Beyond death

Secrets kept

Alba’s POV

Was that my first kiss? The thought swirled in my mind, both thrilling and unsettling. Did I accidentally kiss him? The customary cheek kisses can be confusing, and this time, I went the wrong way—straight into Enzo’s lips.

As I closed the door behind me, saying goodbye, my fingers instinctively touched my lips. A tingling sensation still lingered, like a faint electric hum, a delicate reminder of the brief, accidental kiss. My heart fluttered at the memory, and a blush crept up my cheeks. That was my first kiss. Unplanned, fleeting, but undeniably real. It left me breathless, with an unfamiliar ache for more. I wanted to feel it again—but properly, this time.

Yet, I couldn’t just lose myself in the thrill of romance. Not yet. I needed to understand him first—and this town. There were secrets Enzo was keeping from me, and I needed to uncover them before allowing myself to fall any deeper. The decision to transfer to school here wasn’t just about being near him; it was about time. Time to unravel the mysteries surrounding Enzo, his family, and this place. But there was one question pulling me back to reality: Would Papà even let me stay?

“Papà, I’m back!” I called out, stepping into the kitchen for a bottle of water. My body felt heavy with exhaustion. The day had been so long—cleaning the flat in Rome, packing my suitcase, and then the forty-five-minute drive here. I was utterly drained.

“Did you have a good meal?” Papà’s voice called from the servant’s pantry as he appeared, wearing an apron. His expression looked distracted, as if he’d been deep in concentration.

I couldn’t help but ask, “What were you doing in there, Papà? And why the apron?”

“Oh, nothing of importance,” he replied, giving me a casual smile. “I was just mixing some herbal remedies together. You know how I like to stock up on them while we’re here, for when we go back to Rome.”

I had always assumed he bought them from one of the little shops in the town centre. Realising he made them himself was a surprise. It also suggested the pantry might be more than just a storage room—perhaps there was some kind of kitchen in there. I would have to explore it the next time I had the house to myself.

“Right, well, I’m off to bed now,” I said, stifling a yawn. “Oh, and I’m meeting Enzo for lunch tomorrow. I know we usually visit Nonni and Zia Giulia, but I’ll see them over the next few days anyway, since they’re always around when Mamma comes back.”

Papà looked at me thoughtfully, his face softening with fatigue. He seemed as tired as I felt. Being the father of a daughter who had suddenly developed her first real crush must have been an adjustment for him, just as much as it was for me. I’d never shown any interest in boys before, and now here I was, preoccupied by the memory of a kiss—albeit an accidental one.

“It’s fine,” he said gently. “You’re nearly an adult now. I can’t drag you along to things like I used to when you were younger. Go on up to bed, mia dolce ragazza. Buona notte.”

“Buona notte, Papà,” I replied, leaning in to give him a goodnight kiss on the cheek before heading upstairs.

As I climbed into bed, the memory of Enzo’s lips brushing mine played over and over in my mind. It had been an accident, but it felt like a door opening to something new. Something exciting and a little bit scary. I smiled to myself, content with how the evening had gone, and drifted off to sleep—eager for tomorrow’s lunch and the secrets it might reveal.

Francesco’s POV

I knew I couldn't keep it from her much longer. The more time Alba spent with Enzo, the closer she would come to uncovering the truth about what was really happening here. The way he looked at her—like she was his entire world—left no doubt in my mind: Alba was Enzo’s soulmate. I saw it in his eyes, the same look I once gave my Sofia, that very first time I saw her in Benevento. It was a look that transcended time and space, a look born of something ancient and powerful. But that connection came with a price—a history steeped in shadow and secrets that could tear everything apart.

As an Eclectic witch, I had embraced the freedom to weave magic from various sources. Unlike multiple affinity witches, who aligned themselves with specific elements, I ventured into many kinds of magic, crafting spells from inspiration and instinct. But this freedom, this power, had also brought danger—darkness that had entwined itself with our lives, stretching across generations. And now it was closing in on Alba.

