Kingdom of the Wicked (Kingdom of the Wicked, #1)

by Kerri Maniscalco

The devil demanded retribution. A blood sacrifice for power stolen. It

cornicello

The devil was on the prowl. Or one of his wicked brothers was.

Malvagi.

seven ruling princes of Hell.

One didn’t steal from the devil and go unpunished.

An offering of balance between light and dark. A gift for what had been stolen all those years ago. As above, so below.

“In the fire! You know better than to leave things for those who practice le arti oscure.”

Scrye?

busiate.”

Easter

A grandmother’s love was its own sort of powerful magic.

“There are seven demon princes, but only four di Carlos should fear: Wrath, Greed, Envy, and Pride. One will crave your blood. One will capture your heart. One will steal your soul. And one will take your life.”

They’d already heard so much, and if the ancient prophecy held true, she feared the worst was yet to come. “You just will.”

Emilia didn’t tell her sister she’d been irrevocably changed—from that evening forward, whenever she held her cornicello and concentrated, she saw what she’d call luccicare. A faint shimmer or aura surrounding a person.

Le arti oscure

trattoria,

her bronze cheeks flushed and her dark eyes bright. There was something different about her. And I had a strong suspicion it was because of a certain young vendor in the market. Domenico Nucci Junior.

Cooking was magic and music combined.

I adored each part of being in a kitchen with my family. I couldn’t imagine a more perfect way to spend an evening.

It means they’re no fools. The devil’s stirring the seas, and they’ll have nothing to do with his offerings.”

“You know as well as I do it’s a sign the Malvagi have arrived, Nicoletta. They’ve come to collect.

death didn’t discriminate between paradise and hell.

Streghe.

Old legends claimed the Wicked were sent to make bargains and retrieve souls for the devil, not kill.

strega

Fratello

Now, unbeknownst to him, we were enemies. He belonged to the church and I was a witch.

Man had a funny way of blaming the devil for things he didn’t like. It was strange that we were called evil when humans were the ones who enjoyed watching us burn.

His dark eyes glittered

I didn’t doubt that. After Antonio’s mother died suddenly last summer, he’d surprised everyone when he left home and started his religious life.

“Your nonna isn’t the only one who thinks demons have arrived.”

I looked over at my sister who’d been unusually quiet all morning. Something was troubling her. After I told her about my dream last night, she seemed on the verge of confiding in me.

Then, something quietly began calling me. Slow and insistent; a silent buzzing I couldn’t push aside.

A slight tug in my center, a summoning I had no hope of fighting. I

There was something else odd… something… I grabbed my cornicello and concentrated on his aura; his luccicare wasn’t lavender, but a shimmering, multitoned black with specks of gold. It reminded me of Nonna’s titanium quartz. I’d never seen anything like it before.

“Liar.”

The silent calling was back in force, urging me to listen closely. I shoved the whispers into the deepest recesses of my mind.

Magic is a living, breathing entity; it thrives on the energy you give it. Like all forces of nature, it is neither good nor bad—it simply becomes based on the user’s intent. Feed it love and it blossoms and grows. Nourish it with hate and it will deliver hate back to you tenfold.

There were a hundred different choices laid out before me, and I’d done nothing.

The drip slowed. It meant something—the absence of it. I couldn’t think of it now. The strange whispering finally grew too quiet to hear. Like whatever had caused it had moved far away.

The delicate bodice, destroyed, her cornicello missing, her— I screamed. Her heart had been ripped from her chest.

To celebrate the victory of life over death their blessed saint brought them all those years ago.

“Little witch all alone.”

“Memories, like hearts, can be stolen.”

“He wishes to remember, but only forgets. He’s coming here soon.”

plumeria,

A good book was its own brand of magic, one I could safely indulge in without fear of

getting caught by those who hunted us. I loved escaping from reality, especially during times of trouble. Stories made everything possible.

polizia,

‘When witch blood spills across Sicily, take your daughters and hide. The Malvagi have arrived.’