Bequeathed Read online

  “What the hell is her problem?” I mutter.

  “Don’t take any notice of the old witch. She is having a bad day,” Sofia says loud enough so that the old lady can hear her. The old lady continues to spit and hiss in our direction while chanting in Italian.

  “What is she saying?”

  “She’s cursing us. Their kind don’t like our kind. But don’t worry, it won’t have any effect; she is wasting her efforts,” Sofia explains as though I should know what she is talking about. She looks at me and laughs. “Sorry, I’m confusing you, aren’t I? Let’s get something to eat. That gelato is not going to keep your hunger at bay for long.” She grabs my hand and drags me up the hill toward the main street.

  We spend the rest of the day shopping near the Spanish Steps before heading back to the apartment midafternoon. Along the way Sofia takes photos of me in front of all the beautiful doors scattered throughout the many streets we meander through. Doors that I’m positive would have many stories and secrets to spill. Entering the busy piazza, I search the crowds for Dominic, hoping to get another glimpse of his beautiful face. Sofia notices that I am distracted when I don’t respond to her question and gently taps my arm.

  “What?”

  “What or who are you thinking about and searching for?” She grins at me.

  “Nothing and no one.” I try to hide my smile, but thinking about him sends excitement through my veins, and I’m sure it is visible on my face.

  “Sure it’s no one,” she teases as we make our way through the crowds assembled in Piazza della Rotonda.

  “Okay, it is someone, but I’ve only seen him twice and I only know his name. He could be out of the city by now for all I know,” I reveal. I feel a pang of sadness at the thought of never seeing him again. For the past day he is all I’ve thought about, and it seems silly even to me to be this infatuated with someone I don’t even know.

  “What’s his name?” Sofia asks.

  “Dominic.”

  “How do you Aussies say good-looking?” she asks.

  “Hot. Yes, he is definitely hot.” I grin as my cheeks color.

  Sofia giggles. “You will see him again, I’m sure of it.”

  “Do you ever go in the Pantheon?” I ask out of curiosity.

  “No, I don’t. It is more for the tourists; besides I have lived here most of my life and walk past it every day. To me it is just a building.”

  “Could you go in if you wanted to or is Santa Maria Maddalena church the only one we are not allowed in?” I question her.

  She looks at me, recognition etched on her face, and I can see that she is thinking of how to answer my probing question. Deep in the back of my mind I know there is something weird going on. I have been feeling strange and my aunt Maria and Sofia are different—for want of a better word. I continue to look at her waiting for her answer.

  “I think we should go home. Maria needs to be the one to explain everything to you. Come on, let’s grab a cannoli…or five.”

  “Nice way to change the subject, I think, but it worked. Now all I can think of is eating.” I giggle as we head to the closest cake shop.

  Once back in the apartment, I flop onto the comfortable chesterfield and let out a sigh. It feels so good to put my feet up and relax. My whole body aches; it feels as though I have the onset of the flu. The cool leather of the lounge quickly heats up under my skin and becomes uncomfortably hot. I move my legs to find a cold spot, and as I move, I disturb the dust particles that dance in the beams of sunlight coming in through the windows. I am absorbed watching them as they swirl in mesmerizing patterns through the air. Distracting me from my little trance is Sofia’s soft voice. She is speaking to someone on the phone in Italian. I hear my name and it is like home all over again.

  Moments later Sofia enters the lounge with two glasses. “Maria will be home any minute.”

  I sit up, my shopping bags scattered at my feet, and wonder if Maria is going to tell me all the same silly stories Nonna has told me before.

  “Can you give me a hint on what I am about to be told?” I ask Sofia. “It all seems so hush hush…and mysterious,” I tack on the end to lighten the dark mood that has crept up on us.

  “It’s best if Maria explains it to you; she knows best. After all, she is the reason for all of this.” There is a hint of malice in her tone as she smiles at me.

  “All of what?” I’m confused—a regular occurrence lately, it seems. I hear the front door close behind me.

