell stories about men he worked with like Tommy or Angelo. My mother would laugh so hard that tears would squeeze out of her eyes.

I remember that they always kissed when my father got home from work.

I remember that my father would pull my mother into a tight embrace and call her, "My sweet one."

I don't remember any discord at all. No muffled arguments behind closed doors after I went to sleep. No tense silences where they obviously weren't speaking to each other. They seemed happy.

If there was ever a source of conflict between my parents, it was only that my father disapproved of my mother still doing benedetta magic. He wouldn't let her put up an altar like the one Nonna has. I never saw them argue about it, but I know my dad didn't like it, because my mother would sometimes do spells with me, and she'd always say, "Let's keep this our little secret, Olivia. Daddy wouldn't like knowing about it, okay?"

I always did keep her secrets. I never talked to my father about the little spells we would do. Often they were commonplace blessings for members of the church. Sometimes they were rituals for courage or humility or discipline. (My mother was fond of making me do spells to better myself.) But once...

I sit up on the bed and toss the blanket aside. Once my mother did a spell, and she told me that she'd be unresponsive for some period of time. She told me not to worry about her, and that I should play by myself. But I didn't. I remember that I sat and watched her while she sat motionless for nearly two hours. It was a spell to uncover the origin or purpose of a magical object. I remember her sitting there, her head slumped forward, her fingers clutching a... charm . She must have used this spell to find out whatever it was that made her turn my father in to the police. I try to remember if she seemed different afterwards, if my parents' relationship changed. I don't think it did, but this must have been what my mother did. I want to know what she knew.

My mother left me her spell book, and I keep it in a drawer in my dresser, buried under my winter clothes. I go to my dresser and search through my clothes until I'm holding it. I search through the pages, all written in my mother's flowing cursive handwriting, until I find it. I scan the list of ingredients. All things Nonna has here.

I could do this spell. All I need is a charm. I could find out whatever my mother found out about my family's magic charms.

I don't hesitate or think about it much. I'm going to do the spell. I have to know. Unfortunately, I don't have any charms in the house. Most jettatori don't keep them close, in case our houses are raided. Furthermore, we don't use them because of the risk of the berserker virus. So I have to go to the deli and get one. By the time I get back to the house, it's after midnight.

I think about Brice for a moment as I'm gathering materials from Nonna's altar. Right now, Brice is a berserker, clawing and growling. Is it my fault? Even if it's not my fault, how many other people are doing the same thing because of charms my family has sold?

Back in my room, I sit cross-legged on the floor. I position candles in each of the four cardinal directions. I light a sage smudge. I make the sign of the cross in the air with the smoking smudge, whispering the words to bless and sanctify my spell.

I light each of the four candles, one for God the Father, one for Christ his son, one of the Holy Spirit, and one for humanity.

I clutch my mother's spell book and begin to read the spell she left. "Oh glorious St. Christopher, you have inherited a beautiful name, Christbearer. Protect me in my travels towards the origin and purpose of this object." I lift up the charm. "Whether near or far, guard me as I follow the ethereal trails of magic to its true purpose. St. Christopher, holy patron of travelers, guide me safely to my destination, and petition Christ to be with me always." Biting my lip, I slip the charm over my head.

I worry about exposing myself to the berserker virus in the charm, even though I have petitioned for protection and should be safe. At least it is after midnight, so this charm will be potent and full of magic until next midnight.

The charm flares as it's activated against my body. Its magic spills out over my body, and then...I see it.

Emanating from the charm are two bright shimmering paths. Two? Which do I follow?

It's the oddest sensation ever as I stand up and leave my body. I look back and can see myself still sitting in the circle, my head slumped into my chest the way my mother's was. My essence has no body. It is only a shimmer as well, but I can think and move. I don't need to walk, I discover. I can float.

I pick the path on the right. It leads directly through the wall of my bedroom. I will myself to follow the path, and I float up over my bed and my red blanket. I pass through the wall as if it's not there. The path goes straight through trees, other houses, stores, and restaurants. I soar along it. I feel strange because I'm disembodied. I have sight, and I can hear things, but I can't feel cold or warmth. It's the oddest sensation—precisely because I have no sensation at all. I don't feel comfortable or uncomfortable. I feel the absence of the concept of comfort.

The path dead ends at the door to a large bank. At first, I'm confused, but then I remember that the charm I snatched from the deli was a wealth charm. This means that this is one of its purposes. The magic exists to bring wealth to the bearer. I'm a little annoyed. I already knew this.

But then I remember there was another path. As quickly as I can, I follow the path back to my bedroom. I take the second path this time.

It leads me along a low path, skimming against the ground over grass and through the foundation of houses. Then suddenly, it plunges into the earth. I plunge with it, sinking into the earth. I can see the layers of dirt, the burrowing insects and worms. Then I pop out, and I am in an underground tunnel. It is dark, but I can see.

The walls of the tunnel are constructed of gray stones, each fitted together tightly and caulked in the cracks. Above me the roof of the tunnel rises in an arch of neatly stacked bricks. It's old, but it's also well-made. The path shimmers into the distance of the tunnel, disappearing.

I spin my essence around, wondering what I've just stumbled onto.

It comes to me almost immediately. The old subway tunnel. They planned to connect the island to the city by tunnel nearly a hundred years ago. However, they never finished the project, so there are tunnels like this one underneath the island. Why would the magic's purpose be in the subway tunnel?

I follow the tunnel anyway, floating at top speed along the path. As the walls rush by me, I almost feel as if I am on the subway. But it's strange, because even though I'm moving quickly, I can't feel the rush of wind on my face. I don't have a face. I don't have limbs. I hurtle down the tunnel, disembodied and confused. Why am I here?

I look ahead and am even more confused by what I see there. I assumed the path was disappearing into the darkness of the tunnel. But instead, I see the path break off. The edges of its shimmering lines look almost frayed. There is a funny sizzling sound, the way it sounds when something hot is plunged in cold water.

I'm heading right towards the place the path breaks off. I slow down and approach it carefully. As I get closer, the sizzling sound gets louder. I push myself to it, tentatively reaching part of my disembodied essence past the place the path breaks off.

I feel a jolt, like an electric shock.

Before I can stop it, I am sucked forward, like a whirlpool is pulling me under.

My body is jolted again. I see the edges of myself flicker in and out like a bad television signal.

And then I am back in my room, back in my body. The candles have all burnt out. The smudge is out. The charm around my neck is blackened and twisted, as if it's been completely destroyed.

What happened?

I'm unable to make the spell work again, since the charm is apparently busted beyond repair. I consider going back to the deli for another one, but it's very late, so I end up just crawling into bed. I fall asleep with more questions than answers. And I dream of flying down the old subway tunnel at the speed of light, the sounds of berserkers pursuing me and howling.

* * *

Because I've been up so late, when I wake up, Nonna is already back from the market. She is putting groceries into our already-stuffed refrigerator. "Olivia," she says when she sees me. "I'm glad you're awake."

I am in my pajamas still, barefoot on the linoleum. "Nonna, we already have two cans of parmesan."

She stuffs the parmesan into the cupboard next to the other half-full cans. "Well, it's better to have too much than too little. Did you eat breakfast?"

"Yes," I lie. I don't want her to bustle around and create me some kind of enormous breakfast on a weekday, when I can easily eat some toast or cereal and tell her it's a snack. Sometimes Nonna mothers me too much. "I actually wanted to ask you about something." I want to know what she thinks about the spell I did last night and why it didn't work.

"And I have things to tell you," she says, thrusting a package of chicken breasts into the depths of the fridge. "I heard back from the person I asked to look into the charms and incantations you gave me."

Oh. If my spell had worked last night, I could have told her not to worry about that anymore. But my spell didn't work. I sit down on a stool at the counter. "What did you find out?"

Nonna rearranges several containers full of leftovers to make room for a gallon of milk. "It wasn't easy. A few days ago, I tried a spell myself, but mine didn't work. I thought maybe the person I wanted to ask about it could figure out more. But it seems the person who's designed this magic has taken pains to cover his tracks."

"What do you mean?"

Nonna puts a box of pasta in the cupboard, stacking it on top of two other identical boxes so that it will fit. "I tried a spell to discover the origin or purpose of magic. It's an invocation to St. Christopher."

"I did that last night!" I'm amazed that we were thinking on the same lines.

She rests her arm on the open refrigerator door. "I didn't know you were that accomplished in benedetta magic. You never started the training."

I study the counter top. "I have Mom's book of spells. She taught me things. I remembered her doing the spell once. So that was why the trail went cold, then? Someone's trying to hide the purpose of the magic?"

Nonna shoves some butter into the refrigerator and closes it. "I think so, yes. Or else it's one crazy kind of coincidence. He's hidden it behind the dead spot."

"The dead spot?"

"There are places where magic doesn't work, Olivia. There are at least two on the island. One is in the old subway tunnels. Another is in that Presbyterian church downtown. Legend has it they built it there on purpose, because of the dead spot."

Unlike the Catholics on the island, who embrace magic, the other churches think that magic is all completely evil and of the devil. I don't see how that could be when I ask God to bless my spells and when I call on the saints for protection. "So that's why the trail cut off then? Because it's a place where magic doesn't work?"

She nods. "Yes. The answer to what the magic is for is on the other side of the dead spot. The spell takes the quickest path there. There's no way to find it out that way. So I enlisted some help. I asked someone else to look at it."

"And?"

"The variations between the two incantations definitely affect the berserker virus, not the other component of the magic. My source wasn't sure, but she feels that the effect is probably that of strengthening the virus."

Strengthening the virus. "So it's why the berserkers aren't responding to the benedetta spells, then."

"Perhaps, Olivia. We can't be sure. But it does seem that way." Nonna sits down next to me at the counter. "I don't think this is good news."

I shake my head. "Why would anyone want to strengthen the virus?" It doesn't make sense at all. From a business perspective, it simply lowers our client base. From a moral perspective, it's appalling. But then lots of things my family does are appalling. I don't know what to think.

"I know you love your father, Olivia," says Nonna, "but have you ever considered that there is a side of him you don't know?"

I've been considering that a lot lately. A side of my mother I didn't know. A side of my father I don't know. There's so much I don't understand, and I have no idea what to do about it. Should I confront my father? Demand he tell me what's going on? Would he tell me? "I'm not sure of anything anymore, Nonna."

She hugs me spontaneously. "You are a brave girl, I'll give you that. You're likely to give me a heart attack before my time, but you have courage."

I hug back. "I have to figure this out."

She pulls back, holding me at arms' length. "I worry about you. You have no idea how dangerous it would be for you to get on the wrong side of your father."

"I have an idea," I tell her. I know what my family does to people it perceives of as threats. I can't let anyone know that what I'm doing is threatening. Of course, I don't even know if I am doing something threatening. I just want the truth. I have to know what it is I'm part of. I have to know what happened to my mother. "I'll be okay, Nonna."

"I hope so, child. If anything happened to you, it would be the death of me."

CHAPTER TEN

I get the call the next morning. Guido has died in his sleep. He never came out of his coma. I drop everything to go be with the family. I call the stage manager of the play. I tell her what's happened. She decides she's going to cut Hecate's monologue from the play until I can get back. The entire Calabrese clan descends on Guido's house. I feel strangely out of place, unsure of which world I belong to. The men sit in the living room, drinking beer and talking. The women cluster in the kitchen, cooking and waiting on the men. They are all crying.

I don't know if I should be with the women in the kitchen or with the men I work with on a daily basis. I simply don't fit in either place. If I help with the cooking in the kitchen, my aunts make comments about how I'm finally learning my place. If I sit with the men in the living room, I feel guilty watching all the other women run around and get things done. None of the men feel guilty, of course. It's their place to be waited on. They bring the money into the household. They don't feel like they need to do anything else.

I don't spend any time talking to Vincent, although I see him from time to time. He is dry-eyed but silent. I watch him skulking in back of the living room. There always seems to be a shot of whiskey in his hand. I know that speaking to me wouldn't make him happy, so I steer clear. But I feel for him. I know what it's like to lose a parent. (Or at least think I've lost one.) I know how much he must be hurting.

Guido was a good man. He loved his wife and children. He loved his grandchildren. He was fair as the head of the family. He kept us together, and he made good decisions. I always respected him. I'm sad to see him go as well.

There's a lot of talk at the funeral, since this one comes so closely on the heels of Tressa's. People say that we've suffered too much tragedy. People say that we'll have to be strong in the face of this adversity. People say that Guido and Tressa are looking down on us from Heaven. They say their pain has ended, and we must rejoice for them. After the funeral, family and friends gather in the basement of the church for a potluck dinner. It seems as if the sadness is a bubble that has burst. Maybe everyone needs a break, or maybe my family is naturally loud and boisterous. But for some reason, there isn't any more talk about Guido's death or about heaven or about strength. Instead, there's laughter and hugging. I could almost mistake it for a family reunion if I didn't know why we were all really here.

There's a lot of food. I have a plate loaded up with various casseroles, looking for a place to sit, when Antonia waves me over.

I sit down with her. She has nothing on her plate but a salad and some baby carrots. She looks at my plate enviously. "I'm on the wedding diet."

Maddie, who's sitting with us as well, says, "Toni, you're getting married in two days. How much weight could you really gain before then?"

Antonia spears some lettuce with her fork. "You'd be surprised. Besides, I'd still like to drop two pounds. My dress is a little snug. I want to look perfect in the photos. You keep those forever, you know."

"I'm sure you'll look great," I say.

"Lousy timing for a wedding, though," says Antonia. "Who wants to celebrate after all this tragedy?"

"Everyone," says Maddie. "It will be good for all of us. We need some joy in our lives for once."

Antonia nods. "This kind of life can be brutal. So many of our men are killed."

Antonia's fiancé Seth works for us. He got roped in after he started dating Antonia a few years ago. It happens that way a lot. He's a good earner, and I like him. But being jettatori is dangerous.

"Sometimes," Antonia continues, "I wish Seth weren't part of it. I get sick from worry. It would be easier for you to have a boyfriend in the business, Olivia. You could be there with him. Make sure he was okay. You could watch each other's backs."

I've just put a big bite of macaroni and cheese in my mouth, so I shake my head while I chew. "I'm never going to get married. I don't have time for a relationship."

Maddie and Antonia both laugh.

"Who does have time?" Maddie says.

"Sometimes you meet someone, and he makes you make time, you know?" says Antonia.

I don't say anything.

"So there's no one?" asks Maddie. "Olivia, you don't have a crush on anybody?"

"I..." I push food around on my plate, thinking of Brice telling me he loved me. Thinking of his teeth scraping my collarbone.

"Oh my God!" Antonia throws her napkin on the table. "There is someone. Olivia, spill. Who is this mysterious crush?"

"No one," I say. "A boy in the play. It would never work out. He's not jettatori."

"Neither was Seth," says Antonia. "You don't know what could happen. What's his name?"

Should I say anything? I don't think I should. "It's nothing. We don't even see each other very often."

"In the play..." muses Maddie. She points her fork at Antonia before slicing into a piece of pie. "Who was that boy that was always in the plays at St. Anne's? He was a year behind Tressa."

Oh God. They are not going to figure this out, are they? I try to look very interested in my plate.

"The one who played Danny Zuko in Grease?" Antonia says. "He was dreamy. He was a Ventresca, wasn't he?"

I will not look up. I will not react.

"Brice Ventresca," says Maddie triumphantly. "That's right."

My face is getting hot.

"Olivia, are you blushing?" says Antonia. "Is that the boy you're crushing on?"

"No," I say.

"That means yes," says Maddie.

I put down my fork. "His family's benedetta. It would never work."

Antonia looks disappointed. "Are they really?"

"Too bad," says Maddie. "He's awfully pretty."

Antonia eats more salad. "Well, you never know, Olivia. You never know what might happen."

I remember the way it felt kissing Brice. Why does everything have to be incredibly screwed up? I wipe my mouth with my napkin. "It wouldn't work," I say again. Then I pick up my plate and walk away from the table. I don't feel hungry anymore.

* * *

I almost wish Brice could see me in my maid of honor gown. I remember him telling me that I seemed feminine to him, but if he saw me in this dress, he'd really think I was. I'm pretty. I have my hair curled and twisted on top of my head, and I've been forced to wear makeup. I don't particularly like doing any of these things, but the effect is pretty cool, I have to admit. I feel like a different person.

I watch the wedding vows, and Antonia and Seth seem so in love with each other, the way they're staring into each other's eyes. For the first time ever, when I see that, I feel a pang of longing. I realize that part of me wants that too. Wants someone to stare at like that. Wants to feel that kind of love.

My family seems so close on the day of the wedding. So warm and noisy and loving. I wonder how it is that my mother could have done something to hurt them. I wonder how it is that a group of people this good to each other could be responsible for turning people like Brice into berserkers. I feel confused.

I go outside of the building for some air. There's a cop car sitting outside. Figures. Nothing can happen in my family without the police staking it out. I glower at the two officers inside. One turns to the window, and I recognize her. Fitzpatrick. The woman who told me my mother didn't have a death certificate. I've been spending so much time trying to figure out what my mother knew, but I haven't followed up on the weirdest thing. That as far as the police know, she didn't die. She disappeared. Being beaten up by Vincent distracted me.

After hours in the dress, the novelty of being pretty wears off, and I mostly feel hot and uncomfortable. I wait until it's late, and most of my family is drunk and dancing, before going and taking it off. Out of the dress, my face scrubbed clean of makeup, I dart off into the darkness. I get in my car. I should go home and go to sleep. But I don't think I will sleep. I feel in too much turmoil.

There are so many things I could fixate on, but for some reason, there's only one that fills my head obsessively. My mother. Fitzpatrick said my mother didn't have a death certificate. Why not?

I have a shovel in my trunk. I keep weird things in my trunk. You never know when you're going to need them. Most of it's on Tommy's advice. He knows what should be in a jettatore's trunk.

I have to know. I drive to the cemetery. I get the shovel out of the trunk. I go to my mother's headstone. I dig.

It hurts. My muscles begin screaming at me almost immediately. My hands feel raw from holding the shovel. I mutter a benedetta spell that I remember, one to strengthen me and dull my pain. After a while, I don't feel the soreness. It's just shovel after shovel of dirt, digging and digging. I whisper the spell every time I feel myself beginning to lag. It still takes a long time, but I clear the grave much quicker than I would have been able to without magic.

Eventually, I finally strike something, and I uncover my mother's casket. It's been five years, but I can still recognize it. It's cream colored. I remember when I watched it being lowered into the ground. There were flowers all over it then. Not anymore.

It's harder to get the casket open than it was to dig down to it. It takes me several tries to pry it open with the shovel. I don't look inside for a second. I don't want to see my mother's bones, or her rotting corpse.

Slowly, I turn my face back to the open casket, so that I can see what's inside.

Nothing.

* * *

Afterwards, I drive to Brice's house. He should be through with being a berserker by now, and maybe he's still awake. When I get there, his house seems dark and quiet. I circle the perimeter, peering in windows, trying to find his bedroom. I finally do, but it's empty. No one is inside. Where is Brice?

Could he have been out somewhere when he turned into a berserker? What if he's hurt someone?

But then I see a square of grass on Brice's lawn being lifted up. Brice crawls up out of the earth. I hurry over, unsure of what I'm seeing. When I arrive next to him, I can see that Brice is coming out of a hole in the ground, like a cellar. It has a ladder leading down underground. "What is this?" I ask him.

"Olivia," he says. "Hi. Um, it's an old root cellar. It's a safe place for when I change."

I peer into its depths. It's dark down there. I feel sorry for Brice, locking himself underground every night. "Are you just now back to normal?"

He climbs the rest of the way out and resettles the square of grass over the hole, camouflaging it. "Yeah."

