Page 44 of In the Garden of Monsters

He shook his head. “Not so directly. But it is clear in her descriptions of him, and of their lovemaking, and of the longing she has for him between the times she sees him.”

“Did Vicino ever find out?”

“I don’t know. Beyond discussing care for the home or their conversations about the Sacro Bosco, it seems he didn’t pay much attention to her in life.”

He picked up the worn volume and thumbed through it. “She used to wander through the wood with Aidoneus and they would dream up fantastical stories about the rocks scattered about. Later, she’d recount these stories as dreams to Vicino, never mentioning where they’d originated. The history book—” he jerked his thumb toward the volume in his pack “—tells us that Vicino had her sketch the monsters that supposedly visited her in her sleep. He then used those sketches to help inspire the creation of theboschetto.

“Signorina Julia, there is something else you should know.”

I had a feeling I wasn’t going to like what he was about to say.

He drew his lips into a fine line, as though measuring his words before he spoke. “Her descriptions of Aidoneus... Well, he sounds just like...Ignazio. Pale green eyes. Heavy brow. Dark hair. And she often wrote that he smells of smoke and...canella.”

Cinnamon.

“That’s not...possible.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Wait, does she mention his hot hands?”

He nodded, his eyes growing wide. “Ignazio... His hands are like this?”

“They are. He radiates heat.” I felt lightheaded.

“There is one more thing.” He flipped to the back of the journal. “In her last entry, Giulia seems very worried about something, maybe an unwanted pregnancy. To help her, Aidoneus had been preparing a special, um,pozione...for her every day. He was going to bring her a sixth dose after her evening meal. He told her she would be cured within the week.”

My heart sank. “Let me guess. The potion was made of pomegranates.”

“Sì.There is a little portrait of her in one of the salons, which has her date of death as the same date as the last journal entry.”

“Dear god.” I shuddered.

“That is why I didn’t want you to drink the pomegranate juice today, Signorina Julia.” He paused as if not wanting to speak his next words. “How many seeds have you eaten?” His voice was nearly a whisper.

I thought back. There was the one in the parsnip soup the night we arrived, the apple-and-pomegranate fritter that first time in theorco, the date-and-pistachio candy from Poliphilio’s dinner, and atop the cup of chocolate from the meal in the garden.

“Four. It would have been more if you and Orpheus hadn’t intervened earlier.”

Paolo closed the book and handed it back to me. “You must be very careful.”

“This is madness,” I said, straightening. “A bad dream.”

Paolo reached over and pinched my arm.

“Ow!”

“Not a dream, Signorina Julia.”

I ran my hand over the journal cover, wondering what happened to Giulia. “There’s something I don’t understand.”

“How much of this are we supposed to understand?” Paolo joked.“È tutto ridicolo.”

“I agree, it is ridiculous—all of it. But what I find most confusing is that all these women named Julia eat the seeds and die. They can’t all have been Proserpina reincarnate, or it wouldn’t keep happening, right? They would end up in the Underworld and stay there. But their ghosts linger.”

Paolo knitted his brow in thought. “Are they really ghosts? Could they be something like memories, or echoes of you, like...impressioniyou left behind in the world. Do they respond to you when you see them?”

I thought for a moment. “They do, but in a restrained way. It’s as if they’re bound within certain confines, compelled to replay crucial moments, and offering small glimpses of insight or warnings.”

“Ecco qua.”

There you have it.I had to admit that Paolo’s idea of the ghosts being impressions of me made sense. I had never heard of such a thing, but perhaps that was what ghosts often were? Memories?

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