Free The Demon Catchers of Milan by Kat Beyer Page A

know,” Emilio said. “What can I give you?”
    “Nothing you can spare,” the man answered. “I bid you good evening.”
    “Thank you very much for your help. Good evening.”
    Emilio stood until the stranger left, then looked down at me.
    “Did you catch all that?” he asked, sounding odd.
    “I think so,” I said. “There weren’t really any hard words. Unless Galeazzo is a word? It sounded like a family name.”
    “It is,” he said.
    “That guy didn’t really want me here, did he?”
    “Not really. But that’s all right.” He smiled suddenly. “I think they are going to have to get used to you.”
    I smiled back.
    “I think I would like that,” I replied.
    I was too caught up in the mystery of what had happened to actually ask about it, and Emilio didn’t bring it up with his grandfather at dinner. I fell asleep wondering who this person was, this woman who would take weeks to travel a few streets, and whom the Della Torres had been warned about—by the candles?
    In the middle of the night, I got up to go to the bathroom but had hardly opened the door when I heard my name from across the hall, in the kitchen. I stopped still. Giuliano and Emilio spoke just above a whisper. I strained to listen. They hadn’t heard my door open, I guess.
    “Mia saw him?” said Giuliano.
    “I’m not kidding, Nonno,” Emilio replied. He sounded fierce.
    “You’re sure?”
    “She saw him. She heard him, too. She’s got enough Italian now; I think she understood most of what he was saying. She asked me if Galeazzo was a family name or a word. That’s pretty serious comprehension, by the way.”
    “You are proud of her.”
    “I am. But I haven’t done much—she’s been studying very hard. I think she understands that it may be a key to survival.”
    There was a silence. Then Giuliano said slowly, “Emilio, she’s not going to survive. Not if …”
    Another long silence, during which I felt my pulse pounding very clearly against the brass door handle. I didn’t breathe. The funny thing was, I thought in Italian. “Santa Maria, proteggimi, ti prego .…—Santa Maria, protect me, please. …”
    “You know I still don’t agree.”
    “It killed your father, and you don’t agree.”
    They sounded like my mom and dad when they were trying not to fight. My demon had killed Emilio’s father? What else hadn’t they told me or my family?
    Someone tapped his fingers against a wineglass, I couldn’t tell who.
    “We both know where we stand,” said Giuliano. “You know I hate it—hate this. But there are so few choices.…”
    “She should have choices, too, shouldn’t she? She saw him. She heard him . She has it. She’s one of us, through and through, even if she was raised in a mad country. Roberto’s granddaughter, Nonno: this may be our one chance at his branch of the family, his powers. Can’t we at least train her a little?”
    “How can we be sure that these powers are not conferred by the demon?” asked Giuliano.
    This seemed to stop Emilio, but only for a moment. “How can we be sure they are not her own? You tell me that when I was a baby I could see them and hear them. When I was a baby.Before I’d ever even been present at an exorcism.”
    “Well then, if we do, who will decide which secrets to keep from her, my grandson?” said Giuliano. “Who will decide what the demon should not know when he comes for her again, as you know he will? Who will decide what he cannot hear?”
    Giuliano sounded like he was taunting Emilio. He sounded cold, which was strange to me, because I thought of him as such a warm man. Emilio answered, “You will, of course, Grandfather.” But there was an edge to his voice.
    I heard them stand up and stepped back into my room as quietly as I could, hoping they didn’t hear the door click. I tiptoed to my bed and sat down, resting my palms on my knees, and stared at the shelves of books in the dark. There was a lot to think about.
    I wasn’t going to