"It's almost two o'clock. You were a berserker for too long. You said you did the benedetta rituals to keep the virus at bay."

"I did," Brice says. "It's been lasting longer though."

First he doesn't respond to my spells. Then he's staying a berserker longer and longer. How much stronger could this strain of the virus be? I feel wretched. I want to tell him that my mother isn't in her coffin and that she might be alive. But he's suffering so much. Does he need to deal with my problems? And weren't we going to stay away from each other?

"What are you doing here?" he asks me.

Suddenly, I'm self-conscious. I hug myself. "I went to a wedding, and then I..." Then I dug up my mother's grave.

"What were you doing? You've got dirt all over you. Are you okay?"

I look up and meet his eyes. "Brice..." I step closer again. I put my hand on his cheek. Then I pull away. He's right. I am dirty. "Sorry. I don't want to get you messy or anything."

"It's fine," he says, catching my hand with his own. "What's going on, Olivia?"

I place my lips on his lips. I don't know why I do it. I want to kiss him again. Maybe I came here to kiss him. Maybe that's all I've wanted for a long time now.

He pulls me close, and then we're kissing hungrily, like we need each other to survive or something. His tongue is touching my tongue, and his hands are on my hips, smashing me against him. I'm running my fingers through his hair. I'm making little noises. They might be moans. I don't know. Everything feels amazing. I feel glowing and strong and white hot. Brice and I cling to each other, and we kiss and kiss and kiss and—

I wrench myself away. I feel like I might cry. I won't cry. I don't cry. I stumble as I try to get away from him.

"Olivia," Brice says.

And I'm running back to my car, not looking back, fighting against some stupid tight feeling in my chest and the threat of tears in my throat. I can't involve Brice in this anymore. I need to do this on my own. I peel out of Brice's driveway and go home. As I predicted, I can't get to sleep for a long time.

* * *

I'm at the deli around noon the next day, fending off teasing from the other guys about the way I looked at the wedding.

"Who knew Olivia was such a knockout," Josh laughs. He's eating fries covered in loads of ketchup.

"Watch it," I tell him, "or I'll knock you out."

Tommy is on the phone. He called me earlier to say that he wanted everyone here for a meeting. As he mumbles into the mouthpiece, the back of the deli is filling up with more and more people. Apparently, Tommy wants everyone here. I came because of that. I figure I'll hear Tommy out, and then I'll try to figure out why in the hell my mother isn't in her coffin.

Vincent sidles in the door with a few other guys. His hair is greasy and there are dark circles under his eyes. I wonder if he's been on a bender or something, since his father died. He was perpetually drinking whiskey every time I saw him before the funeral. I feel bad for him again, but I know better than to say anything. Instead, I steal one of Josh's fries.

"Hey!" he says.

"Don't worry," I say while chewing, "I don't want anymore. You drowned them in ketchup."

Tommy raises his voice. "All right, everyone, I've got Lucio on the line. I'm going to put him on speaker phone."

My dad? I swallow the rest of the fry, feeling nervous. For some reason, I don't want to hear his voice. Not when I'm still so confused about everything.

Everyone quiets. My father's voice comes over the speaker. "Can everyone hear me?"

A chorus of affirmatives.

He continues, "As you're all well aware, we've suffered a terrible tragedy in the loss of Guido. And with him gone, our family is bereft of leadership. I had hoped to give more time to Olivia and Vincent to prove themselves, but Guido's death has forced my hand."

What? Is he going to make a decision on who heads the family now? Why? What difference does it make whether Guido is in a coma or not alive? He's still not able to make decisions or to run things. I feel like my father is rushing this.

"As it stands, there's one clear leader between the two of them," my father says. "Olivia has brought in more money, she provided a solution to make peace with the Ercalonos, and from all accounts seems to be handling herself well. I'm proud to pass this responsibility on to my daughter."

Vincent makes a noise in the back of the room, a sort of strangled grunt.

My heart is racing in my chest. Am I supposed to say something now? "Thank you. I'm honored by your decision. I'll do my best for this family."

"I'm sure you will, Olivia," says my father. "Take me off speaker and let me talk to my daughter alone."

I stand up. My legs are shaking. This is it. What I've been working towards ever since I lost my mother. I can't believe it's happening now. I'm happy, aren't I?

Tommy hands me the phone.

"Hello?" I say.

"Olivia," says my father. "You've made me very proud. I often regretted not having any sons, but you've been both a son and a daughter to me. Good job."

"Thanks," I say again.

"You and I will need to be in touch each week. You'll need to come visit me in the jail. It will actually work out much more nicely, since it's not nearly as suspicious for a daughter to visit her father regularly. I think things are really coming together."

I walk with the phone away from everyone else, ducking into the same closet where I locked Brice up. "I have questions, Dad. Things I need to understand."

"You can ask me when you visit."

"Things about Mom."

He's quiet.

"I know she's not dead. I know she betrayed the family and turned you in to the police. Where is she? If you didn't kill her—"

"Olivia, your mother was shot by stray bullets when I was being arrested. You know this."

"Right," I say. "So why isn't her body in her coffin?"

"You dug up your mother's..." My father chuckles. "Well, aren't you just a bundle of surprises, Olivia."

"She is alive, isn't she?"

"I don't know," says my father. "I don't know what happened to her. I haven't seen her since she flipped for the police. I buried that coffin because she was dead to me. You understand how much it hurt me, don't you? She was everything to me, and then she betrayed me and the family. To do that, to betray your family, that's the worst thing I can think of. Traitors end up in the final circle of Hell. You know that, don't you, Olivia? There in the grasp of Lucifer are Judas and Brutus, the two worst traitors of all time."

I gulp. Have I betrayed my family? Am I going to betray my family? "I would never betray you, Dad. I'm loyal to you. To the family."

"I know you are, sweetheart. And you're going to do an excellent job as boss. I just know it."

* * *

With my new duties as head of the family, there's absolutely no time to be in the play anymore, so I have to quit. Since they've been performing without me for a few shows, I figure it won't be a big deal to simply cut the Hecate monologue permanently. When I call the stage manager, she isn't thrilled, but she says she understands when I say I have family obligations. She tells me that they enjoy working with me, and that there are no hard feelings, I'm welcome to audition again for any show they put on in the future. This makes me feel good, but I know that my theater career is over. I won't be doing anymore plays.

While my father's explanation of what happened to my mother is less than satisfactory, it does make sense. I want to find my mother, and I will. But right now, I have too much to worry about with keeping the business in line to spend time searching for her. I still also don't know what's been going on with the strengthened berserker virus, but I've decided I want to use as many of Brice's charms as possible, since they don't carry the virus. I'll sleep better at night knowing that I'm not infecting people.

However, I'm not sure if Brice still wants to help me after the way I ran away from him the other night. I'm embarrassed, and I don't want to face him, but I have to. I catch him in the parking lot after the show, because he's usually in a good mood after a performance, and I'm hoping it will lessen any angry feelings he has towards me.

When I see him walk into the parking lot, I wave. I also realize I'm blushing.

He comes over to my car. "Olivia, why did you quit the play?"

"After my uncle died, my father made a decision. He declared me the head of the family. So I don't have time for the play anymore."

Brice raises his eyebrows. "You run the Calabrese crime family now?"

"Say that louder, please," I mutter. I shift on my feet. "Look, about the other night. I'm sorry I—"

"Don't be sorry. You were right to take off. We shouldn't have... you know..."

I nod. "Right." But I'm still confused about all of it. Anyway, I really don't have time for boys now. So Brice and I will have to steer clear of each other. It's the best thing.

"But I still don't get why you had to quit the play," Brice says. "It's only a couple of hours a night. And you're good, Olivia. You're really talented. I think you're throwing away an opportunity here."

"I don't have time."

Brice shakes his head. "Maybe you should..." He looks at his shoes. "Maybe you don't have to be the boss. Maybe you could do something else."

I sigh. He doesn't understand.

"Do you really want to be part of giving more people the virus?"

"Actually," I say, "that's why I'm here. I wondered if you were still up for making charms for me. Your charms don't have the virus, so they're safe, you know. I'd feel better if we were selling them instead of the others. Plus, there's a demand in the theater district in the city. They're selling really well. We could pay you, of course. I've already figured into our budget, and it would be under the table, so you wouldn't have to report it."

Brice bites his lip. "You're asking me to basically go into the employ of the mob."

"I'm asking you to help me the way you've been helping me. And I don't want you to have to do it for free."

"How much money are we talking about here?"

I tell him.

He whistles low and long. "Whoa."

"You'd be doing work that we've been doing ourselves. You'd be saving me money, actually."

"And I'd get to see you regularly. For business. Not because we were doing anything together, but because we were working together."

I nod. "Yeah. I'd need you to enspell the product."

"I guess if I had more money, I could move out of my parents' house," he says. I can tell he's thinking it over. "It would be an easy job, and it wouldn't interfere with auditions."

"It definitely wouldn't."

"But it's illegal, and I could go to jail."

I shake my head. "You're smalltime, Brice. They'd offer you a deal to name names."

"So I'd have to rat you out."

"You won't get caught."

He jams his hands into his pockets. "Okay. I'll do it."

I grin. "Thank you so much." I'm so pleased that I hug him.

And it's awkward, because maybe we hug for too long. Maybe we spend a little too much time searching each other's eyes, each of us questioning the other if we should make another move. But the moment passes, and we step away from each other.

"You're the best, Brice."

"Sure," he jokes. "When do I get paid?"

I open my trunk. "As soon as you zap these three boxes full of charms."

He saunters over and puts his hand over one box. Blue sparks fly out of his hands. "You know, I have other charm ideas too. Maybe I could run them by you sometime."

I nod enthusiastically. "Definitely."

"You are going to take care of yourself, aren't you, Olivia? I don't want anything to happen to you."

CHAPTER ELEVEN

When I explain to everyone in the family exactly what kind of charms I've been selling and where I've been selling them, most of the men think it's a good idea. They recognize it as an untapped market where we have no competition. They applaud my innovation. I don't let them know that it was Brice's idea. If they found out I'd told things to someone who wasn't part of the family, they'd think I was a traitor.

There's only one group of people that doesn't think the idea is great. That's Vincent, of course, and his group of goons who follow him around. Vincent thinks that selling charms to theater goers goes completely against everything our family has set out to do. He thinks we should stick to tried and true methods that we've used for years.

I thank Vincent for his opinion and say that the success I've had with this thus far means that we're going to try this new approach. Because Vincent is so high up in the family, I also give him half of the district to sell charms. I tell him to divide up the labor however he'd like and take whatever percentage of the profits he thinks is appropriate for his trouble.

I think I'm being more than fair by doing this. Vincent may be awful, but he did just lose his father, and the job as boss. I want him to understand that he's still a valued member of the family and that he's important to our work.

Apparently, I underestimate Vincent, because I find out later that he took the product I gave him and destroyed it. Furthermore, instead of working for the family, he and his goons spent the entire time drinking and gambling with family money. He's directly disobeyed me.

I talk to Tommy about it. We are sitting in the deli in the evening. It's just starting to get dark outside. I'm frustrated and exhausted. "Why would he do that?"

Tommy offers me a beer. This is strange, because I usually don't drink with members of the family, since I'm young. But I take it as a sign that I'm an equal, so I pop the beer open and take a drink.

Tommy opens his own beer. "What else do you expect from Vincent? He's already proven many times that he doesn't respect you."

Tommy's right. I sigh. "I can't let it slide. If the others see that I let Vincent act this way, I'll lose all control. I have to do something."

"You absolutely do," says Tommy. "You have to show him that you're the boss, and he's not."

"How do I do that? What would my father do?"

"Lucio? Well, that's tough to say. Lucio isn't exactly predictable if you know what I mean." Tommy peels a little of the beer label off. "One time, I remember that Lucio had a kid working for him who was a low earner. He was family, so we couldn't kick him out, but Lucio thought that whatever the kid did was completely unacceptable. One day, he called a meeting and basically told everyone in the family exactly what he thought of the kid. He said he was a loser who wasn't going to amount to anything and that the kid was a waste of air."

That was harsh. Vincent deserved something harsh, though. "What happened? Did the kid shape up?"

"Actually, the kid hung himself," says Tommy.

I wince.

"I wouldn't worry about Vincent committing suicide, though," says Tommy. "He's not the type."

Tommy's right. He's not.

Saturday's the day we get together and divvy up the money. When everyone's there, I get up at the head of the table and make a big speech. I say, "I'm really pleased with the take this week. Everyone's stepped up to the plate and we're raking in more money than we have in quite some time." Then I go through each and every one of the higher ranked guys in the family and share how well they did and tell them what a great job they've done. I really lay it on thick. There's a lot of back slapping and congratulations. Everyone seems pretty proud of themselves and glad with the new direction we're heading in.

"And then," I say finally, "we have Vincent. Now Vincent was chosen by my father as a possible leader for this family. He's got the pedigree and the experience. He's proven himself to be a high earner and hard worker. So, for Vincent, I have to admit, my expectations are just a little bit higher. If anyone can show everyone else how it's done, it'll be Vincent."

I pause and everyone nods. They're still feeling pretty good about themselves.

Vincent is sitting in the corner. His face is getting red.

"Or so I thought," I say. "Imagine my surprise when I find out that Vincent not only didn't bring any money in this week, but he actually lost money."

Everyone turns to stare at Vincent.

Vincent clenches his teeth.

"That's right," I say. "The man who was almost the head of this family lost the family money. He spent the week drinking and gambling, and he's got nothing to show for it. I can't believe it, myself. That's not how I've always seen Vincent."

"Listen, bitch—" Vincent starts to say.

I interrupt him. "But I was wrong. I guess we can all see, though, why my father didn't choose him to lead you. I guess we can see why my father decided that Vincent wasn't cut out for the job."

"You little—"

I interrupt Vincent again. "So, you can all be glad that my father is a smart guy. If he'd picked Vincent over me, then you can imagine where this family would be in just a few weeks. We'd crash and burn. I guess we can be glad that Vincent never was the head of the family."

Vincent is on his feet. His face is contorted. "You fucking cunt, you wouldn't know what the head of a family looked like if it ate you out. I'll never take orders from you. Never. I will head this family, and I'll do a much better job that you ever will. I'll do it if I have to kill you. Do you understand?"

Tommy speaks up. His voice is ice. "You want to be careful there, Vincent. You're threatening the head of the Calabrese family here. We don't take threats like that lightly."

Vincent slams a hand on the table and leans forward. "She's a little girl. And it's her fault my father is dead. The Ercalonos shot back because of what she did to Joey. And why did she do that? Over another stupid cunt."

Now Tressa's father is on his feet. "You better watch your mouth, boy," he says. "You may be hurting over what happened to your father, but there is no excuse—"

"Oh, fuck you all," says Vincent. "You're all wrapped around her tampon strings." And he stalks out of the deli, the back door crashing closed behind him.

* * *

I'm awakened by gunshots. I throw aside my blankets and jump out of bed. Nonna meets me in the hallway. She looks worried and frightened. I go to the window and peer outside. Vincent is outside of my house with several of his guys. Vincent has a gun, and he's firing it into the air. He's clearly drunk, because he's stumbling around on the lawn, and his speech is slurred when he yells, "Come out here, Olivia."

I can't believe this. Coming to my house in the middle of the night, scaring my grandmother like this? This is a new low, even for Vincent. It's pretty clear to me that Vincent is nothing more than a liability.

"You scared, little girl?" Vincent taunts from the lawn. "Come out and face me!"

Unfortunately, my gun is in the glove compartment of my locked car, which is parked in front of the house. If I go outside to try to get it, I'll have to confront Vincent before I can get to my car. Vincent probably won't hesitate at taking a shot at me. Of course, he's drunk, so his aim might be off, but I'm not sure if I want to take that chance.

As much as I hate to admit it, seeing all those guys out on the lawn makes fear knot up in my stomach. They're here to kill me. I'm sure of it.

"Olivia," says Nonna. "Let me call the police."

I shake my head. "This is family business, Nonna. The police don't need to be involved." If there is anyone I should call, it's Tommy, but I don't want to rely on the rest of the guys to get me out of this situation. Just like everything else, this is a test. I have to prove that despite my gender and despite my age, I'm the person for this job. I have to. I go to the door, my hand on the knob.

"No!" Nonna says. "Don't you dare go out there, Olivia. They've got guns."

"I have to," I tell her.

Just then, a rock sails through the window next to the front door. Glass shatters everywhere. I leap back from the door. With the window open to the outdoors, it's easier to hear them as they laugh and jeer at me, daring me to come out.

We're not going to lose anymore windows. I thrust the door open, step outside, and shut the door behind me.

Vincent and the boys stop talking or moving and stare at me. It's as if they didn't expect me to come outside after all. I also realize I probably look ridiculous. I'm wearing pajamas and my hair is messy from sleeping. I pretend like I don't look stupid and fold my arms over my chest. "Hi Vincent. Your father would be proud."

Vincent staggers forward, waving his gun haphazardly in my general direction. "Shut up about my father. You practically put a gun to his head."

He's off-balance and slow to react. I can see that now. So before I lose the element of surprise, I dart forward, my head down like I'm a football player. I drive my head and shoulders into Vincent.

As I predicted, he's too drunk to react in time.

We both go down on the sidewalk leading to my front door.

Vincent huffs. I guess I knocked the wind out of him.

I don't stay down for a second. I'm on my feet, my foot on Vincent's wrist, trapping the hand that's holding his gun. I apply pressure to his wrist.

Vincent howls.

"Drop the gun," I say.

"You bitch," Vincent mutters, but he lets go of the gun.

I scoop it up with one hand and tuck it into the elastic waist of my pajama pants. I kneel over Vincent. I grab a hunk of his hair and yank his head up so that our faces are close. "You're out, Vincent," I say. "You're out of the family. Done."

"You can't make a decision like that—"

But I don't let him finish, because, using my grip on his hair, I slam his head backwards into the sidewalk.

Vincent cries out.

I do it again.

Vincent reaches up for me, clawing at my shoulders, my face.

I slam his head against the sidewalk again. And again. And again.

His eyes go dull. I've knocked him out.

I look out at the guys who came with Vincent. I put my hand on the gun. "Get him out of here."

They troop to Vincent warily, eyes on the gun. One tries to say something to me, some kind of apology, I think, but I don't let him talk. When they've dragged Vincent away, I go back into the house, where Nonna is waiting for me, wide-eyed. "Maybe there's more than a little of your father in you," she says softly.

Usually hearing that makes me feel good. Coming from Nonna, however, it sounds ominous. "It's important you're safe," I say.

* * *

When I get to the deli the next morning, Tommy is sweeping up glass. The place is trashed. The tables and chairs have been turned over. Meat and bread are strewn all over the floor. The cooler where Tommy keeps bottled drinks has been knocked over and busted.

I begin to pick up chairs and set them upright. "What happened?"

"It was like this when I got here," says Tommy. He sweeps chunks of glass into a dustpan and deposits it in the trash can.

I right a table. "Local kids you think? Did they steal anything?" I hope it's nothing more serious than some teenage hoodlums. If not, if this is a strike from another family, then we've got big troubles. There hasn't been a serious jettatori war in my lifetime, but I've heard stories about the last one, when my grandfather was head of the family. Magic can't fight magic. It cancels itself out. So wars between the families don't utilize magic much, but they're bloody affairs. No one wants something like that to happen.

"Not local kids," says Tommy. "Whoever did it knew the combination to the safe. They cleaned out all the money."

"An inside job?" I'm quiet for a second as I pick up another chair. Then I realize what it means. "Vincent."

Tommy nods. The glass jangles as he sweeps more of it into a pile.