  “Cosa le hai detto?” Maria glares at Sofia.

  “Niente,” Sofia snaps. “Katalina is observant. She has been asking questions, and it’s not my place to answer them.”

  “Can someone, anyone, please fill me in on what you two are talking about?” I interrupt and they both look at me with complete understanding.

  “I’m going to make some coffee and we will sit down and explain everything, okay, sweetheart?” Maria tells me.

  She scurries into the kitchen as I sit and stare out the window. The sun has disappeared, and a grey gloom has cloaked the eternal city. I have the feeling that the weather is onto something and is mirroring the atmosphere that is about to unfold here in the apartment.

  Sofia breaks the silence. “It really isn’t as bad as it seems.”

  Maria returns with a large tray of various cheeses, olives, crusty bread, salami and prosciutto, and of course strong coffee. Italians seem to base everything around food and coffee. Maria sits opposite me on the sofa and curls her legs under her.

  “What I am about to tell you is a family secret dating back centuries. You must promise me and our family that what you are about to learn does not ever leave this apartment. It is important that you do not speak a word of this to outsiders, no matter what happens in the future.” Maria looks at me.

  I nod to let her know I understand.

  “Our family has a secret lineage dating back to the early thirteenth century when all this began. The Parisi family originates from ancient Craco. Our ancestors were wheat farmers in the harsh surroundings of southern Italy. Cassia was the daughter of Marcello Parisi, a well-respected farmer in the region. Cassia was to be married off to a young man in a neighboring town, but she was in love with a local boy, Alonso. One fateful night Alonso killed the young man Cassia was to be married to. Alonso was not punished; however, the young man’s grandmother was a witch and cursed Cassia forcing her to drink a vial of blood from an evil being. The blood she drank caused a ripple effect and every couple of generations another female in the family is forced to live out their centuries in perpetual darkness.” Maria eyes me with curious caution. I’m not sure of what she sees on my face, but she decides to continue with the story.

  “Cassia was pregnant with Alonso’s child at the time she was cursed. This prolonged the onset of the curse, and Cassia gave birth to a daughter without complication. It was after the birth that Cassia changed and became crazed. The townspeople believed she was a demon, and under the rule of Federico II, Cassia was imprisoned in 1277, high up in the castle tower to spend the remaining years of her life watching over the town she once called home. Fearing for the life of his daughter, Alonso fled the town soon after Cassia was imprisoned. Cassia caught wind of their escape and became irate spending the next two hundred and eighty-four years in isolation. Decade after decade the locals thought she would die, but the curse kept her one step ahead of death’s door—not quite alive but not quite dead. It was in the year 1561 that a local priest visited the now abandoned castle tower and found the skin-covered skeleton of Cassia laying under the only small window in the tower. It was the priest’s forgiving nature that compelled him to free Cassia, but only on the condition that she never return to Craco again. The priest fed Cassia back to health and she agreed to his condition. What the priest could not predict was the consequences of his actions by acting on faith and releasing Cassia. The priest was the first to be killed by a vengeful Cassia. She ripped through the small village, killing hundreds of innocent peopl
e. It has been passed down through the generations that a plague killed the many people of Craco in 1561, because no one speaks of the true evil.”

  Pausing for a moment to take a sip of her coffee, she asks, “Shall I continue?”

  “Yes,” I answer instantly.

  “You girls don’t want a drink or something to eat?” Maria asks pointing to the food on the table in front of us.

  I grab a piece of cheese and an olive and quickly wash it down with some lukewarm coffee.

  “San Vincenzo gathered the remaining townspeople and barricaded everyone in the church. Cassia could not enter the church, and Vincenzo knew this. Cassia fled the village to never return and to this day she has not set foot in Craco.”

  Maria sees the recognition on my face. As the goosebumps spread up my arms, she holds out her hand for me, with my hand in hers she continues.

  “Every few generations another female in our family is burdened by the same curse. It seems to occur more often and has shown its effects earlier in the past two hundred years. This is the reason you have been having terrible nightmares and feeling odd lately. It becomes more apparent as you approach your eighteenth year.”

