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

by Kerri Maniscalco

“By earth, moon, and stone, bless this hearth, bless this home.”

wandering around a graveyard under the light of a full moon and an angry storm seemed appealing

Nonna feared they romanticized demons too much.

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.

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.

Living in a world without my sister felt dark and wrong.

Three weeks of laying in her bed in our shared room, crying into the sheets that were slowly fading with her lavender and white sage scent. On good days I came downstairs and sat before the fire in our kitchen, staring into the flames. I imagined myself burning.

Mood

Young women died. Life resumed. Such was the way of the world, at least according to men.

Men

No one cared that Vittoria had been slaughtered like an animal. Some more-vicious gossips even hinted that she must have deserved it. She’d somehow asked for it by being too bold, or confident, or ungodly. If she’d only been a little quieter, or more subservient, she might have been spared. As if anyone deserved to be murdered.

Men

In the end, the monster we feared didn’t come from Hell. He came from privilege.

I balled my hand into a fist and aimed for his center. It was like hitting a rock wall. The demon stood there, allowing my assault to continue. While I exhausted myself with kicks and punches, he calmly looked around the chamber, enraging me more with his nonchalance.

“Bit of advice, witch. Yelling, ‘I’m going to kill you’ takes the surprise out of the attack.” He grunted as I landed a swift blow to his stomach.

“Maybe I can’t kill you, but I’ll find other ways to make you suffer.” “Trust me, your very presence is accomplishing that.”

trading blood with a demon wasn’t my ideal evening, either, but here we were.

If Nonna knew I’d not only summoned one of the Malvagi, but almost willingly entered into a blood trade with one . . . I closed my eyes and fought the urge to lay down. Nonna might stop pounding the chicken and walk herself off the nearest cliff instead.

“better the devil you know than the devil you don’t”

“I’ll fix this. But you have to grant me permission. Do you?” I tried to nod, but could barely move. He crouched beside me, placed his hands on either side of my head, and repeated the question. He must have felt the nearly imperceptible movement this time—before the next wave of pain struck, he was a blur of action.

I tried to imagine Antonio sneaking around at night, murdering young women. I’d say Wrath was wrong, but I knew enough of man to believe that anyone was capable of anything at any time.

Men

I promise you, there is no strategic value in getting lost in emotional entanglements. Hone your anger and sorrow into weapons of use, or go back home and cry until the monsters come for you. Because come for you they will.”

“Do we have anything planned tonight?” “Yes.” “Has someone else made a deal with Pride?” He nodded. “Isabella Crisci.” “When do we leave?” “Dusk.” I tugged the pillow out from behind him, stuffed it under my head, and closed my eyes. A solid thirty seconds of blessed silence passed before he poked me in the ribs. I cracked an eye. “Do that again, and I’ll slap you with a containment spell.” “What are you doing?” “Preparing for war. Now go away.”

Only an asshole would think a pretty dress made up for a broken promise, though.

I finally understood why he’d brought the flowers. They weren’t meant for the ritual. They were for me.

“There are victors and victims. Decide who you want to be. Or the choice will be made for you, witch. And I doubt you’ll like it.” I threw my head back and groaned. “It’s a game of scopa, not a battle between life and death. Are you always this dramatic?” Wrath scowled from behind his hand-painted cards. “Valuable lessons are often learned from games of strategy. Only fools discredit them.” “And only an ornery creature from Hell gets this serious over a simple card game.”

“My world is broken down into one simple principle: I believe I’m powerful, therefore I am.

Fear made monsters of men.

So I sat there, beside the drying blood of my worst enemy, and wept.

If the world as I knew it was ending, I deserved a drink before I made a deal with the devil.

A small gold ring hammered into olive branches sat on a bed of crushed velvet. It was simple but beautiful. I picked it up and slipped it onto my forefinger. It fit perfectly. My heart twisted. I knew exactly why he’d left it for me. During ancient Roman times, an olive branch was given by an enemy as a gesture of peace.

“By earth, blood, and bone. I invite thee. Come, enter this realm of man. Join me. Bound in this circle, until I send thee home.”