I sit down heavily on the chair I set up. "His father just died."

"Not an excuse, Olivia, and you know it." Tommy uses the broom to get the last of the glass. "I've already changed the combination to the safe. I sent guys over to his apartment this morning to get his keys back and to try to find the money. It's your call, of course, but I think the only choice you have is to kick him out."

"Oh, that's already done," I say. "He showed up at my house last night, drunk, with a gun. He threatened me and my grandmother."

Tommy pauses over the dustpan. "He came to your house with a gun?"

"He smashed one of our windows too. He seems to like smashing things."

Tommy dumps the dustpan in the trash again. "That's not acceptable, Olivia. He's beaten you up before, publicly threatened you, stolen money from the family, and then physically come to kill you."

Put like that, it really does sound like Vincent's gone completely off the edge. I get up. "I'll help you mop up the food and stuff. Is there a mop in the closet?"

Tommy intercepts me. He puts his hands on my shoulders. "You know what this means, don't you?"

I deliberately duck the question. "It means that I'll help you mop."

"Olivia."

I sigh. "We kicked him out. We're getting back his keys. It's enough."

"He's a threat to the entire organization and especially to you. It's not enough." Tommy takes a step away from me. "He's got to be taken care of."

I go to the closet and get the mop and bucket. I fill up the bucket in the sink. While the water's running, I say, "You mean he's got to be killed, don't you?"

Tommy doesn't seem uncomfortable with my telling it like it is. "Yes."

I turn off the water. "We can't do that to his mother. She just lost her husband. Now we're going to take away her oldest son too?"

Tommy shrugs. "No way to be proud of a son like that. This way, we tell her he died a hero. We save her lots of heartbreak down the road."

Which is the sort of justification I don't particularly care for. "There's got to be some other way." I wheel the mop and bucket away from the sink.

Tommy takes the mop from me. "You want to wait until he kills you? Until he kills your grandmother?"

I'm quiet.

Tommy starts to mop. I watch as he slides pieces of lunch meat across the floor. "I'll do it. You give me the word, and I'll take care of it. That's what I'm here for, Olivia."

I'm about to order my first hit. I'm about to tell Tommy to kill my cousin. I feel like the world's stretching too tight. I don't think I can be responsible for the death of another person. It was one thing to kill Joey after what he did to Tressa. But Vincent... Well, Vincent has done a lot of pretty awful things. But he's family. Family is sacred. How can I...? Of course, if Vincent really felt like family was sacred, then he wouldn't have behaved the way he's been behaving lately, would he? I guess Vincent turned his back on the family a long time ago. Tommy's right. He's a threat, and I can't be looking over my shoulder forever. Vincent wants to kill me. He won't always show up at my house too drunk to be able to aim or stand up. I won't always wake up before he tries something. I do have to do this. I suck in breath slowly. "All right. He dies."

"You want me to do it tonight?"

It would be easier if I sent Tommy to do it. Tommy's killed before. He's used to it. And I'd never have to worry about Vincent again. I'd know he was taken care of. It's the simplest way to solve the problem. But Vincent's family. He was supposed to be my second-in-command. He may have made a mess of a lot of things, but he still deserves some respect, especially since this is the final gesture of respect that I can give him. "I'll do it. Tonight. But if you'd like to come along, I'd appreciate it."

Tommy leans on the mop and looks at me. "I kind of had a feeling you'd say that, Olivia. You got balls. No one can deny that."

* * *

That afternoon, I call Benny, Vincent's roommate. I tell him to tell Vincent to meet me at the deli later in the evening. Benny assures me that he'll pass on the message. But the appointed time comes and goes and Vincent doesn't show up. It's a little strange, because since Vincent's pretty arrogant, I don't think he can conceive of the idea that we might kill him. He's got a massive case of inflated self-importance. I figure that I must have misjudged him, though, and he must be too wary to meet me. After talking it over with Tommy, we decide we'll go to Vincent's apartment.

We figure we can still convince Vincent to take a drive with us. We aren't going to whack him in his own apartment, that's for sure. It would be way too hard to get a body out of the apartment in a populated area. It's going to be harder if Vincent knows we're gunning for him, and Tommy convinces me to bring some backup. So we take two of my cousins, guys that Tommy trusts and says are solid.

I'm not looking forward to any of this. I hate that Vincent's drawing the entire thing out. I just want it over with. We knock on the door of Vincent's apartment. There's no answer.

Tommy and I discuss whether or not we think Vincent is out somewhere. He's been carousing in bars a lot lately. Maybe he's out drinking or gambling.

I call Benny again. I ask him if he knows where Vincent is. He says he hasn't seen him since he gave him my message. Benny isn't home either. He's staying with his girlfriend in the city.

We make some more calls, asking a few of the guys Vincent runs with if they've seen him. No one has.

This is beginning to seem kind of weird. It's also not cool for so many people to know we were looking for Vincent right before he disappears permanently. It looks suspicious. I want to back off the entire thing, but Tommy decides to pick the lock on the door on the chance that Vincent is inside asleep and can't hear us.

Inside, Vincent's apartment is dark. Tommy flicks on a light switch. "Vincent," he calls.

No answer.

We move through the apartment to Vincent's bedroom. I knock on the closed door. "Vincent?"

Nothing.

Tommy opens the door and turns on the light.

The first things I see are the streaks of red on the walls. It looks like someone was finger painting, the smears everywhere.

Then I smell the metallic scent of blood. Not finger paint.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Vincent's body is hardly recognizable. What's left of him is splayed over the sheets on his bed, just a jumble of glistening organs and bloody, torn skin. It's like someone tore him completely apart and then played around in the blood and guts. I'd think it were a wild animal if there weren't handprints on the walls in blood. A person did this. More than one person, actually by the various sizes of handprints and footprints on the floor. The window of Vincent's bedroom is open and there are bloody prints all around it too. The people must have gone out there.

But...

"Berserkers," says one of the guys Tommy brought with us.

He's right. That's the only thing that could have done something like this. But it's not midnight yet, and there were a group of them. They must be berserkers who've completely been taken over by the virus, who are berserkers around the clock. Why are they together in a pack like this? And why are they running free? The city rounds up or kills any berserkers it sees. It's not like they could just roam the street freely without being noticed. And berserkers aren't organized. They don't travel together. They don't kill together. This doesn't make any sense.

"Bunch of berserkers from the look of it," says the other guy.

"Guess we're lucky," says Tommy.

I look at him sharply. "Lucky?"

"Vincent's taken care of," Tommy says.

I'm confused. I can't believe Tommy's so calm about this. This is terrifying. A pack of killer berserkers is on the streets. They're climbing in windows and ripping people to shreds. There doesn't seem to be anything lucky about that at all.

* * *

There's a big discussion after we find Vincent about what to do with him. I'm in favor of simply leaving him there and reporting it to the police. After all, the police deal with berserkers. They can't possibly finger us. I also think a pack of killer berserkers is something that the public should know about. But Tommy doesn't think that's a good idea, because he says we want to avoid any kind of police entanglements with the Calabrese family. He says the police will be suspicious of any call we make to them. He says that they'll be convinced we faked the berserker attack. He also says that we were planning on dumping a body tonight, so it shouldn't be that hard to do it.

We talk for a long time, but Tommy's insistent, so eventually I cave in. Tommy's been doing this longer than me. He knows what he's talking about.

What follows is disgusting, messy work for hours. But when we leave, there is no sign of what happened in Vincent's apartment. Tommy and I drive garbage bags out to the place we were planning to take Vincent that night. We bury what's left of him out in the middle of nowhere. It's a long drive there and back. When we get back into town, it's after two in the morning. I go home and shower, feeling numb and tired.

I suppose I'm glad that I didn't have to kill Vincent myself, but I also wish I'd never had to see a body destroyed the way Vincent's was. I'm sure I'm going to have nightmares about it. For months.

I come back into my room in my robe, and Brice is sitting on my bed.

"How did you get in here?" I ask.

He shows me his hand and blue sparks jump from his fingertips. "I have my ways."

It's not good for him to be here, but I have to admit I'm glad to see him. After the horrors I've seen today, he is comfort and safety and familiarity. I sit down on the bed next to him. "I haven't had a particularly great day, Brice."

He strokes tendrils of my wet hair. "Should I go?"

He should go. I can't bring sweet Brice into the violent, bloody mess my life has become. "No," I say. "Don't go."

He continues to stroke my hair, my cheek. "What made your day so bad?"

Blood. The stench of death. My hands covered in... "I don't want to talk about it."

"I miss you," he says. "I wish you'd never quit the play. I was used to seeing you every day. Now you're not there. And somehow, you not being there makes me realize how much I liked you being there."

I know what he means about being used to seeing him. "I miss you too."

We're quiet then. Brice touches my face softly. I gaze at him, wishing I could just get lost in his eyes.

"Olivia?" Brice says. "How many people have you killed?"

I turn away. "Why would you ask me that?"

"Ten?"

"Are you wearing a wire or something? Did the police get to you?"

"More than ten?"

"Brice, you can't just ask me something like that."

"It doesn't matter," he says. "It should, shouldn't it? Knowing something like that about you should change the way I feel about you. But it doesn't."

I turn back to him. "Less than ten. Less than five." Only one. But it would have been two. It was going to be two. I didn't have to kill Vincent, but I would have. How many people will I have to kill? What will it do to me? How many other bodies will I cut up and stuff in garbage bags? I've worked so hard to be tough and respected, but what if I simply can't be tough enough? What if it always bothers me? Or worse. What if eventually it doesn't bother me? Do I want to be that hard? That cold?

"I got out of the root cellar tonight," says Brice.

"What?"

"Nothing happened. I don't think it did anyway. I came to about a block away. I left a bit of a trail from the cellar to where I woke up. Smashed hedges, broken flowers, things like that. But something could happen, you know. Someday, if something goes wrong, I could kill someone."

I take his hand and squeeze it. "It wouldn't be the same thing, Brice. You wouldn't know you were doing it."

"No, it wouldn't be the same. It would be worse."

"No—"

"Olivia, do you kill people for no reason?"

I see his point. I shake my head slowly. "No. I only do it if it seems like the person is dangerous. If he's hurt someone. If he's going to hurt someone." I squeeze his hand again. "But I still choose it, Brice. I'm responsible in a way you could never be."

"What if we're not that different, Olivia?" he asks. "What if all these excuses we keep making..." He swallows. "I don't want to ask you to deal with my virus. But if I were ever going to ask a girl to deal with it, I can't think of anyone better than you. If I got loose, and you couldn't get me locked back up, you could kill me."

I rip my hand away from his. "Brice!"

"No, I mean it. You could stop me from hurting someone. So maybe, in some ways, you're just the kind of girl I need. But... I don't have anything to offer you."

Offer me? "That's not true. You make me feel things. And no one else does. You see me differently."

"That's not enough," he says.

"You make me feel..." I don't know how to talk about this. I feel embarrassed and confused. So I kiss Brice instead.

I half-expect him to pull away, but he doesn't. He pulls me tight against him and kisses me back hard. We fall back onto my bed, our legs tangled up. Somehow, my robe is coming open, and Brice's hands are inside the folds of it, on my skin. His touch feels like jolts of sweet lightning, like the magic sparks that spring from his fingers, and I let him run his hands all over me, even though I know I shouldn't do that. I know that if I let him... it's something bad.

But Brice is somehow without a shirt then, and I'm out of my robe entirely, and we're lying on my bed, our lips locked together, our tongues tickling each others' tongues, our hands trailing over each other's bare skin. And everything is exploding levels of pleasure, every second better than the next.

Suddenly, Brice pulls away from me. He gets off the bed. He is shaking.

He's not touching me, and I remember more clearly. The virus. We can't ever do that, because of the virus. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—"

"I'm sorry," he says. "We just...we have to be careful."

I get some pajamas out of my dresser and yank them on. Brice puts his shirt back on. He stands in the middle of the room, looking ready to bolt.

I hug him. "Stay anyway," I say. "Just sleep next to me?"

"I—" He breaks off with a shaky laugh. "I don't know if I can control—"

"Of course you can," I say. "I'll help you."

As we settle under the covers in my narrow bed, I curl up against Brice's shoulder. His arm curves around me. It's dark in my bedroom, and I feel as if Brice and I are in a warm safe cave. "Thank you," I whisper to him. "I needed this."

And that is what Brice Ventresca has to offer me. Himself. And now that I've got him so close to me, I don't know if I want to let him go.

* * *

I go to the jail to meet with my father for the first time. I think about the last time I was here, talking to Tito about Angelo and whether or not he killed my mother. I realize that even though I know more now about everything, I still don't know enough. I want my father to give me real answers, not the kinds of things he told me over the phone. I want to find my mother. My father claims he doesn't know where she is. I believe him. At least I think I do.

I wait for my father in the visiting area. They bring him out in his orange jumpsuit. He looks the same as ever, except a little older. There are small streaks of gray in his beard. I have memories of seeing him when I was a little girl. Whenever he came home from work, I would sprint out the front door to meet him, yelling, "Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!" He would reach down, pick me up, and swing me around.

This time I don't even get up when he comes in, but I do smile at him when he sits down with me. "Hi Dad," I say. I feel shy.

"It's good to see you, Olivia," he says.

And that's it for small talk or for our warm father-daughter reunion. Things are different between us now. There's business to worry about. I give my father a report on what's going on with the business. I speak in a code of sorts that Tommy has taught me. It's all based on baking and cooking terms, so to the casual observer it would sound like we were talking about food.

When I get finished, my father leans back in his chair. "You seem to be doing quite well. But I do have a few concerns. I've heard that you aren't sticking to the family recipe when you're making ziti, Olivia."

For some reason, ziti is the code word for charms. My father somehow knows that I'm using different kinds of charms than the ones we usually use. "The family recipe makes people get sick, Dad," I say. "The new recipe is safe, and all the kids like it a lot more." Kids is the code word for customers or clients.

"Go back to the old recipe, Olivia. The old recipe is what makes our family unique. I won't have you messing with that." His eyes have narrowed, and his voice sounds colder.

"Why?" I say. "What's the benefit of the old recipe? Ever since I tried the new recipe, we've all gotten lots more pesto." Pesto is the code word for money. I assume this is because pesto is green and money is green, but I really have no idea.

My dad chuckles, but he doesn't actually sound amused. "Humor your old man, okay?"

No. It's not okay. I'm not going to start selling our virus-infested charms again. I cross my arms over my chest. "This have anything to do with the fact that our family recipe makes people even sicker than most other family's ziti?"

He raises his eyebrows. A small smile creeps across his face. "You impress me again, Olivia."

That is not an answer. "Does it have anything to do with Mom? With what she knew?" Or possibly even still knows if she's still out there somewhere.

My father scratches his beard. "We don't have time to get into all that right now. Just promise me that you will be using the old recipe from here on out. It's important, Olivia."

I don't want to make any kind of promise like that, because I don't think I can handle having the idea that I'm turning people into berserkers on my conscience. "If it's so important," I say, "you'll explain to me why. My new recipe is working fine. Better than the old recipe, in fact. I don't see any reason to change."

"Don't be stubborn."

I don't say anything.

My father surveys me from across the table. We are both quiet for several minutes. Just when the silence is beginning to get awkward, my father leans forward. "I heard you had some troubles with Vincent."

"It worked out," I say.

"Did it?" He smiles. "He seems to have disappeared, at any rate."

Why is my father intimating that I've killed someone while we're in a jail? "Yeah, it's a little strange."

"You know why I didn't choose Vincent over you?" asks my father.

I shake my head. "No."

"He seemed like the kind of boy who thought he knew better than the family about everything. He seemed like someone who'd make trouble, who'd march to his own drum beat, if you know what I mean."

"You were right. He was that kind of person."

"You, on the other hand, you've always been loyal to our family."

Argh. Here it comes. My father is about to stick the knife of guilt into my gut and twist it. "More pesto equals more loyalty in my opinion, Dad," I say.

He chuckles again. "All right, all right, Olivia. You can use the new recipe. But don't phase the old recipe out completely, okay? There are still kids who want that old recipe. You can't let them down."

I suppose he's right. All we're selling these days are charms to theater-goers. We do have loyal clients who want the old charms. To not provide to those people wouldn't be good business. "Of course not, Dad. I wouldn't want to let down the kids." Even if I do make them into berserkers.

"That's all I'm asking." And he grins a huge grin.

* * *

That night, I help Brice reinforce the cellar he goes into when he's a berserker, so that it's less likely he'll get out again. Because Brice is concerned, I wait around outside, just to make sure he doesn't break out. I know he said stupid things to me about killing him, but I refuse to do that.

I'm alarmed, because Brice is a berserker for nearly two hours. When he finally crawls out of his cellar, I ask him about it. He tells me that it's getting worse. He stays a berserker for longer and longer these days, and no amount of benedetta magic does a thing to stop it. He doesn't know what's going on.

I know what this means. It means that Brice is on track to be a berserker full time. We've all heard enough about the virus to know that unchecked by benedetta magic, it takes over a person slowly but surely, until one day, that person never changes back to being human. Brice's virus is behaving like an untreated one, even though he's been diligent about doing the benedetta magic. It's like the berserkers in the wards that Nonna told me about, the ones who don't respond to spells at all. It probably means that Brice has the stronger strain of the virus that comes from Calabrese charms.

Why is my father so insistent that I keep using those charms? Does he know there's a stronger berserker strain associated with them? What's going on?

I tell Brice some of this. I leave out the part where my father insists I keep infecting people. Maybe I don't want to face that myself.

"When I start to get really bad," Brice says. "I want you to kill me. I don't want to be taken to a ward or gunned down like a dog by the police. I want you to do it."

"I'm not going to have to," I say. "We're going to figure this out. We're going to make you okay."

Brice just shrugs. "I might only have one show left. I've got an audition with a director for a big show. Commercial stuff in the city. I have to nail it. This could be my only chance."

Brice's acting dream is just like my dream of being the head of the family. I've achieved my dream, but Brice is still struggling. And it doesn't seem fair that he's running out of time, and there's nothing we can do about it. But there has to be something. I won't let him be completely eaten up by this virus.

I don't even know what Brice and I are exactly, but I know I can't lose him completely. "I'm going to find some way to stop the virus," I tell him.

He puts his hand on my hand. "Olivia, if there was a way to stop it, the virus wouldn't be a problem."

His point is pretty clear. Why do I think I'll be able to cure the berserker virus when people have been working to do just that since it appeared, and they haven't been able to do it? What makes me think I could do better? I don't say anything back. I don't have a good reason. I just feel a kind of helpless rage, and if I don't promise myself I'll try to fix it, I'll never be able to shake it.

I want to hold Brice. I want to kiss him again. But the mood is so somber now. I don't know how to get from talking about Brice's probable degeneration into a monster to kissing. Eventually, I just end up leaving.

I drive home feeling frustrated, confused, and scared. And I'm a little worried about myself too. Brice says there's no way I could have caught the berserker virus from him. But what if I did? And what about last night? We were awfully close again. How is this thing spread? I know it takes a month for the virus to incubate. How long ago was the dugout? If I'm going to turn, will it be soon? And if I'm suffering from this same strong strain of the virus, how am I going to run the family and find a cure?

When I get home, I do some figuring. It will be exactly a month on Friday since Brice and I messed around the first time. I haven't experienced any kind of symptoms, but I don't know if I would, anyway.

I thought my life was complicated when I was trying to balance play performances with being jettatori. I had no idea how much worse it could get.

* * *

Sister Henrietta is full benedette. She wears the long white robes and everything. She perches on a chair in her office. I'm sitting across from her, twisting my hands nervously in my lap. Sister Henrietta has a clipboard she's eyeing. It has a sheet I filled out when I got to the free clinic attached to the berserker ward in the city. I left more blanks than I filled in information, however. "You didn't fill in your name," she says.

