Page 6 of Nicoli

Silently, I step out of her room and close the door, feeling his presence behind me before turning to face him. Our gazes lock, and a knowing look passes between us. He knows the truth, and so do I. We’re the only ones who know, and we’ll do anything we can to keep it that way.

I straighten my shoulders, looking Maximo in the eye. “You need to protect her.”

“From what?”

I turn and stomp in the other direction. “From me.”

ChapterThree

MIRABELLA

Ican smell the blood. It’s pungent and sharp, like iron mixed with the stench of rotten meat. It’s making my stomach turn, leaving the acidic taste of bile in the back of my throat. The hair on the back of my neck is raised, my skin cold and clammy as the talons of death stroke my flesh.

It’s everywhere—the sticky liquid that clings to my fingers, my palms. I think it’s under my feet too.

I’m trying to breathe, but malevolence thickens the air and congeals my throat. It’s hard to get air all the way down so it can fill my lungs. My eyes are closed, but I pinch them even tighter. I don’t want to open them. I don’t want to look.

I’ve been here before. This place. This nightmare where nothing good happens. I’m too scared to move. Too afraid to breathe. The more I struggle for air, the sharper the smell of death and carnage.

“Mirabella.”

I suck in a breath as a gentle hand touches my shoulder. “Momma,” I whisper.

“You need to keep quiet, okay?”

I nod without saying a word.

“Promise me you’ll be as quiet as a mouse.”

“I promise.” A tear slips down my cheek as I allow her familiar presence to wrap around me. It’s welcoming and haunting at the same time.

“Keep your eyes closed. No matter what you hear, you don’t look. Do not open your eyes.”

“I won’t,” I reply with a shaky voice. The dread that bubbles in the pit of my stomach is debilitating, my heart hammering against my rib cage with a frantic rhythm.

“You have to stay hidden.” Her hand cups my cheeks, her thumb swiping at the tears. “You can’t come out. No matter what happens.”

“Hide with me, Momma.” My plea is a desperate prayer. “We can hide together.”

“Not today,la mia luce.” My light. It’s what she has always called me, saying my smile is as bright as the sun, my laughter the light that smothers the dark. Always her little light.

My bottom lip quivers. “Momma?”

Her touch is gone, and I instantly mourn it, my gut filled with an emptiness that hurts all the way to my bones.

“Momma!” I cry.

“Please, Mirabella. You have to be a brave little girl. For me. Please, promise me.”

“I don’t—”

“Promise me. Promise me you won’t open your eyes.” Her voice drips with a desperation that sounds painful, as if the words hurt her insides, tearing her apart and making her bleed. I want it to stop. I want the sound to go away. I want to hear her voice echo with the light and love of my momma who tucks me in at night, my momma who sings for me while she brushes my hair.

I hate hearing her like this. It’s like nails scraping along a chalkboard, hurting my ears, a raw tone that spreads an ache through my veins, curdling my blood.

“Please,” she whispers. “Be my brave little girl, just one more time.”

“I will. I promise, Momma,” I say, struggling to keep my eyes closed because everything inside me is begging for me to open them so I can see her face. Her eyes. I want to see her, but I promised I wouldn’t. “I promise.”

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