  “I’m still unsure of what exactly you are trying to tell me. I understand the story, but what exactly is the curse?” I ask, bewildered.

  Maria stares at me with a look I can only decipher as concern. “We are what you would call in modern-day terms…” She takes in a sharp breath. “We are vampires.”

  Cautiously Maria lets go of my hand and stays seated facing me. I stare at her, frozen to the seat. I am not sure if I believe what she just told me; how could it be possible?

  “Vampire,” I say out loud. It sounds ludicrous. “But how?”

  “Only if you choose to be one,” Sofia points out.

  “What?”

  “You don’t have to be a vampire if you don’t choose to be. The process involved with stopping the transformation is drinking a potion,” Sofia tells me as though it’s that simple.

  “So, I will change if I don’t drink some potion?” My hand gestures to the thin air.

  “Yes, you will become one of us unless you drink the special herbal potion.” Maria nods.

  This is the strangest conversation I have ever encountered. I am unable to make sense of any of this, and my mind is racing with questions. “Vampires aren’t real,” I whisper.

  “We are very real.” Sofia grins.

  My eyes dart in her direction and I see she is smiling at me with her elongated canines. Her eyes ablaze with a ring of red circling her pupils. I am shocked and sit back in my chair. A feeling of horror mixed with fear washes over me, and the room feels off center.

  “Sofia,” Maria growls.

  “She needed to see how real we are,” Sofia snaps back.

  Maria reaches out for me and I involuntarily flinch. I feel embarrassed for my reaction, but I see understanding in her eyes. “I’m sorry…I just…” my voice trails off.

  “It’s a normal reaction, sweetheart, but you don’t have to fear us; we won’t ever hurt you,” Maria comforts me. “Is there anything you want to ask?”

  “No. I mean yes. I don’t know?” I mumble.

  I look from Maria to Sofia and back to Maria again. Both sit carefully on the edge of their seats as though they are waiting for me to run screaming from the room. I don’t fear them as such. I fear the thought of what they are and what this all means for me. I see Sofia move from the corner of my eye. She is easing herself carefully back into her seat to not startle me.

  “It’s okay. I’m not afraid.”

  “Are you all right, sweetheart?” Maria asks.

  “Yes.” I nod. “I need to go for a walk for some fresh air and to clear my head,” I say as I stand up, gripping the armchair to regain my balance.

  Stepping over my shopping and grabbing my bag, I stride as quickly as I can to the front door. Once outside I stand leaning against it for support. I barely make my way down the stairs and outside. The cool evening air is refreshing, and the feeling of freedom is imminent. I glance at the church across the piazza and can’t help but feel a pang of hostility toward the priest who kicked me out. I wander slowly down the road that leads to the Pantheon. The streets are full to the brim with blissfully unaware tourists and locals.

  I find myself outside the restaurant we had dinner at last night. I sit heavily in a chair at one of the tables that skirt the piazza and stare into the crowds wondering if there are others out there like my family. A waiter clears his throat and I sit up, startled. I order coffee and a caprese salad in the hopes he will go away so I can sit and think. The confusion occupying my head is dizzying. I don’t understand how vampires could possibly be real. They only exist in nightmares, certainly not in real life. Not in my world. Could I embrace the curse bequeathed upon me?

  The wind has picked up, and rubbish that was littering the ground now flies across the piazza. A tourist’s black, wide-brimmed hat lifts off her head and pirouettes through the air before landing in the fountain. I see her scramble after it and fish it out of the water; it’s soaking wet. A couple of hours have passed, and I still cannot bring myself to return to the apartment and face reality. I have been sitting here at the restaurant searching the internet on my phone for anything that can explain how all this is even possible. Leaving money on the table, I stand up stiffly and make my way to the columns outside the Pantheon entry, not daring to go inside. I meander through them making a figure eight pattern, tracing the smooth stone with my hand as I round each pillar. Out of the corner of my eye I see a movement. Ignoring it I continue slowly walking around in circles. I notice a dark figure mirroring my every turn and my heart rate spikes. I turn back the way I came hoping they keep the path they were on and I am able to escape back into the piazza. As I turn around the end pillar, ready to run if needed, I stop in my tracks as there is someone standing in my intended path.

