Carpathian 00 - The Scarletti Curse

body seemed hot and unfamiliar to her. Was the don capable of black magic, as it was rumored? Had he somehow marked her because he saw her differences? Defensively she put a hand to her throat. Few things in nature frightened her, but Don Scarletti and his evil palazzo had managed to do so.
    Restlessly she paced across the room to tuck the coverlet more closely around Maria Pia. Her heart warmed at the sight of her, sleeping so soundly. The woman had always been there for her as long as she could remember. Nicoletta knew they shared a distant blood tie—nearly all the families in the villaggio were related in some way—yet Maria Pia was more family to her than any other she had known. Long before her mother and aunt had died, there had been Maria Pia. She remembered the low murmur of feminine voices conversing while she was dozing off. Her madre. Her zia. Maria Pia. Reassuring, secure.
    She had been accepted and loved by Maria Pia all her life. Now she had no one else, and most likely she never would.
    Were they coming for her, the don's minions? She padded on bare feet back to the window to peer anxiously in the direction of the palazzo. Right now, were they gathering torches and coming together at the command of the don to call her witch? She could hear her heart beating far too loud and fast. Earlier she had managed to appear calm, but the truth was, she was terrified. This was her home; she knew no other. These people were her family; she wanted no other. She did not want to attempt to flee, and no one wanted to be burned as a witch. And what of her people? Would they suffer for having harbored such an abomination in their midst? Was the voice she was hearing a sign from God? Had she gone mad?
    The wind rattled the small hut and found its way in through the chinks, making her shiver. It howled mournfully through the trees, an eerie, ghostly sound that rose like a thin wail and died off, only to return again and again. She heard the hunting cries of distant wolves, first the leader of the pack and then the others answering, signaling the presence of prey. The cries sent another shiver along her spine. The mist from the ocean had turned to a heavy fog, shrouding the surrounding hillside. The wind spun the viscous vapor until it appeared to boil angrily, and shadows moved within the gray-white veil as if edging closer and closer. All the while the voice murmured to her, a low, insistent command Nicoletta tried not to hear.
    She stood watching at the window most of the night until the wind died down and took the relentless whisperings with it. She was slumped against the wall at dawn, sound asleep, when young Ricardo, son of her friend Laurena burst into the hut after only a perfunctory knock.

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    "You have to come now. Mia madre said you have to go to the farm of her sister. Zia Lissandra is very ill. Her bebe is coming, but something is wrong. Madre says do not let her sister die, Donna Nicoletta."
    His face was white, and he delivered his message without taking a single breath. Sagging against the door, he looked at Nicoletta with tears in his eyes. "She was screaming, Nicoletta. Zia Lissandra was screaming. I ran here as fast as I could."
    Nicoletta was immediately awake, hurrying to soothe the boy. "You have done well, Ricardo. Your madre will be proud of you. I shall come at once. You light a candle to the good Madonna that my work this morning goes well."
    At the sound of Ricardo's high-pitched, frightened voice, Maria Pia sat up on her bed and looked anxiously around, afraid the don's men had come to take Nicoletta from her.
    Nicoletta bent to kiss her. "I must go now. To Lissandra, ill in childbirth. Follow as quickly as you are able. I cannot wait; it sounds too urgent." She wrapped a shawl around her shoulders, caught up her satchel of medicaments, and rushed from the hut, her bare feet silently slapping the ground.
    Thoughts and fears of witchcraft and the don were shoved aside as she prayed all the way to the farm.
    Lissandra was young yet to be a mother. Not yet sixteen, she had married a man much older than she.
    Nicoletta and Lissandra were friends, and Nicoletta was terrified of losing her. Already she had seen far too many women lose their lives in the birthing process.
    The farm was some distance away, and Nicoletta lost track of the times she begged the Madonna to lend wings to her feet. Maria Pia would take well over