"I thought I could come to these clinics anonymously," I say. This is the most mortifying thing I've ever done.

Sister Henrietta inclines her head. "You can. But what shall I call you? Can't you give me a first name at least?"

"Gianna," I say. I don't know why I give her my mother's name instead of mine. It's just important that no one ever find out I was here today.

"Okay, Gianna." She sets down the clipboard. "So you haven't had a transformation yet."

Yet? She makes it sound like an inevitability. "No. I don't know if I will."

"You had intercourse with a man who is a berserker, right?"

"Not intercourse exactly." I fiddle with the edge of my shirt and feel my face heat up. "We didn't really..." I make a gesture with my hands, trying to demonstrate, but it makes me feel even more embarrassed. "But he was, like, almost there."

"So there wasn't penetration?" she asks.

God. Why couldn't I think of a nice clinical way to put it? "No."

"Mmm hmm," she says. "And was there ejaculation?"

I cringe. "No. That didn't happen either. He sort of changed into a berserker before we got that far."

"But you're concerned that you might be infected with the berserker virus?"

"Well, it'll be a month ago on Friday. And I know it takes a month before you transform for the first time. I just wanted to know if there were any kind of symptoms I'd be having now if I did get the virus."

"The virus is entirely asymptomatic except for the transformation into a berserker. Once the transformation has happened the first time, there are herbs and spells we can do to halt its growth, but unless you'd transformed, we'd have no way of knowing you had the virus."

That's not good. I nod. "Okay, well, I guess I just wait."

"Honestly, Gianna, I think it's quite unlikely you've contracted the virus. It's not often spread sexually, despite what you might think. Because the virus is magic, it infects humans in a way quite different than biological viruses do. When humans have magical abilities, they have them through their souls. If you don't like that term, some people also call it aura or energy. Whatever spiritual component makes us human, that's where magic comes from. When the virus infects us, it infects our souls or our auras. The reason it's transmittable sexually is that when humans reach orgasm, our souls are more prominent. It's a peak kind of experience that lays us bare in many ways. If two people have intercourse, one is infected, and both reach orgasm around the same time, the berserker virus can jump from one aura to another, infecting the other person. It doesn't happen otherwise."

"So... you don't think that I have it?"

"Honestly, I don't. I think it would be a good idea to lie low on Friday, in case you're not exactly clear on the actual events that occurred when you were involved with the infected man. Sometimes girls your age aren't exactly sure what orgasms are. There was no penetration, but if both of you reached orgasm, then you could have still contracted the virus."

I'm pretty sure my face is blood red.

She reaches behind her desk and gets a threefold brochure. "Here's this pamphlet on female sexuality and orgasm. You might find it helpful. It's good to be knowledgeable about your own body."

I take the pamphlet, still feeling extremely embarrassed. "I know what an orgasm is," I mutter. I hope she doesn't pursue this any further. There are some things I'm not going to discuss with anyone, even benedette who treat people with the berserker virus on a daily basis.

"Good," she says, smiling.

Does she know what an orgasm is? Benedette, if they're wearing robes anyway, are all celibate. They can leave the order to get married, but once they do, they're not considered full-fledged benedette anymore. But then, of course, it's not like you can't have orgasms even if you've never had sex. I guess I'm admitting that to her right now. I blush even more fiercely. I so do not want to think about this anymore.

"Are you still seeing this man? The one who's infected?"

"Um..." I trail off. "Not exactly." I think of Brice and me on my bed the other night, his hands inside my robe. "Kind of."

"Well," she says, "since the virus isn't necessarily transmitted through intercourse, we recommend that young people like yourself abstain entirely from any kind of sexual contact, which is, incidentally, God's plan for your body until you get married. It can be difficult, but God tests the faithful to let them prove their worthiness."

"We're not doing anything," I mumble. Not exactly, anyway. Maybe we do need to be more careful.

"Good. See that you don't. Many things can provide temptation. I have a pamphlet back here somewhere on chaste kissing." She searches behind her desk again.

Chaste kissing?! Is she serious?

She hands me the pamphlet.

I barely glance at it. "Thanks." I chew on my lip. "So, say you were married to someone who became a berserker. Would that mean that the two of you could never... be intimate?"

Sister Henrietta nods sadly. "Essentially. Some couples find that they can still have intercourse, but they have to stop before they reach orgasm and separate themselves for a period of time during that process, but we don't recommend that practice here. It's far too unpredictable to be reliable as a method, and honestly, most couples who try it are only successful in infecting their spouses." She sighs. "It's a sad consequence of using magic improperly the way the jettatori families do."

That's... horrible. So there's no way that I could ever be with Brice like that. Ever. Is it even possible for a relationship to work in that case? I tuck the pamphlets Sister Henrietta has given me into my pocket and stand up. "Well, thanks, you've been very helpful."

She stands too. "Of course. I hope you'll be fine, Gianna."

I start for the door to her office. My hand on the knob, I pause. "I wondered if I could ask another question."

"Certainly."

"I've heard that there's a new strain of berserker virus, one that doesn't respond well to benedette magic."

"Well, I don't know if it's a new strain or not," Sister Henrietta laughs."But yes, there are sometimes a few who don't respond."

"What do you do with them? Do they have to be killed if they've reached the point where they're berserkers all the time?"

"Actually," says Sister Henrietta, "we send them to a different facility. It's called the Calabrese Center. They specialize in difficult cases."

I feel cold all over. "The Calabrese Center? Do you know where it's located?"

She shrugs. "Off hand, I don't. We communicate with them by phone primarily, I think. I imagine it's away from the city if you're concerned about the berserkers getting out. They're very professional. They come by to pick up any stragglers we might have on Friday nights, a little after midnight. Until then, we do our best to keep them sedated, so they're perfectly safe."

Calabrese Center? My last name? It can't be a coincidence, can it? "They pick them up here? On Friday nights?"

She nods. "That's right. Why all the questions, Gianna?"

I shrug. "No reason." Friday night is the night I might, but probably won't, turn into a berserker. Can I risk coming here to try to see the Calabrese Center pick up in action?

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

From what Sister Henrietta told me, I'm pretty sure I don't have the berserker virus. I know I didn't have anything close to an orgasm in the dugout. And I'm pretty sure Brice didn't either. But to be certain, I call Brice and have the most embarrassing conversation in the history of the world with him about it. When we finish stammering and trailing off with each other, I know that he didn't have one either. So I think I'm just going to risk it. But maybe I shouldn't be alone on the slight chance that I change.

I can't bring Brice with me, because it's after midnight, and he'll be a berserker. I want someone to come with me who could handle me anyway. Someone strong enough to restrain me. I muse over this, not coming up with any ideas, until I go to the deli the next day to see the guys. It's in good shape now. You'd never know Vincent and his guys came in here and tore the place apart.

Tommy's in the back having a beer. That's when it comes to me. I should ask Tommy to come with me. Tommy could restrain me if I went nuts. He's good in a fight. But if I explain to Tommy what I'm doing, then he'll know that I'm hunting up information on what my dad's up to. He might not take that the best way. Still, I think I can trust Tommy. He's always been good to me. He's looked out for me and given me good advice.

I decide to tread carefully before coming right out and explaining the whole thing. I sit down with him. "So I might have something I need to look into on Friday night. I'd like to have you around for it."

Tommy sets down his beer. "What do you want to look into?"

"I'm not sure yet," I say, not wanting to give too much away. "I think it might be trouble for the family, though, and I want to see what it is before I decide if anything needs to be done about it."

"Trouble?" Tommy looks worried.

"Maybe," I say.

"What kind of trouble?"

"Trouble that has to do with berserkers," I say vaguely, trying to tread water longer. I get a burst of insight. "You know, because Vincent was killed by them and everything. I think there might be something strange going on."

Tommy picks up his beer again. He doesn't look worried anymore. "There's nothing going on with berserkers."

"Well, I hope you're right. Still, it couldn't hurt to look into it, right?"

Tommy takes a swig of beer. "Can we do it a different night besides Friday?"

"What's wrong with Friday?"

"I've got something to do for your father on Friday night."

Now that doesn't make any sense. "How is my father giving you jobs? He's locked up for God's sake."

Tommy shrugs. "He's the boss, Olivia. He has his ways."

"So what's the job?"

Tommy takes another drink of beer. "Well, I don't mean any disrespect, Olivia, but I figure if your father wanted you to know about it, he'd tell you himself."

This doesn't sound good. Is Tommy connected to whatever weird, underhanded things my dad is doing? "I'm the boss on the outside, Tommy. You have to tell me what's going on. How am I supposed to run this family if I don't have any idea what we're doing?"

"Look, talk to your dad, then. All I know is that this job that I do for him is top secret. I'm not supposed to talk about it."

"Even to me?"

Tommy shrugs. "It's probably fine to tell you. I don't know. Talk to your father."

I don't believe this. "Tommy, I order you to tell me what the job is."

Tommy finishes his beer in one swallow. He gets up. "I'm not trying to be an ass or anything. I just can't talk about it. Your father's word overrides everything, including you. I'm sorry."

I don't like this at all. Not one bit. I'm starting to get even more suspicious about this whole thing. If my father is giving people jobs that I don't know a thing about, then am I really even running this family at all? If he can give Tommy hush-hush orders, then things are not only going through me. My father claimed that when I met him each week, I'd be the only way he communicated with the family. Clearly, that's a lie. So what the hell is going on here?

I don't say goodbye to Tommy, I just leave, feeling angry. I don't want to be kept in the dark like this. I wanted to work out some of our theater district infiltration strategy today, but now I'm too angry to think. I take the ferry into the city and head to the jail. It's not the day that I'm supposed to visit my father, but I'm going to see him anyway. Tommy said to ask my father. Okay, fine. I'll ask my father. Maybe I'll ask him a lot of things.

* * *

It takes a little bit to get in to see my dad when I get there. Luckily, the Calabrese name is a feared name, so eventually it all gets sorted out, and I'm in the visiting room waiting for him. He doesn't look particularly happy to see me when I show up. That's fine. I'm not in great mood either.

I greet him with, "Why are you giving people jobs to do that I don't even know about?"

His voice is low and even. "Listen to me, you can't show up here whenever you want to talk to me. There is a protocol in place for very good reasons. It's dangerous for all of us if you break from them. So just smile at me, give me a hug, make small talk for about five minutes and then leave. If you want to pretend to cry because you miss me so much, that would be acceptable too."

"No way, Dad. You can't keep me in the dark here. Either I'm running this family or I'm not. I need to know what you're ordering Tommy to do on Friday. What could be so important that I can't use him?"

My father smiles a nasty kind of smile. "I won't be bullied or ordered around, Olivia. You should know me better than that."

"I need to know what's going on. Why is there some organization called the Calabrese Center picking up berserkers from a ward in the city? Why is it so important that I keep using the charms that turn people into unmanageable monsters? Why are you giving people jobs that are secret? What happened to my mother?" Suddenly it seems like I have nothing but unanswered questions.

My father surveys me coldly. "You disappoint me, Olivia. I had thought you were a loyal daughter. But this line of questioning makes me wonder exactly what it is you're doing. Why are you subverting the family traditions and doing things differently? Do you have some kind of agenda?"

"How can I be loyal when I don't know what I'm being loyal to?"

"How can loyalty mean anything if it's contingent on finding answers to things best left alone for now?"

"Are you going to give me answers or not?"

He leans forward. "Never think that I can't take all this away from you in one instant. If you aren't working out for me in your current position, I can relieve you of it. Perhaps it's too stressful for someone with your delicate sensibilities."

Delicate? Is he saying that I'm too much of a girl to handle this? "There's nothing delicate about me."

"That's odd, because right now, you remind me far too much of your mother for my comfort."

I glare at him. "I thought you loved my mother."

"I did. Until she turned on me. And once loyalty is gone, Olivia, love is strangled."

"What did she know, Dad? What are you doing with those charms?"

"If you want me to become very angry," he says in a calm voice, "by all means continue to ask these hysterical questions. Continue to be emotional. Continue to push. If you want me to strip everything away from you, then stay on the path you're on."

Maybe he means it. Maybe he will kick me out of the family entirely. That would mean I could never speak to any of them again. Never go to the deli and see Tommy. Never go to another wedding like Antonia's. Lose my entire family. My father could see to it that that happened.

He must be able to see that I'm starting to hesitate. "Have you considered that there are good reasons for my not telling you everything?"

"It just seems like I should know. In my position, I need to be on top of everything that the family does."

"In time, Olivia. In time. First, I must be absolutely sure of your loyalty."

"When will you tell me?"

"When you need to know." He sighs. "I can't risk that you'll do what your mother did to me. You're my daughter as well, but there may be too much of her in you."

That's funny. Because people are always telling me I'm just like my dad. "You know I'm no rat. I couldn't be."

"There are different kinds of betrayal, but all are equally as serious. And traitors like your mother have to be dealt with."

Dealt with? "I thought you said you didn't know what happened to her. You did kill her, didn't you? Why didn't you bury her?"

My father smiles again. "In time, Olivia. In time."

I shake my head. "What did you do to my mother?"

"I stopped her from ever betraying me again. I can make it impossible for you as well, if I learn that I can't trust you."

My father is threatening me. I don't know what he's threatening me with, but the tone of his voice is chilling. This isn't the man who whirled me in the air when I was a little girl. This isn't the man who told jokes at the dinner table. This is someone else, a man with bright, cold eyes and a wolfish grin. A man who doesn't care about me. Not really. For all his talk of loyalty, I can't imagine this man could be loyal to anyone but himself. And he's done something to my mother. Something awful. I'll find out what that thing is. Even if it means losing my entire family. Because I can't be loyal to this man. I don't even know who this man is. I only know that he's frightening.

I can't tip my hand, however, until I know more. If my father won't tell me, I'll find out. But while I'm finding out, he can't know that I've lost respect for him. I close my eyes for a second, working hard to make my expression contrite. "I'm sorry, Dad. I guess I got carried away. Of course I'm loyal to you and the family. Of course I'll wait until you're ready to tell me what's going on. I'm sorry I came here. Sometimes, my anger gets the better of me."

He eyes me for a moment. Then he grins. It's as if his entire face has changed, like he's put on his "dad" mask again. He looks completely different. "It's okay, Olivia. Believe me, you get that fiery anger from me. You must learn to use it and not to let it use you."

* * *

I still plan on going to the ward on Friday and seeing what's going on with this Calabrese Center, but I'm no better off than I was before. I don't want to go alone, because there's a slim chance I'll change, but I don't have anyone to take with me. After stewing over it for a long time, I finally decide to take Josh. He's always been loyal to me, and he could take me down if I turned into a berserker. I don't tell Josh there's a chance I might turn, though. I just tell him I have something I want to check out on Friday night, and I need him for backup. He's happy to come along.

We take the ferry into the city and then the subway to the berserker ward. I'm not sure where the people from the so-called Calabrese Center are going to show up, so Josh and I scour the building looking to see where the entrances and exits are. We discover there's a ramp in the back for ambulances, so we position ourselves there, crouching behind a dumpster. By this time, it's nearly midnight.

Josh is eating peanuts out of a plastic bag, which is making noise.

I glare at him. "Can you put that away?"

He offers me the bag. "What? You want some?"

I snatch the bag from him and put in my pocket. "We're staking out a building here, Josh. The key is to remain silent and hidden. Not announce to the world we're here with a noisy bag."

Josh shrugs. "Can I have those back later?"

I'm exasperated. "Yes."

We watch. We wait. Thus far, nothing is happening. I'm hoping that the ramp is the right place to be.

"Since no one's here yet, couldn't I eat my peanuts until they show up?" Josh asks.

I want to clobber him over the head. "No." I check my watch. Two minutes until midnight. Would I be feeling weird if I were going to change? Sister Henrietta said it was completely asymptomatic. So, does that mean that there wouldn't be any signs at all, even this close? I wonder if I should tell Josh that he might have to contend with my being a berserker? No, I shouldn't. Because if I'm not a berserker, then it will just lead to a whole bunch of questions that I don't really want to answer. I peer at the shadowy ramp nervously. When she said they came a little after midnight, what time did that really mean? Heck, it could mean one o'clock in the morning. I didn't want to crouch here for an entire hour. Of course, if I became a berserker, then I wouldn't be crouching. I swallow.

"You okay?" Josh asks.

I nod. "Totally okay." I check my watch again. 12:01. I breathe a sigh of relief. It's okay. I didn't become a berserker. I really am okay. I smile at Josh. "I'm great."

But we still have to wait nearly twenty minutes for anything to happen. Just as Josh is about to brain me if I don't give him back his peanuts, an unmarked black van drives up the ramp. Two men get out of the front.

I recognize both of them.

One is Tommy. The irony. I wanted him to help me on a job which would have entailed spying on himself. The other is Max, another Calabrese.

Josh elbows me, his eyes wide.

I place a finger at my lips, indicating he should be quiet.

Tommy and Max slam the doors to the van and troop into the door to the berserker ward.

"What the hell is going on?" Josh asks me the minute they're inside.

"I don't know," I say. "That's why we're staking this out. I have a feeling they're going to take a bunch of berserkers somewhere."

"Why?"

"I don't know that either."

"But you're the boss. You should know what everyone's doing."

I give Josh a grim look. "Tell me about it."

"Whoa." He shakes his head. It's like I've blown his mind. Like he'd never considered secrets could be kept this high up in the Calabrese family. "So are we going to have to follow that van?"

Crap. I hadn't even thought about that. What's wrong with me? Was I really so worried I was a berserker that I started acting like an idiot? Or am I just losing it? Maybe it would have been a good idea to bring my car into the city instead of taking the ferry. But I can never find anywhere to park. Even if I did have my car, it would probably be parked seven blocks from here, anyway. "Maybe we can stow away in the van."

He raises his eyebrows. "With the berserkers?"

He's got a point.

"You stay here," Josh says. "When the van comes out, follow it to the curb. I've got this." And he dashes off past the van towards the street.

"What are you going to do?" I call after him, but he doesn't stop.

Great. Now I'm relying on Josh to do something that I don't understand, and we'll probably lose the van entirely.

But at that moment, the door to the ramp opens. I move back into the shadows, so that I can see what's going on, but no one can see me. The doors are like the doors in department stores, they slide open on motion sensors. They're bigger than department store doors, though, so they open wide, to the width of the ramp.

Tommy and Max are wheeling a cage on wheels out of the berserker ward. Inside are seven or eight berserkers. They are reaching through the bars at Tommy and Max. They are snarling and screaming. They look dirty. Some of them have dark streaks on their faces. A few have bloody, broken fingernails, as if they've been trying to scratch their way out of somewhere. Sister Henrietta said they were knocked out until they could be picked up, but these guys don't look it.

Actually, I wonder if drugs would even work on them. Benedetta magic works on the physical body, not the virus itself, because the virus is magic and magic can't fight magic. If they can't be subdued by magic, they probably can't be subdued in any way. I shiver.

It's kind of awful, watching these people caged up like wild animals. Tommy and Max seem pretty unconcerned with them. They just load the cage into the van, shut the doors, and get in the front.

The van drives off, and I do what Josh told me to do. I go to the curb.

There's a car waiting there, the engine running. The passenger door opens. Josh pokes his head out. "Get in."

I do, pulling my car door closed as we speed off after the van.

Josh grins at me. "Stealing cars is one of my talents."

Josh follows the van but not too closely. We keep it in our sights, even though there are cars between us. It's pretty clear as we merge onto the highway that we're heading back to the island. Wherever these berserkers are going, it's someplace close to home.

"So what's going on?" Josh asks me.

