Page 47 of Unbound

We pull up on a small gravel driveway, and the driver tells us we’re here. That he will bring our bags over, but we must now proceed by boat. Minnie raises her eyebrows, and I shrug. How else did she think we were going to reach an island?

We leave the driver to handle our cases, but we keep hold of our hand luggage. Minnie is carrying one of the rarest and most precious documents ever known, and we won’t be letting it out of our sight. Not for the first time, I ponder what the human world would look like if not for the Bargain. It was agreed because vampires were getting out of control. Killing, maiming, wiping out whole cities. Reproducing so quickly that the balance was being lost. Maybe, without it, there wouldn’t even be a human world left at all. They could have gone extinct.

One of the main tenets of the agreement was to change the way that vamps were created. Before, all it took was one sip of vamp blood, which could be easily forced on anybody. After, it took three consecutive nights of mutual feedings. The idea was that it would prevent accidents and ensure consent. Matteo is proof that doesn’t always work, but there you go. I suppose even super-powerful witches with the juiciest juju on the planet can’t be perfect, and at the end of the day, that balance is still holding. Vamps have not taken over the world. Humans have not been wiped out. The other supernatural creatures live in sometimes violent harmony, but they were never as much of a threat. It’s only the vamps who are predators in a way that could knock the world off center.

I know that’s what Minnie is worried about—losing the balance. With the likes of Tomasso at play, as well as the volatile state of the Cosca families right now, I can understand that. It’s one of the reasons that Seers exist, to protect that delicate equilibrium. To ensure the worst of the vampire world does not wreak too much havoc. But I can’t deny it; that all feels precarious now; there aren’t enough of us. We have too many enemies. The world feels unsettled and uncertain, and also, I keep setting on fire. Things are not what they used to be.

A boat is waiting for us on the pebbled shore of the lake, and a glance around shows us exactly how the place got its name. The mountains are huge, all around, magnificent slabs of green and gray. Even though it’s late summer, the far-off peaks are topped with snow. They form a protective ring around the water, and the lake itself is surrounded by gorgeous gardens. Bright pink camellias, vivid multicolored clumps of rhododendrons, the whole place rich with the scent of lemons. Minnie leans down to touch a striking white dahlia, delighted when a bee flies from it and lands on her hand. “Off you go, little friend,” she says, smiling as he does exactly that.

We’re greeted by the boatman, an elderly guy with a deeply wrinkled smile. We both climb in and he starts to row us out to the island in the middle of the lake. The island that I know is there, but I can’t quite see. I trail my hand in the clear water, finding it refreshingly cool on such a warm day. Minnie is gazing around, enraptured, but keeping a tight hold on her messenger bag.

After maybe ten peaceful minutes of rowing, the island itself rises from the water. It is surrounded by a cloud of mist, even though there is none anywhere else, including on the mountain tops. The tips of tall pine trees pierce the white haze, and as we get closer, a jetty appears, stretching out towards us, ghostly in the lingering fog. We climb up the ladder and follow the boatman to land.

“This is both beautiful and slightly creepy,” Minnie mutters. I nod, on high alert. This is a Vecchissime stronghold. We should be safe here, but life has taught me to always adopt the brace position and never to assume I am safe.

The second we set foot on actual land, the mist seems to clear. I glance back and realize that it circles the whole island. An extra layer of protection, of privacy, of mystery. It’s definitely not natural, that’s for sure.

We’re led through a densely wooded area, the air alive with insects and birds, no sign of the twenty-first century intruding anywhere around us. Then out into a lush garden, bright with color, in front of a magnificent house. It’s built from the kind of stone that seems to glow in the sun and comes complete with columns, grand steps, and classical statues that wouldn’t look out of place in a museum. A series of terraces flow from the house down towards the garden, each level adorned with verdant baskets, beds, and containers, the whole place looking like it’s carpeted with flowers. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anywhere quite so attractive.

The doors and window frames are all painted in a pretty shade of pastel blue, and a magnificent wisteria twines over the archways. The door opens, and a dog gallops towards us. It’s no Moonface, but it’s not small either. I love dogs, but ever since my close encounter with a shifter pretending to be a Labrador puppy, I’ve been a little more cautious. Minnie, however, is not. She sinks to her knees, and the golden-furred creature dives straight in for kisses and cuddles. I last maybe thirty seconds before I join in.

“Stella!” a man’s voice calls. “Let our guests breathe. Come.”

The dog pauses, looks back, and completely ignores him. She has important face-licking to do.

