Carpathian 00 - The Scarletti Curse

and call upon the Holy Church—or Don Scarletti himself—to have her investigated… or worse.
    Maria Pia clucked her sympathy as she bustled around looking busy. She conferred with her assistant, watched closely to assure the younger woman mixed her drafts and powders correctly and insisted on helping the don swallow the liquid herself. "You must rest now," Maria Pia ordered. "We will see to the child through the night. Pray we did not arrive too late."
    Nicoletta signed with her hand discreetly as she once more went back to persuading the child to drink small sips of the medicine.
    "I must know if others are ill. Did others share the soup?" Maria Pia asked at Nicoletta's suggestion.
    The man shook his head, murmured. "No one else," and ignored the older woman's nervous gasp as he rose and staggered across the room to a large chair. "I will stay with the child." He said it firmly, closing his eyes and turning his head away from them.
    Maria Pia looked helplessly at Nicoletta, who shrugged. The room was as clean as they could make it in so short a time. The child's fever was down slightly, although she was still quite ill. But the fact that she was keeping down the potion Nicoletta had concocted, that her stomach was not rejecting it, was a good sign. The don was likely not nearly as sick as the child. He was much larger, stronger, and his body more capable of fighting off the ill effects of the soup they had both ingested.
    Maria Pia took several candles from Nicoletta's leather satchel and placed them around the room.
    Nicoletta had made them herself out of beeswax and various aromatic herbs. Their scent at once filled the room, dispelling the last remnants of the foul odor of sickness. The fragrance was also peaceful and soothing, aiding in further calming the little girl.
    "Mio fratello awaits news of his bambina." It was another order, delivered by a man accustomed to being obeyed.
    Nicoletta was outraged that the man's brother—the child' s father —was outside the room, leaving his daughter to the care of her sick uncle and two strangers. She bit down hard on her lip to keep from making a sound. She would never understand the aristocrazia. Never.
    Maria Pia opened the door and delivered the news that the don would recover and that they would continue to battle for the child's life throughout the night. It was not the dreaded disease the household had thought, and the don wished them to know.
    Nicoletta wished they would all just go away and stop their useless wailing. What good did such a din create? None of them had come near the child, afraid they might catch her illness. Poor bambina, to matter so little that her own father refused to see to her! Nicoletta's heart went out to the child.
    As a hush finally fell over the household, Nicoletta settled down on the bed close to young Sophie. The child desperately needed more medicine in her to counteract the effects of the poisoning. Had it been accidental? Or deliberate? Nicoletta tried not to think about that as she quietly removed her sandals, settled against the strangely carved headboard, drew up her knees, and tucked her bare legs beneath her long skirt. With the glow from the stoked fire and the flickering candles, she had sufficient light to observe the room.

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    Nicoletta couldn't understand why anyone would put a small child in such a chamber. It was far too large, and the carvings in the walls were demonic. Long, coiled, forked-tongued snakes and strange serpents with fangs and claws cavorted between the enormous windows. The marble reliefs and a particularly wicked-looking gargoyle seemed almost alive, as if they might leap off the walls and attack one. The curtains were heavy and dark, and the ceiling was far too high and carved with a plethora of winged animals with sharp beaks and talons. Nicoletta couldn't imagine a child of seven attempting to fall asleep with these creatures surrounding her in the darkness.
    Eventually, Maria Pia fell into a doze slumped in a small chair beside the fire. Nicoletta covered her with the spare coverlet and reluctantly checked on the don. He was very quiet, his breathing shallow enough that she could tell he continued to be in pain but was refusing to acknowledge it. Though almost afraid to touch the man, she laid a cooling hand on his forehead. A strange current suddenly ran between the two of them. She could feel it arcing and