"You know how charms cause the berserker virus?" I say.

"Yeah."

"Well, the Calabrese charms cause some kind of super strong berserker virus that doesn't respond to any kind of treatment. And when that ward gets berserkers like that, they turn them over to Tommy and Max. And now we're following them to see where they're taking these berserkers."

"So the family is using the berserkers somehow?" Josh asks.

"I don't know," I say. "But we're going to find out."

"And no one told you a thing about it, even though you're the head of the family."

"You got it."

"You must be pissed."

I laugh, watching the lights of the city out of the car window. "Pretty much, yeah."

It takes a little over half an hour to drive back to the island. Once there, the van turns right and starts following the coast. There are fewer cars here, so we have to keep pretty far back to avoid being seen. When the van turns into a parking lot for a boat docking area, Josh says it's too isolated for us to park there too. He keeps going past the dock and parks a little further up. We leave the car and trudge back to the dock.

The van is empty when we get there and there's no sign of Tommy, Max, or the berserkers. I wander around the dock looking for them, swearing underneath my breath. How did we lose them so quickly?

They aren't on a boat. We'd be able to see that, if they were. All the boats docked here are silent and dark. They haven't just walked off with a cage full of berserkers either.

It's Josh who finds the manhole cover that's been pushed aside.

"Into the sewer?" I say. "I don't think so."

"I don't think this is a sewer," says Josh. "See how wide this is? It's way bigger than your usual sewer cover."

I peer into the darkness. It does look wide enough to fit the cage down. But there's a ladder on the side. How did they get the berserkers in? "So they just dropped the cage of berserkers down there?"

Josh reaches inside the hole and shows me a pulley. It's pretty old, but it does have a newer rope attached to it. "Maybe this was originally used to get equipment down in this hole. Whatever it was used for."

We don't have any other leads, so we descend down into the black pit. I go first. Josh steps on my fingers twice, but I manage not to cry out, because I don't want to alert anyone who might be down here already to our presence. It seems like the climb down takes forever. It's pretty frightening, because it's dark underneath me, and I can't see anything except the circle of the night sky above us. And it's getting smaller and smaller the farther down into the hole I get.

But finally, after it seems like we've been climbing down into this hole for seventeen years, I begin to hear noises. Strange echoey sounds, thin and shrill, but unmistakably human. Yells, screams, grunts. Berserkers. There are berserkers down here. As I climb lower and lower, the sounds of them get louder and louder. There are a lot of berserkers down here.

By the time Josh and I have gotten to the bottom, I've realized where we are. We're in the abandoned subway tunnels. The ones I saw in the spell I did. This must have been where it was trying to lead me, but I ran into that dead spot and couldn't get here.

There's light around the bend in the tunnel ahead, shaky and red, like firelight. Josh and I creep forward through the tunnel towards the light. As we get closer, we go more cautiously, not wanting to be seen. At last we're close enough that we can peer around the bend and see what's going on, but we aren't noticeable.

There are bars over the tunnel, from top to bottom. The bars are close enough together that no human could fit through them. Behind the bars are berserkers. Tons and tons of berserkers. I've never seen so many in my entire life. They gaze out with glowing red eyes. Most of them are either naked or only wearing shreds of clothing. They are dirty, with matted hair and long fingernails. They look like cavemen. Most of them must have been here for a long time. They push against the bars, shrieking and moaning, reaching their fingers out for Tommy and Max, who are standing outside the bars with the cage of berserkers they've brought with them from the ward.

Tommy's holding a torch. He thrusts the fire at the berserkers and they back off, screaming.

Max goes to a small door between the bars, fishes a key out of his pocket and opens it.

Tommy threatens the berserkers inside the bars with the fire. They stay back.

Max wheels the cage up to the door. He opens it and pushes the cage so it's flush with the door. Holding it in place, he uses the butt of a large Maglite flashlight to prod the new berserkers inside with the others. They grunt and growl at him, but he's able to get them inside.

Why would anyone want to keep so many berserkers down here? What could they possibly be used for? How are they being kept alive anyway?

I get an answer to that question when Tommy shrugs a large bag off his shoulder. He unzips it and pulls out bundles wrapped in paper. As he unwraps them and hurls the contents through the bars, I realize they are scraps from the deli—lunchmeat, breads, cheeses. He's feeding them like they're animals in a zoo.

I watch the berserkers leap on the scraps, fighting each other to get at the food. They shove pieces of salami and turkey into their mouths like they're starving. I feel sick inside. This is wrong. These people might be taken over by the virus, but they're still human beings. Keeping them here like this...

The new berserkers are inside, so Max wheels the cage away and relocks the door to the tunnel. Tommy throws the last of the food through the bars. He zips up his bag.

Josh touches my shoulder. "They're getting ready to leave," he whispers. "Should we go?"

I nod, casting one more glance at the berserkers, gnawing on the scraps of food that have been left them. They're so pitiful. Then I see her.

Her hair is ratty and knotted into one huge dreadlock. Her face is covered in scratches and crisscrossed with scars. She looks skinnier than I've ever seen her before, and I can tell because she's not wearing anything, so all of her ribs stand out starkly against her skin. But I recognize her anyway.

And before I can think, I'm hurtling forward through the tunnel, heading straight for the bars, yelling for her. "Mom!"

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Tommy stops me, stepping into my path and holding me back. "What are you doing here, Olivia?"

I struggle against him, but Tommy is bigger and stronger than me. If I twist my neck, I can see around him, though. I can see her kneeling on the filthy subway tunnel ground, tearing away at the lunch meat she's holding up to her mouth. "Mom!" I say again.

Tommy shakes me. "Olivia."

"Let me go," I say to Tommy through clenched teeth.

Tommy releases me.

Immediately, I run to the bars, fall to my knees and reach through them for her. "Mom!"

She doesn't look up. Her eyes are dull and mad, the same way Brice's are when he's gone through the change. She's a berserker. She's not the mother I knew. But she's still my mother. And I can't leave her here like this.

Tommy yanks me away from the bars. "Are you insane? They'll grab you."

I point at her. "That's my mother."

Tommy squints at her. "Don't be ridiculous. Your mother's dead."

"No," I say, "she's not. Her coffin's empty. She's not dead. She's a berserker. She's been here all this time."

Tommy looks at my mother more closely. He cocks his head. Then he lets out a long, whistling breath. "My God."

"I have to get her out of there," I say. I turn to Max. "Give me the keys."

Max doesn't move. He is staring at my mother too. "That is Gianna, isn't it?"

"It's low," says Tommy. "Even for Lucio, it's low."

"Yeah," I say. "He's a real bastard." I go to Max. I hold out my hand. "Give me the keys."

His hand goes to where they're attached to his belt loop. "You can't go in there. You'll be killed. They're crazy."

"I don't care. She's not staying in there. I won't let that happen."

Max shakes his head furiously. "Tommy, talk some sense into her."

"This must be a shock, Olivia," says Tommy.

"Shut up," I say. I dive for Max's keys, but he steps out of the way.

Instead, I fall flat on my face on the floor of the subway tunnel. As I'm scrabbling to my feet, I notice something that's been set down on the ground. The Maglite. I scoop it up, and advance on Max, brandishing it over my head like a weapon.

Max must see something in my expression he doesn't like because he backs up. Then he stops suddenly, and swallows hard.

Josh peers at me over Max's shoulder. "Last I checked," says Josh, "Olivia was the boss. And I think when the boss gives an order, you're supposed to listen."

Shaking, Max unclips the keys and hands them to me.

What did Josh do to convince him to do that?

"Don't shoot me," Max says.

Oh. Josh has a gun. Josh is handy. I'm glad I brought him along. "Thanks," I say to him.

He grins. "Don't get killed in there, huh?"

Right. As I go to the door to unlock it, a group of berserkers rushes forward. They wrap their fingers around the bars and howl at me, snapping their teeth. I bring the Maglite down on their fingers. They whimper and pull back. It gives me just enough time to unlock the door and slip inside, pulling the door closed after me.

I swing the Maglite in a large arc, thudding it against flesh and bone. But the berserkers have surrounded me. Benedetta spells aren't supposed to work on these guys, but there was a bit of spell that worked on Brice last time, wasn't there? I let the words tumbled out of my mouth. "In the name of Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior, strengthened by the intercession of the Immaculate Virgin Mary, Mother of God, of Blessed Michael the Archangel, of the Blessed Apostles Peter and Paul, and all the Saints, we confidently undertake to repulse the attacks and deceits of the devil!"

The berserkers all pause for a moment, slack-jawed.

I use the moment to hurl myself past them towards my mother. I can see her ahead of me, still eating her meat.

It only works for a second. They're moving again the minute I'm past them.

One takes hold of my heel and sends me sprawling on the floor.

Before I can move, at least ten of them are on me, hands holding limbs, teeth against my flesh. I feel several sharp jabs of pain. I've been bitten.

I lash out with the Maglite, cracking it against the skulls of the berserkers closest to me.

They yell and let go of me.

But there are still so many, and I can hear the sounds of feet scrabbling towards me. More are coming. "St. Michael the Archangel," I manage, "defend me in battle."

Another berserker sinks its teeth into me. I look down and see that there are at least five of them worrying at my skin. I'm bleeding, and it hurts like crap. "Be my protection, O Prince of the Heavenly Hosts, by the divine power of the Most Holy God!"

That stuns them. They all go motionless again. They release the teeth they've clamped onto me.

I kick out at them, knocking at least two down and slam the Maglite down on the heads of two more.

Free for at least a moment, I crawl to my mother.

She doesn't even look up from her food.

I grab her arm and tug her towards me. She looks up at me with blank eyes. Then she rakes her nails across my cheek and lets out a strangled howl of rage.

The other berserkers seem to hear this as a rallying cry. They echo it, and then they're coming for me again—more than before. Thirty or forty of them are converging on me, their arms outstretched. They growl and roar. They grind their teeth together.

My heart thuds in my chest. This was probably a really stupid idea. Maybe I am going to die in here. I pull my mother against my body, so that her back is against my front. I clamp my fingers into her shoulders and back up towards the bars. I figure if I have the bars against my back and my mother as a shield in front of me, I can inch back to the door and get out.

The only problem is that I'm backing through a crowd of berserkers, and they all seem to want to rip me apart.

Hands snake out to grasp my arms and fingers. Teeth break into my shoulders and neck. I cry out. I don't know how many are on me right now, but it feels like hundreds of bites at once.

I clench my teeth against the pain and try to keep moving backward.

But there are too many of them. I can't fight against the strength of their sheer numbers. They hold me in place. They shriek and bite and scratch.

I wonder how long it will take to kill me. I'm bleeding a lot now. How long does it take a human to bleed out? Part of me hopes it's not too long. I don't know if I can handle watching myself ripped to shreds.

Fingernails claw at my back. Teeth bite into my waist.

I scream.

There's something infinitely more terrifying about the biting happening there. My soft skin. My vital organs so close.

"They're killing her," I hear Josh's voice outside the bars.

"You can't shoot them. Lucio will have your head," says someone—Max or Tommy, I'm not sure.

"She's his daughter!" Josh is saying.

But, I know that my father probably wants these berserkers more than he wants me. The thought of that, of my father's coldness, how he turned my mother and left her here, sends fire running through my veins. So St. Michael's not doing much for me, is he? He's the vengeful angel, so it seems appropriate, but maybe the berserkers don't need to be fought as much as they need to be healed. So... "St. Raphael," I say through gritted teeth, "glorious archangel, prince of the Heavenly court, angel of health, heal and cure the victim of disease, in the name of Christ our Lord."

The berserkers don't seem to notice I've said anything. There is another bite, this time on my back.

"St. Raphael," I scream in pain, "of the glorious seven who stand before him who lives and reigns, angel of health! Heal the many infirmities of the soul and all the ills which afflict the body!"

Suddenly, three of the berserkers with their teeth in me pull away, their hands on their heads as if they're in pain.

I shout the prayer again, louder.

More pull away.

I keep saying the prayer over and over until I get my back against the bars.

The berserkers are now all moaning, clutching their heads. My mother is doing it too. She thrashes against my grasp, but I pull her with me while she does it.

I repeat the prayer again. I'm close to the door.

As I'm fumbling to open it, a berserker runs for me at full speed. He grasps the bars behind my head and puts his face in mine. His eyes look desperate, but more lucid than most of the other berserker's eyes. When he breathes in my face, his breath smells putrid and rotten.

He makes a strangled sound somewhere in this throat. It's not a growl or a scream. I don't know what it is.

I shrink from him, still struggling to open the door. I say the prayer one more time, right into his face.

"Kill me," he slurs. His eyes focus on me. He is pleading.

I open the door. I back through it. My mother and I fall on the floor together, outside the bars.

Josh is right there, holding the door closed against any of the berserkers who might try to follow me through. "Keys!" he yells.

My mother turns her body on top of me, her limbs flying out. She snarls at me.

I fumble in my pocket for the keys, which I slide across the floor to Josh.

As he's locking the door back up again, I struggle with my mother, holding her teeth away from me until I can get to my feet. Then I drag her to the cage that Max and Tommy brought in with them and shut her inside. She throws herself against the bars, shrieking.

"Look, Olivia," says Tommy, "you can't just take her. She's a berserker. She'll—"

"She's my mother," I say, although when I look at the whining thing in the cage, I have to admit she looks very little like my mother. She barely looks human. I wipe sweat off my brow, and my hand comes back bloody. Surveying my body, I see that I'm bleeding all over the place. The berserkers really did a number on me. I look at them, packed behind the bars in the tunnel. They look so pathetic. "Why is he doing this? What does my father want with all these berserkers?"

Tommy folds his arms over his chest. "Well, for one thing, he used them to take care of Vincent for you. I guess you're not grateful about that."

Vincent. Suddenly, everything about that situation comes crashing into place. That's why Tommy didn't seem so surprised. That's why he wasn't worried about killer berserkers on the loose. I remember the way Vincent's body looked, and I shiver. "It was kind of overkill, don't you think?"

Tommy shrugs. "I thought he was sending a message about what would happen to people who messed with you."

Part of me wants to try to find some way to forgive my father or to see some kind of bright side to what's happened. But I can't. "There's only one problem with that theory. It didn't send a message, because no one knows he did it. It just looked like a random berserker attack."

Tommy sighs. "I've been working for your father since I was a kid. He calls the shots. I don't ask questions."

"So, he's got an army of berserkers here, and no one knows why."

"I swear I didn't know your mother was one of them. I swear I didn't."

I believe him, but it doesn't matter. I'm feeling shaky—maybe it's because I'm losing blood, maybe it's because I'm so angry. I'm not sure which. "What kind of man does something like this? What kind of man specifically modifies a magical virus to make people into berserkers that don't respond well to benedette magic and then herds them into an abandoned subway tunnel so he can feed them scraps? Does a man like that have any respect for other people?" I gesture at my mother. "He doesn't care about his own wife."

"Olivia—"

"What if that was your mother?" I get closer to Tommy. He's taller than me, but I stand on tiptoe to look him in the eye. "What if my father did that to your mother? How would you feel about him then?"

Tommy looks down at the ground. "It doesn't matter how I feel about him. He's the boss."

A bitter laugh escapes my lips. "He's a horrible person."

"Maybe you should give him a chance to explain himself. Maybe he'll tell you what this is all for," says Tommy. "You're his daughter. His second-in-command. Maybe he'd trust you."

Could he have some kind of explanation for this? I kind of doubt it. No, I don't think my father could make this better, no matter what he said. But maybe I will give him a chance to explain. Maybe I'll see what kind of hole he digs himself into. I turn to Tommy. "You're taking me and my mother to my house. I'm keeping this cage. Got it?"

"Look, we use the cage to get the berserkers from the wards—"

"Wards? There's more than one ward you pick them up from?" I say.

Tommy shrugs.

"No more," I say. "You don't go and get them anymore. If I find out—"

"Olivia, your father—"

"Fuck my father," I say. "Take me home now. And don't let me catch you bringing anymore berserkers here. This is disgusting."

Tommy doesn't argue, but I can't be sure he's actually going to obey me either. He doesn't want to directly disobey my father. He lets me keep the cage, though, without any further argument.

I tell Josh not to breathe a word of what he's seen tonight to anyone, not until I can figure out what exactly it is that I'm going to do. He says he won't. He asks for his peanuts back. I get them out, but they're covered in my blood. He doesn't want them anymore, of course.

I have Tommy pull the van around to the back entrance of the basement in my house. I get him and Max to help me get the cage inside. Tommy offers me more words of caution about having my mother here, and what kind of danger she poses, and everything else. I tell him I'll be careful.

I reiterate my order about not picking up any more berserkers. Tommy doesn't say anything.

Then he and Max leave. I stare into the cage at my mother's contorted face, her vacant expression. If there was a time in my life to cry, this would be it. But I can't cry, it seems. I stare at her dry-eyed. And then I go to get Nonna, who has to see this, even though it will kill her.

* * *

I expect Nonna to sob or scream, but she listens while I explain everything to her without any expression. Only her eyes seem to flash anger as I talk, and she stares at what's become of her daughter.

"I think," I finish up, "that we can help her. When I did the St. Raphael spell, one of them spoke to me. He was human for a second. Maybe together, if we focus enough magic, we can heal her. We can get her back." Then I stop talking. She knows everything now. I've completely betrayed my father and my family. But I don't feel guilty about it. Instead, I feel like I'm radiating with rightness. Possibly for the first time in my life, I'm on the right path.

Nonna walks in a circle around the cage, whispering in Italian underneath her breath. "He did this to her because she went to the police."

"I don't know why he did it," I say.

"It would have been kinder to kill her," says Nonna, her voice trembling. "Doing this to her, it's just...it's sickening."

I agree. And I'm going to give him a chance to explain himself, like I said. I just want to hear him try to come up with some way to make this all right.

Nonna stops walking. "Olivia, I don't think you should get your hopes up. When berserkers are this far gone, there's nothing anyone can do, benedetta or otherwise. This is what the virus does. It's not reversible."

"But the man. He said, 'Kill me.' He spoke."

"And he told you to put him out of his misery. He didn't see any hope, did he?"

My mother crashes against the bars of the cage, yelping. "We can try, though, can't we?"

Nonna nods. "Of course we'll try." She takes me by the arm. "But first I'm taking you upstairs and getting you cleaned up. You're covered in blood and berserker bites, and you know those things get infected."

* * *

By morning, Nonna and I are both exhausted. We've spent the entire night trying every spell that either of us can think of to help my mother. She hasn't responded to any of them. Even the St. Raphael spell, which worked before, has no effect on her now. I remember that Brice responded once to the St. Michael spell, and then didn't respond to it again.

Nonna says that perhaps the virus is evolving quickly, so that anything that works once will not work again, because the virus will block it. I hate the virus.

We eat a breakfast of cold cuts and then we go to sleep. Well, Nonna goes to sleep. I call the prison and request that my father call me back. I say it's very important, and he needs to call me as soon as he has phone privileges. I say the name Calabrese at least seventeen times during the call. I know that my last name carries weight. I know that even though my father is locked up, my family has ties to all kinds of things in the city. People are afraid of us.

So I'm not surprised when I get a phone call back within twenty minutes.

"What are they for, Daddy?" I say in a sweet voice. "What are you going to use all those berserkers for?"

"This line isn't secure, and you know that."

Fine. Play that game, I think. "Whatever it is, I'm not going to let you get away with it."

A sardonic laugh. "Now you really do sound like your mother."

"Want to hear what she sounds like now?" I go down the steps, still carrying the phone. I hold the receiver up to the cage. "Say hi to Dad, Mom."

She grunts at the phone, reaching out for it.

I put the receiver back to my ear. "What kind of psychotic sicko are you, anyway?"