Every time we returned to Bracciano to reunite with Sofia, I found solace in my spell room. There, amidst the ancient tomes and the flickering light of enchanted candles, I searched feverishly for a cure to her affliction. Sofia might appear happy to the outside world, smiling and laughing with Alba, her maternal warmth as radiant as ever, but it was a mask. A façade. For beneath that light, she was lost—a wandering spirit when not bound to her physical form. Every day, until the Summer Solstice, she had to walk the streets of Bracciano, her spirit tethered to this cursed town, only to return to the lake at dusk. It was from the water she would rise again, whole and corporeal, but only for a time.

Sofia’s sacrifice was supposed to grant her immortality—a gift for our family, a future for Alba. But instead, it was a curse. The true horror had been hidden from us, woven into the spell by Giuseppe, my closest friend, and his father, Ludovico, the coven leader at the time. They had turned to darkness without our knowledge, convincing us that Sofia’s sacrifice would bring prosperity to future generations. But it was a lie. A deception as old and wicked as magic itself.

When the solstice came and Sofia returned to me, she told me the truth—of how she and countless others had drowned, their lives consumed by the curse to fuel Ludovico’s mad pursuit of immortality. She wasn’t truly alive; she was bound, cursed to walk between worlds, neither living nor dead. I had tried to fathom how the others in our coven could accept this, how they could remain blind to the horrors Giuseppe and Ludovico had wrought. But fear—fear of the darkness that had taken hold of Giuseppe—kept them silent, compliant.

It was then that I fled to Benevento, the town of witches, my home, where centuries of magic had intertwined with history. It was a place that had witnessed witch trials, a place where our family lineage had always been tied to the mystical forces of the earth and sky. The fabled walnut tree, the heart of our magic, still stood in the Villa Comunale di Benevento park, steeped in legend and power. But even there, in that cradle of magic, we could not escape the shadows cast by Giuseppe’s betrayal.

Leaving the coven had not been easy, but after Sofia’s sacrifice, I knew I had to protect my family from further darkness. My parents and sister had followed me to Bracciano, severing their ties with Benevento to stand by my side, united in the face of the storm. We chose to become free witches, bound to no coven, working together to unravel the threads of Sofia’s curse and find a way to break it. Our family’s magic was resilient, and so were we. But it came at a cost—one that Alba would soon have to face.

When we returned to Benevento that fateful night, it was not merely a reunion—it was a mission. My father, Matteo, had already sensed the tragedy. His seer ability, carried on the wind, had given him glimpses into the curse’s grip on Bracciano. My mother, Agnese, had seen Sofia’s spirit herself. Standing at the edge of the town, Sofia had revealed the truth to my mother. They had all been deceived.

That night, in the shadow of the ancient walnut tree, we took Alba’s fate into our hands. She was only three, too young to understand the power that coursed through her veins, too young to grasp the weight of the magic that had shaped our lives. And so, we bound her powers.

We gathered around the ancient tree, its bark weathered by centuries of magic, and chanted the binding spell. The air crackled with energy, and the wind howled through the branches, carrying our words into the night:

“Nguento, ‘nguento,

Mànnams a lu nocio è Beneviento,

Sott’a ll’acqua e sotto ô viento,

Sotto â ogne maletiempo.”

Unguent, unguent,

Send me to the walnut tree of Benevento,

Under the water and under the wind,

Under all bad weather.

Alba stood in the centre, her innocent eyes wide as we worked the magic around her. My mother placed her hands on Alba’s small shoulders, whispering the final incantations to seal her powers within. My father, with his deep connection to the wind, summoned a gust that swirled around us, carrying the spell and binding Alba’s magic to the ancient tree. We could feel the magic take hold, locking her power away until the time was right.

For years, that magic remained hidden, allowing Alba to grow up as any normal girl might. We thought we were doing what was best—protecting her from the dark forces that had scarred our family. But now, as she approached her eighteenth birthday, I could feel the magic stirring within her once more. The binding was weakening, and soon, she would begin to question everything.

Tomorrow night, when Sofia returned at midnight, we would gather as a family. We would explain to Alba why we had kept these secrets, why we had bound her magic, and what it would mean to unbind it. The time had come for her to know the truth—to understand the darkness that had shaped her life and the power that was her birthright. I only hoped that when the moment came, she would be strong enough to face it.