  “Hello,” speaks the person standing in the shadows a few feet in front of me. They step to the right into the artificial light and my heart skips a beat. I cannot believe my eyes; he is more beautiful than my memory gave him credit for.

  “Hello.” I smile. My heart is still thudding in my chest, and I’m thankful my blush is undetected thanks to the shadow of the giant pillar. My hand slowly traces the smooth stone and then drops to my side. I can’t seem to put a sentence together, so I stand there smiling like an idiot.

  “What are you doing here in the dark?” he asks with an edge of concern.

  What am I doing here? I’m not sure how to answer that question without sounding crazy. “Thinking,” I reply. What a stupid answer! I cringe to myself.

  “Your accent is from Australia, no?”

  I smile wider and nod. “Yes, how did you know?”

  “Just a good guess.” His perfect teeth glow in the light. “How long are you on holiday?”

  “Two weeks, I think?” I would stay for a month if it meant I could see you again, I think to myself.

  “Two weeks is not enough to explore my beautiful city. Maybe you should stay a little longer.”

  I laugh freely. “Maybe.” I hear the horse and cart returning to its spot a few feet from us and watch the passengers as they climb out of the carriage.

  “Come.” He gently grabs my hand in his and tows me toward the carriage.

  His touch sends shivers up my arm and I relish in the closeness. Alarm bells ring in the back of my mind and my subconscious questions whether it is safe to be alone with this beautiful stranger. He talks in Italian to the driver and hands him some money. The driver darts off to the closest restaurant and returns with a small picnic basket. Dominic stands close enough behind me that I can feel the heat from him radiate on my back. The tingle on my skin when he puts his hands on my waist and lifts me into the carriage causes my breath to hitch. I guess my mind has been made up as I watch him climb in next to me and drape the blanket over our legs. His grin is mischievous and his eyes sparkle in the light.
r />   “Are you warm enough?” he asks as his hand brushes against my arm.

  I can’t help but giggle; the nerves in my stomach are rampant and I feel giddy. “Yes.”

  He smirks as he looks at me with his piercing eyes. “Andiamo,” he calls without taking his eyes off me, and the horse starts forward.

  We leave the piazza and head up along a side street, off to the left of the Pantheon, which is sparsely populated by people who move out of the horse’s way. The echo of the hooves on the cobblestones is the only sound that can be heard. The night is still, apart from the light breeze, and I can see the moon peeking over the ancient buildings through the breaks in the clouds. I feel Dominic’s gaze on me. I look up at him; his eyes are alight with excitement, and his intoxicating smile is hard to resist.

  “Where are we going?” I ask excitedly.

  “To Piazza Navona. Franco doesn’t let his horse travel too far. Have you been before?”

  “No, not yet. I’ve seen the Roman Forum and the Spanish Steps, but that’s it so far.” I grin.

  We enter a long piazza that is lit up with rows of twinkling fairy lights and scattered with multicolored market stalls. We continue to the right, and Franco stops the horse in front of the fountain. The atmosphere is magical under the canopy of lights. Dominic steps down from the carriage and holds out his hand for me to take hold of whilst I climb down. He doesn’t let go of my hand but instead leads me toward the fountain where we find an empty bench seat. We both sit, and Dominic opens the picnic basket and pulls out two servings of chocolate torte with layers of cream and a small container of strawberries. My stomach growls as he hands me a fork.

  “Beautiful,” he says, breaking the silence. I look up to follow his gaze, but he is looking at me.

  I smile and look out toward the canopy of twinkling lights.

  “Will your family be waiting for you? Or do I have you for a few more hours?” he teases.