"Oh, what was I supposed to do with her? She was going to ruin me. She was going to ruin everything."

"I'm going to ruin everything, Dad. And before you start in on loyalty again, just understand that I could never be loyal to something like you."

"But you're loyal to that bitch who sent me away?" There's rage in his voice now. "You pick her, when I'm the one who provided for you for all those years? I'm the one who kept you safe and made sure you had Barbie dolls? And she tried to destroy all that. And that's who you're loyal to?"

I can hardly process the sheer idiotic selfishness of a comment like that. My father sounds like a five-year-old. No. He sounds like Vincent. He's nothing but a small-minded jerk. He's hard and cruel. And I can't believe I ever wanted to be anything like him. "You'll pay for what you did to her," I say quietly. "And what you did to me. And what you did to all of them."

Especially Brice.

My father is laughing. "You? You're going to teach me a lesson? Who do you think you are, little girl?"

"I'm Lucio Calabrese's daughter," I say. "And people tell me all the time how much I'm just like him." I hang up the phone.

I need to rest. But not for too long. I set an alarm to go off in three hours and lay down. I'm asleep almost immediately. I dream about berserkers surrounding me on all sides, scratching and biting me. I try to say spells at them, but my lips have been sewn shut. My father is standing outside the bars, laughing and laughing.

I'm relieved when the alarm goes off and wakes me. It's time to get down to business.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

"What's up?" Brice says. "Why'd you want to meet me here?" He comes into the dugout at the baseball field behind the theater. He sits down next to me on the bench.

Seeing him somehow wipes out half the bravery and resolve I've stored up. I fling myself into his arms, and for the first time in five years, I'm crying like a baby. The sudden tears are wet and hot on my cheeks. I can't speak as sob after sob wracks my body. Brice pulls me close, stroking my hair. "What's wrong?" he whispers.

It's a long time before I can talk, but suddenly, as quickly as it came on me, it's over. I wipe at my face and pull away from Brice, struggling to steady my breathing. "I need to break into a high security prison and kill my father. Do you think you could make me some charms to help with that?"

Brice stands up, his eyes widening. "What?"

"My father," I say again. "I'm going to kill him."

"Olivia, no. You can't kill someone."

"You don't understand." I tell him everything. The charms he's made to make people turn into berserkers. Insisting I keep selling them. The berserkers in the subway tunnel. My mother. What he said to me this morning. "He doesn't deserve to live."

Brice is quiet for a long time. He sits back down on the dugout bench next to me. "You're saying that you think I have the strain of the virus that your father created."

I nod.

Brice swallows. "So I'm going to turn into one of them. All the time. And nothing will be able to stop me."

I don't say anything.

"I wish I'd never slept with that stupid actress," Brice mutters. He reaches down on the ground, picks up a handful of gravel and hurls it at the cage surrounding the dugout. Some of the gravel goes through the holes in the chain link. Some of it strikes the metal with a ringing sound. "I guess she used charms to get parts in plays. Some people do that, you know. They use magic to be irresistible, to be attractive, or to be talented. She seemed like she knew so much about the business. And I was drunk, and I wanted—"

"You don't have to make excuses to me. I don't blame you." I blame my father. He did all of this.

"I don't even remember it," Brice says.

"It's not your fault. It's my father's fault. And that's why he has to pay. Because his stupid virus stole things from us. We can never, ever—"

"Have sex? Big freaking deal, Olivia. I'm turning into a goddamned monster here."

"And that's why I'm going to kill him."

"I'll still be a monster, even if you do. It won't fix anything."

He just doesn't get it, does he? "It's not about fixing things, Brice. It's about justice. It's about knowing that he suffers. It's the principal of the thing."

"I'm not helping you kill someone," Brice says. "Especially not your own father, even if he is a jerk."

I don't believe this. I thought Brice would want to see my father dead as much as I do. "You said that killing someone for a good reason was different than killing them for no reason at all."

"It is different," Brice says. "But it's still not right." He balls his hands up into fists. "It's one thing if you already did it, you know? And it's something about you I have to accept. It's another thing entirely for you to come to me and ask you to help you do it. That's... I can't do that."

"It's not like I've killed a whole lot of people, Brice. Really, it's only just one person. And he killed my cousin. And—"

"You killed Joey Ercalono? That was you?"

Damn it. I get up and go to the edge of the dugout, leaning against the chain link cage for support. For some unexplainable reason, I feel like I might start crying again. "It was right before opening night. Right before we... I wanted... You helped me not think about it."

"Oh," says Brice sarcastically, "well that's just great."

I turn around, glaring at him. How dare he judge me? How dare he make this into something about right and wrong, when his mother isn't in a cage in his basement and his father isn't some kind of psychopath? "I'm going to kill him. Either you'll give me charms, or I'll use Calabrese charms."

"And risk the virus?"

"I don't think exposure for a few hours will be enough," I say. "I think I'll be fine. Besides, getting him out of the way is the first priority. After that, it's not as important."

Brice shakes his head. He hits the wall of the dugout with a fist. "God damn it, Olivia." He turns to me, and his eyes blaze into my own. "If I help you, I don't know what it will mean, for us. I don't know if we're, like, murderers together, if I'm ever going to be able to touch you again."

I feel that like a blow to the stomach. It practically takes the wind out of me. It hurts, and I don't think much about the next thing out of my mouth. "Well, it's probably not a good idea for us to be touching each other anyway. It's too much temptation."

"Right," he says. "Right." He sucks air in through his nose. "I guess you brought some charms with you for me to enspell?"

I nod.

He holds out his hand for them.

I pull them out of my pocket and give them to him.

He takes a few seconds to pump little blue sparks into both and then hands them back. "One of these will make you invisible. The other will make it possible for you to unlock anything you need to unlock."

"Thank you," I say, putting them back in my pocket. We stare at each other for several seconds, neither of us saying anything.

Brice pulls his gaze away from mine. "I have to go," he tells the gravel floor of the dugout. "I'm getting ready for that big audition."

I nod. "Of course you do."

When he walks past me, he doesn't even look at me. I feel like something inside me is twisting in on itself, and it hurts. But I do my best to ignore it.

* * *

Thanks to Brice's charms, I don't have any trouble getting into the prison. It's disconcerting to be invisible again. I don't like the way it feels, but it's easier this time than the first time since I know what to expect. I don't have any problems looking over shoulders to see where my father's cell is either. So, very quickly, I am walking through the halls of the prison on my way to find him.

The thing that seems the most oppressive about the prison is its blandness. The colors are beiges and grays. Everything seems lifeless and dull. The worst thing is the lack of windows. That's what makes it feel so closed in. As I wander down the bland hallways, I think about what it must be like to be here all the time, shut away from everyone and everything, trapped in this sterile world. It must be horrible.

But I don't feel sorry for my father. I can't allow myself to think of him as having any kind of emotion. Not if I want to do what I came here to do. I shove aside the things that Brice said to me. I don't think about whether this is the right thing to do or not. But I can't help but remember the way I felt after Tommy and I disposed of Vincent's body, when I worried that it might get easier to kill people and get rid of them, and that I'd become hardened and hollow. Is that happening to me? Has it happened already? Should I feel something else now? What does it say about me that my first instinct after talking to my father on the phone was to put a bullet in his skull?

I finger the gun I've brought along. I keep walking.

When I get to my father's cell door, all I have to do in order to get inside is place my hand on the door. Brice's charm does the rest. My father doesn't share a cell—another perk of the Calabrese last name. I push the door open, and I see him.

He wears an orange jumpsuit, and he is lounging on his bed reading a paperback book. He looks up when the door opens and seems confused when he doesn't see anyone come through it. I shut the door after myself.

"Hello, Dad," I say.

He can't see me, and I can tell that confuses him. "Who's there?"

"It's me," I say, coming closer. "Olivia."

"Olivia?" He is looking all around the cell, wondering where my voice is coming from.

"I'm invisible, Dad. Seriously, you sell charms like this all the time."

"Invisibility charms don't sell," he says. "What are you doing here?"

"I said you'd pay, didn't I?" I take out my gun then, and make sure to cock it in the noisiest way possible.

He scrambles off the bed, then, grabbing at air, trying to find me.

I easily step away from his grasp, trying not to giggle at him. He looks kind of ridiculous.

He stops. He sits back on his bed. He smiles. "You came to kill me? Maybe you are a lot like me."

This makes me angry, even though I used those words against him just a few hours ago. "I'd never do what you did."

He just laughs. "What will you do after you kill me? Take up my spot as head of the family? Keep selling illegal charms?" He gets more comfortable on the bed. It's as if he's not afraid of me at all. I should just shoot him now and be done with it. Why am I listening to him talk? "I was young like you were when I first took over the Calabrese business. It was amazing to be that powerful and that important. But there was nowhere else to go, Olivia, and a man can't live out his life knowing he reached his peak before he was twenty. I had to have more. You'll need more too."

I haven't thought about this, I realize. I haven't thought about what I'll do once I've killed my dad. Can I still keep working with the jettatori, if we don't sell charms that hurt people? What if there are more people like Vincent? Do I want to have to kill them too? Can I live that life?

"You can kill me, I suppose," my father continues, "but you'll be setting yourself back. I'm right on the cusp of something huge and exciting now. Something that's going to propel both of us to heights of power and influence you can't even imagine. It would be a shame to mess all of that up."

"I don't want power," I say.

"Of course you don't," my father chuckles. "That's why you've spent the last five years of your life doing everything you could to get it. How much have you sacrificed for power, Olivia?"

"I didn't want to be the head of the family because I wanted power," I say. And I didn't. I wanted it because... because it would mean that I was important. Because it would mean that I wasn't insignificant. Because... "You're trying to make me feel unbalanced. It won't work. I'm going to shoot you for what you did to Mom. But before I do it, because I've got nothing to lose, you might as well tell me what you're planning on doing with all of those berserkers."

"Tell you?" He smiles. "Stick around for a little while longer, and I'll show you."

What? What does that mean?

"I hadn't planned on moving quite so quickly," he says. "But after you found your mother, I knew it was only a matter of time before you set about making things difficult for me, splintering the family. I had to act sooner than I'd planned. But things will still work out well, Olivia. You'll see. Only it would be much nicer if you didn't shoot me."

"I'm going to," I say. Do it, I think to myself. Do it now . But I hesitate. Why? Don't I want this man dead?

Of course I do. It's only that now, sitting this close to him, my finger tensed on the trigger, I can't help but think of what it will be like afterwards. His body will be lifeless and bloody. Everything will be messy and ruined, and he'll just lie there like a side of meat, and I'll know it was me that did it to him. Me that took the life out of his body—turned him into something dead and worthless. And I don't know if I can do it.

He can't tell, but I lower the gun so it's not facing him. I let it dangle at my side in one hand. I don't know if I'm going to shoot him or not. I should. I came here to do that. But...

Then I hear it. It's a strange sound, something like a crowd at a baseball game or a concert. A sound of footsteps and yells. A sound of a lot of people together. "Did you stage a prison riot?" I ask my father.

He laughs.

The yells sound more like grunts and growls now. Suddenly, I understand. The berserkers. They're here. "Are you crazy? Why would you set loose that many berserkers on a prison?"

He gets to his feet. "Bait and switch, Olivia. Distraction. Besides, digging a hole with a spoon is passé." He walks to the door of his cell—a metal door with a small glass window—and bangs on it.

I walk around behind him. Through the window, I can see berserkers filling the hallway. When my father bangs on the door, they turn and look at it. My father throws back his head and bellows, "Oh Great Diana, hear my plea, Goddess of the wild ones and of the night!"

The berserkers begin to throw themselves against the door to my father's cell. Thump. Thump. More join in. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Then there's a frenzy of thumps on the door as even more begin to bang on it. Dents appear on the inside of the door. The door begins to strain on its hinges. The berserkers keep throwing themselves at it. The window is getting bloody, because they are hurling themselves at metal so hard that they are breaking open their skin.

I watch in horror. My father made himself a berserker army to break him out of prison. And he is offering prayers to pagan goddesses in order to have power over the berserkers. He's gone completely off the deep end. If I hadn't known it before, I know it now.

The door buckles under the weight of so many human bodies. My father has destroyed these people. He turned them into berserkers, and now he will use them until they die. I am disgusted.

Berserkers pour into my father's cell through the busted down door. My father holds up his hand at them. They stop. Some crouch. Others twitch on their feet. Many are bloody from breaking down the door. They cock their heads and watch my father. He points out of the cell and down the hall. They break into a run, clearing out immediately. My father steps over his twisted door and into the hallway. He follows the running berserkers as if he's a king, and they're his entourage.

Shoot him now! says a voice in my head.

But last night's incident with the berserkers is too fresh in my mind. If I kill my father, they will come for me, and there are no bars to lock them behind this time. Instead, I just hurry to catch up with him.

The rest of the prison is in disarray. My father and I are on the top tier of a cellblock, and as we walk through the hallway, I can look down in the common area. The berserkers have swarmed it, knocking over tables, smashing televisions. And there are bodies lying everywhere. Some of them are berserkers, dirty and unclothed, bullets in their heads or chests. Others are guards or other prisoners, their bodies bloody and scratched, torn at by berserkers. One guard's body is particularly gruesome. His head has been nearly ripped from his body. It is connected only by his spinal cord, so his head flops unnaturally away from his body. I turn away from the melee. This is horrible.

Amidst the chaos, no one notices my father escaping the prison. I'm sure there are others who manage to get away as well.

And as we walk out the door, my father reaches out and grabs my hand as if he's known exactly where I was this entire time. "Come along, then, Olivia," he says. "I want to show you more."

I slide the charms over my head and shove them in my pocket. There's not much point in wearing them anymore is there? We slide into a nondescript car parked on the curb. Tommy is driving.

As we pull away, I watch the prison growing smaller and smaller in the back window. From the outdoors, you almost can't tell what's happened inside. And the farther we get away, the harder it is to see the telltale signs, like the busted windows and ripped open fences. How many people did my father kill just so that he could escape from jail? And why didn't I shoot him when I had the chance? What's wrong with me? And what worse things could happen now, because I didn't do it before?

I face forward. "What's going to happen to all those berserkers? Where are they going now?"

"Don't worry about that," says my father. "I've got that under control. Everything's working out fine." The radio in the car is babbling words at a low volume. My father leans up. "Turn that up," he tells Tommy.

Tommy does.

"...at least seven rumored jettatori crime bosses have been found dead today, victims of apparent berserker attacks," says the announcer on the radio. "This is in addition to a huge attack on the city prison, which authorities are still trying to control."

I look at my father, another segment of his awful plan becoming clear. "You killed all the other heads of families? What are you trying to do, consolidate all the jettatori in the city?"

"Smart girl," says my father. "Think of it, Olivia. All the jettatori, working together."

"With you as the head."

"And you as my second-in-command," says my father. "You may not have proved your loyalty to me, but you've proved yourself brave and tenacious. You've proved that you are indeed an asset to me. You don't back down, and I appreciate that. The fact you came to kill me today makes me very proud. It shows just how tough you really are."

Is that not the most twisted thing in the history of the world? "I don't want to be your second-in-command. I don't want anything to do with you."

"Oh, I understand that you're angry and confused now. Don't make any hasty decisions. Think it over. Think of what I have to offer you. Power, wealth, importance. Imagine all the members of the jettatori all over the city showing you respect. Listening to your every word. Following your orders."

And as much as I'm disgusted by my father, I can't help but admit the prospect does thrill me. Maybe that is what I always wanted when I wanted to be head of the family. Importance. Respect. But I will never obey this man. Besides, there are berserkers running loose everywhere. "There's not going to be much of a city to have power over is there? With all these berserkers, everyone will be dead before you know it."

"How many times do I have to tell you that the berserkers are not a problem?" asks my father.

"What do you mean, not a problem? I saw what they did to all those innocent guards in the jail. Why did you have to kill so many people just to escape? They didn't deserve to die like that."

"Casualties of war," says my father. "Unfortunate but necessary. This is all a show of my strength. Once people are sufficiently afraid of my power, I won't need to go to such extremes."

He really doesn't care one bit about anyone but himself, does he?

"I'll show you that the berserkers won't be a further threat," he tells me. He tells Tommy to drive us to the abandoned subway tunnel. We are in the city still, and it takes over a half an hour, because traffic is bad. I sit in stony silence the whole time, leaning against the back seat of the car with my arms folded over my chest. I can't believe I left him alive.

Of course, I don't suppose killing him today would have made much difference. By the time I got there, his plan was already in motion. He'd already let the berserkers loose. I wouldn't have stopped anyone from dying. Not today.

The worst thing is that he doesn't even seem like my father anymore. The father I remember was so warm and sweet. Now I realize my father was only pretending to be that way. This is who my father really is. And it terrifies me, because I don't know what he'll do next.

Finally, we arrive at the subway tunnel. By now, it's dusk. The sun hangs heavy in the sky, turning the clouds shades of red and crimson. The water around the island sparkles like a black jewel, reflecting the lights of the city across the ocean.

We all get out of the car. My father lifts his hands over his head. He throws his head back. He calls out to the bleeding sky in Latin. I don't catch any of the words I might usually catch from Latin prayers. There don't seem to be any references to anything Christian. Instead, the words pulse over the darkening world like something ancient and evil. It seems like the ground responds. Like the darkness reaches out with unfurled claws.

I shudder.

The first of the berserkers appears on the horizon. They stumble and shuffle forward, dark shadows against the red sky. Their moans and growls echo over the water. They come in droves, rows and rows of them, all heading for my father, who they follow like the Pied Piper.

It is the most horrifying thing that I've ever seen, these monstrous people obeying my father's every command. He stands before them like a demented god.

"You see?" he says to me, his eyes bright. "They obey me. I have complete control over them. So you don't need to worry. They will only attack those that I want them to attack."

But I can't stand it anymore. I tremble all over as I say, "Never. I want nothing to do with you. And I will stop you. I will stop this."

And I tear off into the growing darkness, not listening when Tommy calls after me. I run and run from all the things I've seen. From the berserkers. From my father. When taking breath feels like knives in my lungs, I keep running. When pain twists in my side, I keep running. I run and run. And run.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The door to my house is open when I get there, out of breath and exhausted. There is a bloody hand print on it. Blood streaks down over the door, smeared by human hands.

"Nonna!" I scream, scrambling into the house.

I should have realized when my father said the berserkers would only attack who he wanted them to attack that it was a veiled threat. He meant me to understand that if I crossed him, he would deal with me.

The living room is in shambles, a shattered lamp splayed over the carpet, pieces of glass glittering. But a trail of blood leads me past the overturned couch and chairs, through the kitchen and to the basement stairs.

"Nonna!" I yell again.

And as I start down the steps, I hear the noise of the berserkers, moaning and mewling. But I also hear my grandmother's voice, cold and clear, as she recites the St. Joseph's spell.

I clear the bottom of the steps. There are about twelve of them. They've cornered Nonna, but she is huddled behind the washer and dryer. The berserkers are reaching for her. They aren't at their full strength, because from what I saw today, I know that they could rip the metal washer and dryer away and get to her easily. Her spell is weakening them.

I draw the gun I meant to use to shoot my father. Instead, I take aim and shoot the innocent people who've been taken over by this virus. As I do it, I try not to think about Brice, who is going to become one of these things. They don't know what they're doing. They don't deserve to die. But I shoot anyway.

My first shot goes wide and lodges in the wall of the basement. The second finds its target, however, drilling into the chest of one of the male berserkers. Blood sprays out as he falls to the ground.

I shoot another one—a girl who can't be more than fifteen. My bullet explodes in her face, shattering her nose. Her eyes plead at me as she collapses.