I stand up and see Bruno Lombardi himself walking towards us through those exquisite garden terraces. He’s younger than my grandfather, and if he was human, you’d guess he was maybe in his fifties. Fit, active, a tanned face that carries its age with dignity. Deep brown eyes, and hair that has turned mostly silver. He’s maybe two hundred and eighty years old, give or take a decade.

He smiles, and the wrinkles at the sides of his eyes crinkle. Minnie sighs a little, and I suspect she already has a crush. Can’t say that I blame her. He has a kind of silver-fox thing going on, stylish in his casual slacks and a linen shirt in the same shade of pastel blue as the door. I wonder if he coordinates?

“As you can see, Stella obeys my every word. Welcome to Lago dei Fiori, ladies. Rosa, it’s been too long.”

He opens up his arms, and I only hesitate for a split second before I walk into them. He embraces me, and it is pretty damn nice. He smells of sandalwood, and he exudes kindness. I lean into him and feel the same paternal comfort I remember feeling with my own father, all those decades ago. He holds me by the shoulders and inspects me. “You look well, child. Considering.”

“Thank you. So do you. This is Minerva.”

She blushes a little, and does a weird half bow, half curtsy thing. It’s adorable, really. “It’s so nice to meet you,” she murmurs. “Thank you for agreeing to see us.”

“It’s not a problem. Now, come inside and take some refreshments and tell me more about how I can help you.”

We all traipse into the house, which is an oasis of cool and calm, despite the big dog skittering around. The flower theme continues inside, with huge arrangements on every available surface and the floral scent filling the air. He leads us to a high-ceilinged reception room, to a table laid out with coffee, juice, pastries. I look around, surreptitiously taking in the framed photos, the portraits, the signs of family life. One well lived, too, until Anna’s death. Bruno, I know, is a Maker. He has been the unofficial keeper of Vecchissime archives for most of his adult life. His wife, Veronica, is a Healer, though nobody has seen her in person since their daughter was murdered. Their son, Giovanni, is also a Healer, and Donatella tells me he works for a medical charity that operates in war zones. I have met him, but I was so young I barely remember. The same is true of Anna, really; she was the same generation of Seer as me, but she was older. A young woman when I was a child, and in the way of things, I paid little attention to her. She seemed like a grown-up and was therefore no fun.

I see a photo of them all together. A perfect happy family, Anna pretty in a white sundress, her dark hair around her shoulders. She’s maybe seventeen or so in this. Not long after, she was killed. Not just killed but mutilated—beheaded, her eyelids cut off and her lips sewn shut. The story has it that her body was dumped in the garden of their old home near Milan and her head was thrown through the window. It’s unsurprising that they moved here, passed over their business concerns, retired to a life of seclusion and study. Here in this secret, well-guarded place, with its magical mist and its mountains, perhaps they feel safer. Or perhaps they simply needed a fresh start, away from the home they once shared with their murdered daughter.

Bruno stands at my side, looking at the picture. “I don’t really remember her,” I say. “We were only little when we met her, Serena and I.”

He nods. “I know. And Serena is gone now as well. Anna. Angela. Paola is still recovering. What a state of affairs we find ourselves in … and all because of the greed and ambition of a foolish old man.”

Foolish old man makes him sound harmless, like he might occasionally go to the store in his PJs and slippers. No, he is far worse than that, and he is continuing to sow the seeds of chaos. Encouraging murder simply because it suits whatever game he’s playing. I hate him, in the way you can only hate the people you once loved. Or at least trusted.

I nod, bite my lip. I know I’m not responsible for my grandfather’s actions. I know that he hurt me just as much as everyone else. But I still feel it, a sneaking sense of guilt. Of shame at being related to him.

“No, my child,” Bruno says, picking up on my reaction. “The sins of a father belong only to the father. Or in this case, the grandfather. He will rot in hell; I am sure of it. Finding out that he was responsible, though, that he engineered the killing of our beautiful Anna … that betrayal was too much for Veronica. She is not well. She rarely leaves her room these days. Ironically, but perhaps not unusually, she seems incapable of healing herself. So, I spend my days rattling around this big old place, reading my books, studying my papers, wondering what the point of it all is. And then something like this happens. Two beautiful young ladies arrive on my doorstep, telling me they have important matters to discuss.”

I nod. “We do. In fact, we have a list of questions, and something to show you, and then maybe some more questions.”

“What is it that you need to know?” he asks.

Minnie joins us, smiling sadly at the family photo. She knows the story too.