Now the berserkers know I am here. At least five of them break away from Nonna and run for me, howling.

I shoot into them, but I'm nervous, so my shots don't hit much. A shoulder. A leg. It does nothing more than slow the berserkers down. They are still coming for me.

I dash across the basement.

They switch direction too and keep coming for me.

I collide with the cage my mother is in. I open up the door and shove the cage at the approaching berserkers.

It's on wheels, so it glides across the floor and runs directly into them. Most of them fall down.

I take the moment of distraction I've gained to run across the basement to Nonna. She's still got four berserkers on her. I open fire on them. I know I have to hit these shots just right. I look where I want the bullets to go. Amazingly, they do exactly as I intend. All four of the berserkers are dead in minutes.

Nonna is white-lipped. "Olivia, how long have you had a gun in this house?"

"Not the house, Nonna," I say, reaching out my hand for hers. She grasps it. "I keep it in the glove compartment in my car." I yank her with me towards the steps.

"You know how I feel about guns!"

I glare at her. "Run, Nonna!"

But the berserkers have gotten free of the cage, and they're coming for us.

I skid to a halt, looking from the stairs to the back door. The berserkers are between us and the stairs. The door is behind the steps. The cage is in the way. Which way to go?

Suddenly, my mother leaps out of the cage, roaring. She tackles two of the berserkers, sending them down onto the basement floor. My mother picks up both of their heads by the hair and cracks them against the cement floor. Both go lifeless. Blood begins to ooze out under one's ear.

She crouches and growls at the other two, looking like a mother bear defending her cubs.

Maybe she's in there somewhere. Maybe she's protecting us.

I have a shot. I take it, getting another of the berserkers.

My mother drives her fingers into the face of another, burying her fingers in its eye sockets.

I cringe and look away.

The final berserker is the one that I shot in the leg. He hobbles toward Nonna and me. I level my gun at him and pull the trigger. He goes down.

I look around the basement. All of them. We did it. We're safe. I let out something like a sigh and little cry all mixed together. "You're okay, Nonna?"

She nods, wordlessly looking around her basement at the carnage.

"I'm sorry. This is my fault. I should never have told him—"

"This is your father's fault," she says grimly.

I look at my mother, baring her teeth, blood dripping from her splayed fingers. This is his fault. He is the real monster. "She saved us," I say. "Maybe she's still in there."

"Olivia," says Nonna, "I don't think so. You're going to have to accept the fact that she's gone."

"But she attacked..."

I trail off. My mother is advancing on us, a rumbling sound growing in her throat. She stalks forward like a cat.

"Shoot her," says Nonna.

I look at Nonna in disbelief. "No. She's in there. We can save her."

My mother takes several steps closer. She swipes her bloody hand at us. She leans forward and hisses.

"I can't see her like this, Olivia. There's nothing left. Put her out of her misery."

I shake my head. "Nonna."

My mother bounds forward, knocking me onto my back. She surveys me for a second, an animal sizing up her prey. She opens her mouth. She strikes.

And I pull the trigger.

My mother's body falls on top of me. I feel a gush of her hot blood. And for the second time that day, I'm crying.

* * *

The last time I saw my mother—the last time she was my mother—she didn't give me any reason to think that anything was wrong. She was going to dinner with my father. She was dressed in a long red dress. She had on a fur coat that my father had given her. Her dark hair was pulled into an elegant bun. Diamonds sparkled at her ears. I remember the smell of her perfume as she gave me a hug and kissed my forehead.

She and my father were dropping me off at Nonna's house for the evening.

She whispered to me, "Be a good Olivia bug."

I rolled my eyes at her. "Mom, don't call me Olivia bug anymore. I'm too old for that."

She squeezed me tighter. "I love you."

"Me too," I said, and I wriggled out of her grasp.

Those were the last words I said to my mother. "Me too."

I look like something out of a slasher movie when I meet Brice in the parking lot outside the theater. I'm covered in blood. My hair is falling out of my ponytail. Nonna is sitting in my car. Neither of us has said much to each other. I know it's not safe for us to stay in our house.

"Jesus, Olivia," says Brice.

"I didn't do it," I say hollowly. "I didn't kill him."

"Good," he says.

I shake my head. "Not good. Nonna and I have to hide. He's after us. Can you make us some charms? Something to alter our appearance?" I offer him some blank charms.

He takes them and blue sparks fly from his fingers. "They'll only work until midnight, Olivia."

"I know," I say. I haven't had a chance to think. I just know I have to get Nonna someplace safe. If I can do that, maybe then I can think of something else. "We need to run somewhere. But we need money. I don't..."

"Don't you have money? I thought you were selling my charms like hotcakes."

"The money's in the safe at the deli. I don't have it." Wait. The charms that Brice gave me to break into the jail still work. They'll work until midnight. I could use that to get inside to get money. But Nonna...

I go to the car and open the door. I hand Nonna one of the charms that Brice made.

"What do you expect me to do with this?" she demands. "And I don't like that you're still associating with this boy."

"Brice makes charms without the virus," I say. "He's benedette, like you."

"There are no male benedette," she says. I think she's just being a pain because of everything that's happened to her. It's her defense mechanism.

"Put it on," I say. "And stop picking on Brice. It's not his fault this happened to him, okay?"

She looks up at me. Maybe it's because I'm bloody and determined, but she gets a meek look on her face. She slips the charm over her head. Immediately, Nonna winks out and another woman is in her place. This woman is tall and blonde, with Nordic cheekbones and long fingernails. Nonna stretches her now youthful hands out in front of her. "Oh," she says. "Oh my." She smiles at Brice. "Well, maybe this isn't so bad."

I have to grin a little myself. "Nonna, how would you like to go see Macbeth ?"

She wrinkles her flawless brow at me.

"You'll be safe in the audience. And I'll be back as soon as I can."

Brice looks concerned. "Are you sure?"

"I'm going to get the money out of the deli. And then I'm going to get Nonna someplace safe. And then..." And then I have to stop my father. But how I'm going to do that, I really don't know.

"Be careful, Olivia," says Brice. He reaches out for my hand.

I shy away. "I've got blood—"

Brice takes my hand firmly and pulls me close. "Be careful," he says. And then he kisses me. I slam my eyes shut against the kiss. It's so sweet and wonderful to be close to Brice. So different from all the horror I've seen today.

"Olivia Ann Calabrese!" my grandmother exclaims.

I pull away from Brice. "Okay, Nonna," I say. "So maybe I do like him like that."

* * *

I'm coming out of the deli, invisible and with my pockets stuffed full of cash, when I realize the hole in my plan. My car. I wasn't thinking when I parked it in plain sight in the deli parking lot. So no one may be able to see me, but they can see my car. They know I'm here. And as I come out of the deli, I see that my car is surrounded by Josh and several more of my guys—the ones who've been selling my charms since Guido died. They used to be loyal to me, but no one would cross my father.

I've opened the door, and they've all looked up at the sound.

Damn it.

"Olivia?" calls Josh. "Are you here?"

What do I do? Do I run? Do I abandon my car? If we don't have my car, how are Nonna and I going to get anywhere?

"Olivia, it's okay," says Josh. "There are orders afloat to bring you in to your father, but we signed on to work for you. If you're here, show yourself."

Do I trust Josh? He's one of my guys, it's true, but my father is terrifying. Crossing him is suicide. Wait. Josh and his "special skills" might come in handy. What if I didn't have to run? What if I could get Josh to help me? Can I trust him? Oh. What the hell?

I pull the invisibility charm over my head. "I'm here," I say.

Josh sees me and a grin breaks over his face. "I knew you were here. You okay?"

I descend the steps outside the deli and approach him. "So, Josh, I think I have an idea. I might need your skills."

His grin widens.

* * *

We need a lot of glass bottles, which we filch from the deli. I keep the money, even though I'm not sure if I'm going to need it anymore or not. While Josh and the guys are getting things together, I head back to the theater. I check to see that Nonna's still in the audience. She looks like she's enjoying the play, so that's something.

Enough time has passed that Duncan's already dead, so Brice is backstage. I run through the clutter of sets and props to find him. Toby, the kid who plays Fleance, sees me and wants to know why I'm all covered in blood. I tell him it's fake. Finally, I find Brice. I pull charms out of my pockets. "I need some kind of protection charm," I tell him. "Something that would keep people safe from harm."

He looks confused. "I thought you were stealing money and running."

"Yeah, new plan," I say. I explain what we're planning to do.

His eyes get big. "I've never made anything like what you're talking about, but I'll do my best." He considers for a long time, then finally he runs his hands over the charms, blue sparks leaping from his fingers. "Do you want me to help?"

I glance around the backstage area. "You're in the play."

"Yeah, but I'm done for a while. I could come along." He flashes me a grin.

I don't want Brice to get hurt. Or maybe I don't want Brice to watch me doing what I'm planning on doing. Or maybe... "You have to stay and keep an eye on Nonna," I say. Which is the truth. Just maybe not the whole truth.

When I get back to the deli, Josh and the guys have a bunch of glass bottles that we load into the trunk. Josh has already doctored them so that they'll do what we want them to do. I pass out charms.

We get in my car and we drive back to the subway tunnel.

But when we get to the parking lot, I see two Calabrese men roaming around on top of the manhole cover. "Damn it," I say. I should have realized my father would never have left the berserkers unguarded. Not while I'm still a threat. I still have my gun, but I never did put any more bullets in it. I should have some more in the glove compartment, though, I think.

I keep driving past the parking lot to the dock. I park in the same place Josh and I did when we brought the stolen car here. To my amusement, it's still here. Josh notices too. We exchange a short laugh. Then I get bullets out of the glove compartment and start loading my gun.

"The place is guarded," I say, "so we'll have to take out the guards."

Josh doesn't look happy. "I know those guys pretty well. I don't want them dead."

I don't like the idea of killing them either. I'm not even sure if I can, considering how much I hesitated when I tried to shoot my father earlier. And he really deserved to die. These guys are just cogs in the machine, guys following orders. I shove bullets in the gun. "Maybe I can disable them somehow."

"Sure," says Josh. "Like how? You shoot their legs so they can't come after you? Then they can still shoot."

I lean back against the seat of the car. "Well, maybe I could sneak up behind them and knock them out or something."

"How?" says Josh. He looks skeptical.

Then I remember I have an invisibility charm in my pocket. This is getting confusing. How many of Brice's charms do I have right now, anyway? And they'll all go dead at midnight, so it's important I get this done as quickly as possible. I slide the invisibility charm over my head. "This is how."

"Yeah," says Josh. "That will probably work."

"You guys wait here until they're out of the picture," I say to Josh and the guys. "Then you get the stuff out of the trunk and come in."

And I'm off, scampering back to the men guarding the manhole cover. It's a little difficult to remember how to run when I'm invisible, but I manage to make it there without falling down or tripping. I approach the guys from behind. I move slowly and make sure not to make noise. I clutch my gun by the barrel.

When I'm close enough, I clobber one of the guys over the head with the butt of my gun as hard as I can.

"Ouch!" the guy says, looking around to figure out what hit him.

I dance out of the way quickly. That didn't work? Great. So now what?

"What happened?" asks the other guy.

"Something hit my head," he replies, holding the top of his head in pain.

"What?"

"Well, I don't know." He's still looking around, trying to figure out what happened.

What am I going to do? Should I hit him again? What if I can't knock him out? Maybe I should just shoot them. No. I don't want to do that.

Suddenly, I have probably the stupidest idea I've ever had. I look on the ground for any object lying around. I see some bottle caps and rocks. I pick them up and hurl them at the other guy. Once they leave my hand they aren't invisible, but to him it must look like they materialized out of thin air.

"What the—" He whirls. Now both of the guys look confused and worried.

"I am the ghost of Gianna Calabrese," I say. "I'm here for revenge against my husband, Lucio."

Both of the guys look at each other. "Did you hear that?" says one.

The other guy nods.

"Go now," I say, "and no harm will come to you. If you stay, I will be revenged upon you as well."

"Lucio killed his own wife?" one of the guys says.

"That's hard, man," says the other.

I rain more gravel and bottle caps on them both. "Go now!"

They both look around warily.

The guy who I hit on the head rubs it gingerly. "I didn't sign on to deal with angry ghosts." He starts to walk away.

"Yeah, me either." The other guy follows him. I watch as they walk to the parking lot, get in their car and drive away.

It's only when they're out of sight that I take my charm off and allow myself to laugh. Josh and the other guys are coming into the parking lot as well, their arms full of glass bottles. Maybe what I said to the men I chased off is almost true anyway. I am the force of revenge for my mother. She never deserved what happened to her.

We move the manhole cover away and begin the slow descent into the depths of the subway tunnel. It's not easy carrying the glass bottles, and we're all frightened of jostling them too much. They're dangerous little containers that we carry with us, and we all know it.

In the tunnel, it's dark. There aren't lit torches the way there were when we followed Tommy and Max down here. We feel along the walls of tunnel like blind rats. The stone is cold and clammy under our fingers. The only way we know we're getting closer is the sounds of the berserkers grunting and whining. When the din gets loud, we know we've arrived.

Just to be sure, I walk forward to feel the cold metal of the bars.

A berserker hand darts out in the darkness, grabbing onto mine.

I yank back before it can trap me. "Okay," I say into the darkness. "Let's set them up."

We uncap all the bottles and stuff wicks in them. Each of us has about ten. Working in the darkness, we feel our way around so that we have our bottles within reach. Between all of us, we have at least fifty Molotov cocktails. There should be enough to burn up all of the berserkers. How will my father threaten to take over without his human weapons?

"Charms on," I say. We all slide Brice's charms on. Hopefully, they'll protect us from the blast of explosive fire.

Then we stand in silence, and I realize something important. "Um, no one has a lighter or matches, do they?"

No one says anything.

I feel like the biggest idiot on earth. I got everything ready to blow up the berserkers except for the most important aspect. I didn't bring anything that would make fire. How could I have forgotten something so key?

"Are we going to have to go back?" says someone, a disembodied voice in the darkness.

"I think there's a convenience store a few blocks over," says someone else. "Anybody got cash?"

No. I don't want to drag this out any longer than I need to. Who knows when my father will check up on us again? Who knows when the guards I chased off will come back? We can't waste time.

I remember a spell from my mother's spell book. It was a spell to make fire. But I don't remember the words. I can picture the page in my head, but I can't remember who to call on or if it needed ingredients or anything. Maybe we are going to have to go to a convenience store.

I finger the charm that Brice made. He doesn't need spells to cast his magic. He says that he just thinks about it, and it happens.

I'm not as powerful as Brice, but maybe...

I concentrate hard on wanting the Molotov cocktails' wicks to be lit. I scrunch up my face, picturing flames on each of them. Red fire, tongues of orange licking down the cloth wicks...

Nothing.

"Where's the convenience store exactly?" I say.

"I'm not sure," says a voice. "You might have to drive there. Who's got the keys?"

This is ridiculous. How could I have seriously forgotten fire? I glare into the darkness. I want the stupid Molotov cocktails lit, and I want it done now. It's not hard. It's just fire, something people have been able to use for their own purposes since we were cavemen. Just fire, for God's sake!

And suddenly...

Every single Molotov cocktail's wick bursts into flame. The red, flickering light illuminates the inside of the tunnel. I can see the faces of the guys, the hollows of their faces in shadow. I can see the berserkers, stalking around behind the bars. They seem more animated than last time, perhaps because they've tasted freedom. They shriek and shy from the fire, but when they see us, they bare their teeth and growl.

"Whoa," says Josh. "How'd you do that?"

"I don't know," I manage. "But it's good, right?" I look at the berserkers again. They're just people. They're like Brice. They're innocent, and they don't deserve to die, but they're suffering as well. They don't deserve to be used the way my father is using them either. I remember the berserker who muttered at me to kill him. I remember Nonna pleading with me to put my mother out of her misery.

"Throw 'em," I say.

When the first Molotov cocktail shatters inside the berserkers' cage, a huge fireball erupts out through the bars. Searing heat radiates out at us. I take a step back and begin hurling my own. They explode like fireworks, like big destructive flower blooms, all through the subway tunnel. The berserkers scream. I watch their bodies as they streak past the bars, their limbs and hair on fire. It's a terrible way to die. I'm not proud of it.

But when we've thrown all our makeshift bombs, they are all dead. Dead, charred, and ruined. But out of my father's reach. Out of his power.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The roar of applause thunders in my ears as I take my bows with the company on the final performance of Macbeth . The theater is packed. Half of the audience members are wearing charms that Brice made and their faces are enraptured. They've had an experience they never could have imagined. They are on their feet, pounding their palms against each other in an ecstasy of clapping.

We bow again.

With the applause still echoing through the theater, we exit the stage. Backstage, everyone is congratulating each other. It was a good show, a good run. Brice finds me and pulls me into his arms. "You were fabulous tonight," he says and kisses me.

I love the way his arms feel around me, the tingle of his lips against mine.

The actress who plays Lady Macbeth makes her way over to us. "I heard you got the part," she says to Brice. "You're doing something commercial in the theater district in the city?"

"Rehearsals started yesterday," Brice says, beaming. "Thanks for your help."

She shakes her head. "You didn't need my help. You've got a face. And you've got talent. No one's going to deny that."

Brice and I don't stick around for the wrap party. He has to get home before midnight, after all. Plus, we're still being as careful as we possibly can. It's been nearly two weeks since the berserkers were destroyed and there hasn't been any retaliation from my father, but that doesn't mean there won't be.

To be on the safe side, we're escorted back to Brice's apartment in the city by several of our guys. While we travel, they report to me that the charm business is going well. I've officially broken from the Calabrese family, but Josh and his guys weren't the only people who were loyal to me. I still run a family—not all of us are related, however—and we still sell Brice's charms. Safe charms that won't hurt anyone.

Between the money I took from the deli and the money we've made, Brice had enough to move out of his parents' house. I still live with Nonna, but I usually hang around while Brice is locked up to make sure he doesn't get out. We've made him a sort of lock room in his new apartment. It's sturdy, but it makes Brice feel better if I'm there.

Brice is my boyfriend, which still feels a little strange to admit. I never thought I'd be the kind of girl who had a boyfriend. But I do. And now that it's official, things aren't much different between us. Well. Maybe there's more kissing. Which is absolutely fine with me.

Until I get back to Nonna, she's guarded by some of my guys. She's not crazy about the entire arrangement, but her safety is important to me, and I wouldn't put it past my father to hurt her.

The guys drop Brice and me off at his apartment. We've only got a little bit of time before Brice changes, so we spend it sitting on his couch watching TV. I snuggle into him, and I feel small and delicate. But when I lock him up, I know I'm there because Brice trusts me to protect him. It's a balance between us. I like the push and pull of it. Feeling important but also feeling cherished.

I go back to the TV while I listen to Brice banging around in his lock room. I'll wait until he changes back before heading home.

I lean back to get comfortable and feel the unmistakable poke of a gun barrel in my back. I stiffen. No one's here. Certainly there's no one behind me. I would have seen someone.

"And to think, it would be this easy," says a disembodied voice behind me.

I know that voice. My heart thuds. "Dad."

"You think your Brice is the only one who can do magic to that degree?" he inquires, chuckling. "He's not."

I remember the way my father controlled the berserkers. He's powerful. And I've been stupid, not thinking that he could strike against me using the very tools I use myself. Invisibility. Charms to open locks. Now, he's going to kill me. I swallow hard.

"I'm not going to kill you," says my father. "Last time you had the same chance to kill me, you didn't, so I'll extend that same courtesy to you. Of course..." He leans close, and I can feel his breath tickle the back of my neck. "That doesn't mean I won't shoot you if I have to. So don't make any sudden moves, Olivia."

"If you aren't going to kill me," I say, my voice a croak since my throat is suddenly dry, "why are you here?"

"I wanted to tell you I was impressed," he says. "For so long, I've been working with utter imbeciles. You, Olivia, you're worthy of me. You've got a bloodthirsty spirit. You'll do whatever it takes to get ahead."

I'm not bloodthirsty. I clench my jaw.

"I think," says my father, "if someone were to total all the people I've shot myself, and all the people who I've ordered hits on, it wouldn't even come close to the number of people you torched in that subway tunnel. So many people dead at your hand, Olivia. That's the kind of commitment I like to see."

"They were already as good as dead," I say to him. "You saw to that."

He laughs. "Nicely played, Olivia. You've created quite a setback for me. But you must realize that killing a bunch of berserkers won't stop me. You know me well enough for that, don't you?"

Maybe some part of me had thought it was over. Had hoped. But I realize now that I was being naïve. My father won't stop.

"At some point soon," he says, "you and I will be alone together like this again. And then, one of us will have to die. I think it will be you."

The gun pulls away from my back. And no matter how I search the apartment, I can't find him. I lean my head against the wall, listening to Brice shrieking and crashing away in his prison. This isn't over yet.

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The Toil and Trouble Trilogy, Book Two

It's after one in the morning in this fifth floor apartment in the city, and my boyfriend Brice is yelling for me to let him out of the closet he's locked up in. Brice is a berserker, which means that every night at midnight, for one hour, he turns into this raging monster thing. It should only last an hour, but Brice isn't exactly responding to treatment, which means it sometimes lasts longer. This freaks me out. But he's back to normal now, so I don't have to worry about it for the rest of the night.

I get up off the couch, where I've been watching late-night TV, and go over to the closet. It's a regular coat closet, but we reinforced all the walls with rebar and sheet metal and put a really big padlock on the door. That way, Brice can never get out. He's really paranoid about that. I always hang out in his apartment during the change in case he manages to get free. Technically, I'm here to stop him from hurting anyone by hurting him. But if I'm honest with myself, I know I could never do that.

"I'm unlocking the door right now," I tell him.

"Hurry up. It smells like a locker room in here," he says.

I unlock the padlock and open the door, "That's 'cause you're sweaty."

Brice is leaning against the back wall of the closet. He's pretty much the most beautiful boy in the world. And, okay, I might be biased, but it's not like other people don't agree with me. He's starring in a new musical downtown. My boyfriend, the professional actor. He is heavily perspiring, though, but I don't mind. Sweaty Brice is still really pretty.

"You try throwing yourself up against these walls for an hour." He grins, and his face lights up. "You'd get sweaty too."

"Did you get any more bruises?"

"I'm tough." He pounces on me and gathers me into a bear hug. "All I got to do now is get my sweatiness all over you."

I giggle, trying to shove him away. "Stop it. If I come home smelling like you, Nonna's going to get ideas." Nonna is my grandmother. I live with her. In fact, since Brice's change is over, I need to be getting back home. I can catch the two o'clock ferry to the island if I get moving soon.

Brice barrels me back to the couch, collapsing on top of me there. He speaks into my neck, in between kisses and nuzzles. "Oh whatever, she'll just be jealous. And besides, you love my sweaty smell."

Which is actually true. It's sort of spicy and masculine. I kiss his forehead, which is the only thing I can reach, since he's got me pinned under him. "I have to get ready to catch the ferry."

He looks up. "What time is it? Was I out longer tonight?" He's suddenly serious.

I shake my head. "No, it's only a quarter after one. It was pretty normal tonight." Once Brice stayed a berserker until nearly four in the morning. I was so scared. I thought he might not change back. The way the virus is responding to treatment in him, that's a possibility. Someday, he'll just never come back.

"Then we've got time." He smiles mischievously and kisses me hard on the lips.

I kiss back, and sometime in the middle of the kiss, it stops being playful, and starts to get more intense. About the same time I've opened my lips to his tongue, his hands are starting to roam over my body. I pull him close for a little bit, because it feels good, but I know I can't let it go any further. I break the kiss. "Brice, I really have to go."

Brice's hands are inching under the hem of my shirt. His fingers tickle my bare skin. "No, you don't. It's early."

I push his hands away. "It's not a good idea to start getting too...you know, worked up."

Brice's hands skim my hips. He grabs me and tugs my body against his. His voice deepens. "Stay, Olivia. Just stay. You don't have to go home at all."

I run my fingers over his cheek, let them trail over his firm jaw line and neck. "Then Nonna would be really freaked out."

"So? You're legally an adult. You can choose to stay here if you want." His hands are under my shirt again, this time lightly tracing my ribs and moving higher.

Shivers run through my body. It's so nice to be touched like that. But...

Brice's fingers ease under my bra. I can't think. I close my eyes and kiss him, letting myself get lost in the sensations of his mouth on mine and his hands stroking me. I'm lost in it for quite some time. We keep making out. Articles of clothing somehow get removed. But finally, I get my head back in the right place, and I pull away from him, gasping. "Brice, we're getting into dangerous territory here."

Brice kisses my neck. "We've gone further than this before." Brice kisses lower than my neck. And lower. And—

I get a fistful of his hair and yank him away from me, "Stop it."

He's right. We've gone further than this before. Hell, we went further than this on our first "date," which was essentially me throwing myself at him in a baseball dugout. We almost went all the way that night, but Brice turned into a berserker before we could. And there was another time, in my bedroom, after I got out of the shower, when things got— But the point is, "Every time we go this far, it's hard to stop."

And we have to stop. Because the berserker virus that Brice has is sexually transmittable. And so we always have to stop.

Brice groans. But he nods, finally. And he moves away from me, shrugging back into his shirt.

I start pulling my clothes back on. "I don't think we need to make it so hard on ourselves is all."

Brice's head is still inside his shirt. His voice comes out a little muffled. "But for you to like catch it, don't we have to have like a simultaneous orgasm or something?" His head pops out. His hair is sticking up. "I hear those are rare."

I reach over to smooth his hair. "It doesn't have to be simultaneous. They just have to be...near each other." Even though we were both half naked with our hands all over each other a second ago, it still feels really awkward to talk about stuff like this. I'm not sure why that is.

Brice is up on his feet, rubbing his hands over his face. "God, listen to me. What the hell am I saying?" He looks at me. "Of course, I would never ask you to risk that. Never." He rocks on his feet. "I'm sorry for being pushy. It's only that you're beautiful, and I'm in love with you, and when I have you close like this..."

I get up too. "It's not like it's easy for me, either, you know? I want you too."

He folds me into his arms, planting a kiss on the top of my head. "I still think you should stay. We could just hold each other and..."

I break away. "Maybe you could. I feel... I need to go home."

He looks at his feet and bobs his head. "This is getting harder, isn't it?"

I kiss him on the cheek. "I'm going to find a cure."

He laughs, and it's bitter. "There's no cure, Olivia."

But there has to be. There just has to be. Because I love Brice, and the universe couldn't be so cruel as to let us find each other, but make it impossible for us to ever completely be together.

* * *

Nonna has obviously been sleeping, but she must hear me come in. She comes out into the living room in her nightgown. Her hair is in curlers. She doesn't look happy. "Do you have any idea what time it is?"

Great. The last thing I need is an argument with my grandmother. I might legally be an adult, but to Nonna, I'm still a girl, and she feels the need to make sure I remember that. I love her to pieces, but she's annoying sometimes.

"I do, actually. And I'm really tired, so I'm going to go to bed."

"You were with that boy, weren't you?" Nonna puts her hands on her hips.

"You know that I stay there to make sure that he doesn't get out at night when he's a berserker. It's for everyone's protection, and that's all it is." I try to move past her.

She blocks my path, "I know you are dating that boy!"

"We're not doing anything, Nonna! We can't. I'd get the virus. Do you think I'm an idiot?"

"Actually, I do." She wags her finger in my face. "You get into whatever you get into with that boy—that berserker boy—and before long, you are just like him. You put yourself in the way of temptation, Olivia. You are testing yourself, and you will lose."

I do not want to have this conversation, because she's partly right, and also because it's not a subject I like discussing with my grandmother. I sigh.

"God gives us guidelines," she says. "What do you think God would think about you being alone with that boy in his apartment? Do you think He would approve? Can you honestly tell me you've done nothing with him that wouldn't be a sin?"

I'm starting to blush now. She doesn't have to bring God into it. "This is none of your business, Nonna." I shove her out of the way and start back the hall.

"But it is God's business," she says, coming after me.

I open the door to my bedroom. "Then I'll go to confession and tell the priest. But I'm not talking to you about it anymore."

"Olivia, you are going to get yourself in trouble. Leave that boy alone."

I go inside my room and shut the door before she can get to me. "His name is Brice, Nonna."

Nonna bangs on the door. "I'm not finished with you."

"I'm okay," I call out. "I promise I'm being careful." I sit down on my bed, fingering the red blanket my mother made for me when I was a little girl. Am I being careful enough?

"Open this door!"

I stalk across the room and fling the door open. "You can't control my life anymore. I'm grown up. I run my own jettatori family. I—"

She sticks her fingers in her ears. "Do not talk to me about that!"

"Oh, so if it's selling illegal charms, you don't want to hear about it, but if it's making out with my boyfriend, you do?"

She seeths. "God sees, Olivia." And she turns on her heel and goes back down the hallway, still angry.

I close the door after her, feeling a little guilty for yelling at her like that. I suppose I'm still tense after getting all worked up with Brice. It's become my nightly ritual. Lock up my boyfriend, listen to him scream and bang on the walls, let him out, and try like hell not to have sex with him, even though I really want to have sex with him. Even if God would think it was a sin.

And then I feel guilty for thinking that. I shoot a glance at the ceiling.

Before I go to bed, I kneel down and say a few "Our Father"s. Maybe it'll count for something.

* * *

I riffle through a stack of twenties and deposit them back in the bag that Tommy's just handed me. "I don't need to count it," I tell him. "I trust you."

Brice, Tommy, Josh, and I are in the backstage area for a theater in the city, gathered around a table. It's a place that's owned by some friends of Brice and me—people we met when we did shows for The Shakespeare Theatre. They were kind enough to let me use it as a makeshift headquarters for my "family." They don't entirely know what we do here, but they don't ask questions either.

"So how many more charms do I have to make?" Brice asks. He's leaning up against the wall. He wants to be part of what I do here, and he's important, since he imbues the charms we sell with magic. He's never quite approved of my ties to the jettatori, but I grew up in this life.

My father is Lucio Calabrese. He's currently the head of all the jettatori families in the city and the surrounding areas. A few months ago, he broke out of prison using an army of berserkers that he controlled with magic. He used the berserker army to kill all his competition as well and took over all the other jettatori families. The new Calabrese family still makes magic charms the old way, using animal blood and spells. The combination of the two of them creates the berserker virus, which means that anyone who uses Calabrese charms is susceptible to becoming a berserker.

Brice is really talented. He has an amazing amount of power, which means he can imbue our charms with magic without creating the virus. Our charms are safe, so they sell better than the Calabrese charms.

"Well, they're selling pretty well," says Tommy. "I'd say we could move double what we're moving now." Tommy used to work for my father, but when everything went down a few months ago, he came to me afterward, saying he'd rather work for me. He said what Lucio did left a bad taste in his mouth. Since Tommy was always my ally in the Calabrese family, I was happy to have him on board.

"The guys selling outside Brice's show are really raking in the dough," says Josh. Our specialty is magic charms that make theater audiences feel like they're actually part of the show. They're pretty popular, and since they don't contain the virus, the police have left us alone for the most part. The police are probably concentrating on my father anyway, since he's an escaped fugitive. "So, I'd say triple it."

Brice stretches his arms out, fingers crossed, cracking his knuckles. "Bring it on, then."

I nod at Josh, and he has one of his guys bring over several large boxes of charms. Brice kneels next to them, closing his eyes. Small blue sparks fly from his fingers, enspelling the charms. Once they're all ready to go, the guys cart them out of the room. I zip up the bag of money that Tommy's given me, and Brice and I take off. At least this part of my life is going well. Business is booming. We're making money hand over fist.

I always dreamed of heading up a jettatori family. Now I do it. If this thing with Brice and me were easier, then everything would be perfect.

Well, if I wasn't also freaked out that my father might strike against us at any point, that would be good, too. I blew up all of his berserkers, which means he doesn't have an army anymore. That set him back. Josh helped. He's a whiz with explosives. My father came to see me afterward and threatened to kill me. He said it was me against him, and he was convinced he'd win. My father is kind of psychotic, if you haven't guessed. My mother turned him in to the police, and he turned her into a berserker out of spite. He doesn't have a conscience. He just gets what he wants. However he can.

Brice and I stride through the streets, heading back to his apartment. His arm is slung over my shoulder, and I still carry the bag of money. We're going to grab some lunch together before I go back home. I'll be back to lock him in his closet later on tonight.

I'm not paying much attention to the people we're passing on the street, so I'm surprised when someone stops right in front of us.

"Oh my God!" says a girl about our age.

I squint at her. It's Megan Pettacia. Brice's ex-girlfriend, and the most popular girl in the high school we all attended. Megan is sleek and pretty. She's wearing expensive boots and lots of makeup. In other words, she's the opposite of me. I never wear makeup, don't care about clothes, and shove my hair into a sloppy ponytail every day. If I wasn't kind of tough and able to take care of myself, I don't think Brice would be into me. The berserker thing freaks him out, but he knows he doesn't have to worry about me. I can handle myself.

Megan hugs Brice. "I haven't seen you in forever!"

To my disgust, Brice hugs back. "Hey, Megan."

They pull away from each other. I smile tightly. "Hi."

She looks at me. "Hi." She raises her eyebrows. "Olivia Calabrese?" She gives Brice a confused look.

I could smack her. Instead I cross my arms over my chest and glare at her.

Brice puts his arm around me again and kisses me on the temple. "Oh, you didn't know? Me and Olivia. Like three months now, right?"

Um, is it bad if I have no idea how long I've officially been dating Brice? Can it really be only three months? I just nod.

"Wow," says Megan. "I, um, heard about the show, of course. Congrats for landing that role. But I had no idea you were seeing anyone."

I hate her. I hate the tone of her voice. I hate the way she's looking at me, like I'm some kind of gross bug or something.

Brice seems oblivious to her attitude. "Yeah. She's pretty amazing."

Megan raises her eyebrows further. "Have you, um, met her family?" Great, so now she's got to make innuendos about the fact my family is jettatori. I really want to smack her.

"Fortunately, no," I say icily. "I'm not exactly on good terms with them right now."

"Too bad," she says. "I was going to ask about your uncle."

"My uncle?" I'm confused.

"James Calabrese? He's your uncle, isn't he?"

I nod. He's sort of an uncle. He's my dad's cousin, so I guess he's really like my second cousin or something, but I don't see the point in getting technical about it. "What about him?"

"He's running for mayor. Didn't you know?" She gestures behind her. "There's a campaign poster right there."

I move out of Brice's grasp and go to examine the campaign poster. There's a picture of my cousin James, looking old and distinguished. The poster proclaims, "Rid the city of the berserker threat! Vote for James Calabrese!" I furrow my brow. This isn't good. Why is my cousin running for mayor? He works for my father. He always has. He's never been the kind of person who did things on his own. I can only assume my father's put him up to it. But why does the poster say something about berserkers? It doesn't make any sense at all.

"We had no idea," Brice is saying.

"Well, I'm glad you've broken ties with the mob," says Megan.

I smile sweetly at Megan. "It was so nice to see you."

* * *

While Brice is on stage performing, I don't have anything to do with myself. With my father trying to get one of his goons to take over as the mayor, I feel like I need some time to think through what he's doing and try to figure out if I can stop it. So I go for a walk in the city at night. But I don't think about my father. Instead, I keep thinking about Brice and the fact that we keep having trouble with our love life.

Maybe it shouldn't be that big of a deal. After all, lots of good Catholic girls my age are probably pushing their boyfriends away every night too. The difference is, I guess, that they know it's going to happen sooner or later. They'll get married or whatever, and it'll be okay. But for me and Brice, it's never going to be okay, and I don't know how much longer he even has before he succumbs completely to the virus and is a berserker all the time. I feel helpless. And so far, even though I've tried everything I can think of, I haven't been able to find a cure or even any hint of one.

Since my walk is less than productive, I give up and go back to Brice's apartment to wait for him to come back from the show in a couple hours. Waiting for me at the door is Donna Fitzpatrick. "Olivia Calabrese!" she says brightly. She comes over to me and takes me by the arm.

Fitzpatrick is a police officer. She helped me figure out what happened to my mother after Brice and I broke into police records and stole my mother's file. Fitzpatrick was good to me, mostly. She seemed to know that I killed Joey Ercalono, but didn't arrest me for it or anything. She said something like prison was probably too good for him. (Joey Ercalono abused my cousin Tressa and then killed her when he found out she was pregnant. He was scum, and he deserved to die.) But she's the law, and I make my money by breaking the law. I'm not exactly happy to see her.

I shake her off. "What do you want?"

She laughs. "You're always so polite to me, you know that?"

"There a reason I should be polite?"

"I think I risked my ass to give you some valuable information not too long ago," she says. "So you could at least pretend to be happy to see me. You could ask me how I'm doing."

"How are you doing?"

She rolls her eyes. "Not great, actually. That's why I've hunted you down."

Hunted me down? This doesn't sound too good. But if she were going to arrest me, she would have already, right? "Sorry to hear that. You gonna ask me how I'm doing?"

"Look, it's come to my attention that your boyfriend is a berserker."

I gulp. "We keep him locked up. He hasn't hurt anyone. Are you going to force me to take him to one of those sanitariums or—"

"I'm not out to get you," she says. She sighs. "See, the thing is, my sister is a berserker too."

Really? That's weird.

"Walk with me, okay?" she says.

"Walk with you where?" Panic shoots through me again.

"Would you stop freaking out?" she asks. "I'm not even on duty. Come on."

* * *

Fitzpatrick seems a lot like me. No-nonsense. Tough. She even wears her hair in a ponytail. We sit in a coffee shop a few blocks from Brice's apartment. We both have a cup of black coffee. We agree to splurge on chocolate chip cookies. I had a feeling of kinship with her before. It seems like the more time I spend with her, the more I feel it. I only wish she weren't a cop. I can't trust her.

Fitzpatrick breaks off a piece of a cookie. "I thought maybe we could help each other out. We both have loved ones who are berserkers. And I don't need sanitariums or better ways to lock up my sister. I need a cure."

I lean forward, suddenly interested. "I've been looking."

"So have I," she says. "You know, I got into this job because I wanted to do something to stop the spread of the berserker virus. I thought if I fought the people who were making the charms, I'd be doing some good. But it doesn't make any difference. And when I look at my sister, who can't have any kind of life because of it, I feel so helpless inside."

I nod. I know how she feels.

"So," she says, "that's when I started looking for a cure."

"Every time I bring it up to anyone, all I hear is that there isn't a cure," I say.

"Me too," she says. "Until I stumbled upon this rumor." Fitzpatrick takes a sip of her coffee. "This guy claims he's been cured. I was able to track him down using the resources I have at work, but there's only one problem—he won't talk to me. That's why I was looking for you."

I'm excited by this news, but confused as to how I make any difference. "What do I have to do with it?"

"He doesn't trust me," Fitzpatrick says, "because I'm a cop. But he'll trust you, don't you see? Because you're Olivia Calabrese. You're safe."

I nod slowly. "But couldn't you pick someone else to help?"

"You think I have a lot of criminal friends?"

"I'm not a criminal," I say. "And we're not friends." Are we?

"Whatever." She eats more of the cookie. "Do you want to help or not?"

Of course I do.

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