Beyond death

Discovering family truths

Alba POV

I awoke from what felt like the most restful sleep I'd had in a long time.

The room was gradually brightening as dawn approached, a sign that we were drawing closer to the summer solstice. Summer in Italy lingered, especially since we didn't have the frequent breaks that other countries enjoyed throughout the year. Our holidays were limited to less than two weeks at Christmas and only the Easter weekend, with the main summer break spanning from mid-June to mid-September. The fickle nature of Italian summer weather was evident – a day could start at a comfortable 28 degrees Celsius and then suddenly spike to 40 degrees, reminding us that summer had well and truly arrived!

Around 9 am, I finally roused from sleep, making my way downstairs to the kitchen.

“Buongiorno, sweetheart. I was up early and picked up some pastries from the bar down the road for breakfast,” papà greeted me as I reached the kitchen bar.

“Good morning, papa. Thank you. Yum!” I replied, offering a quick peck on his cheek to convey my gratitude, and then I helped myself to a croissant filled with apricot jam. The puffy, sweet, crumbly pastry satisfied my morning hunger in all the right places.

“I'm heading out shortly to visit your grandparents and Giulia. I won't be back until late this afternoon, so enjoy your lunch and be good. I know you always are, but you’ve never shown much interest in dating before, so I just feel I need to tell you that as your father.” He winked at me.

I could feel my cheeks turning red. Thankfully, I had already received "the talk" from Zia Giulia when I turned fifteen. Back then, I assured her that I wasn't interested in anyone at the moment, so she didn't need to worry. However, I hadn't had the chance to update her that someone interesting had unexpectedly entered my life, going beyond the realm of just being Zio's best friend.

"Don't worry, papà. I'll be good. Ti voglio bene. See you this afternoon."

He picked up his keys from the bench, making his way to the front door. I realized he must have been waiting for me to wake up and come downstairs before leaving for the day.

"Ciao bella."

"Bye, papà!" I called after him.

The car engine rumbled to life and gradually faded away as it pulled out of the driveway. Finally, I was alone. I decided to treat myself to some warm coffee from the recently brewed moka, adding a teaspoon of sugar to sweeten it just right. A delicious donut caught my eye among the pasties that papà had picked up for breakfast, so I indulged in that as well.

Once I had savoured the last bite of my donut, I took a moment to wipe down the bench, clearing away the crumbs and sugar that found their way from the crossiant and the donut. With a clean surface, I place my espresso cup in the sink, intending to wash it later.

A sudden realisation struck me. I was alone, and papà wouldn't be back anytime soon. With some time on my hands before getting ready for my lunch date with Enzo, I found myself in the kitchen, the door to the servant's pantry beckoning me, practically calling my name to open it and explore.

Papà never locked it, and I had always respected his request not to go in. However, today was different. Enough was enough; curiosity got the better of me. What secrets hid behind that door? I had to know.

Approaching the wooden oak door, a sense of naughtiness came over me. Always a well-behaved child, I had dutifully listened to papà's instructions. But as I approached eighteen, the feeling of no longer being a child intensified. I felt an undeniable need to uncover what lay behind that forbidden door.

The door creaked open as I pushed forward, revealing an unexpected site on the other side.

Stepping into the room, I was taken aback by its size, it was much bigger than I had realised. In the center, there was a small table adorned with an antique-looking book, open on a specific page. A mortar and pestle sat nearby, surrounded by an array of herbs and other mysterious ingredients.

On either side of the walls, there were shelves. One held a collection of books resembling the one on the table, while the other was stocked with an assortment of herbs, powders and peculiar-looking substances. It became apparent that papà was concocting something intriguing in this room.

I approached the table, eager to uncover the secrets hidden within the book. Why was papà keeping this from me? If he enjoyed creating herbal remedies, that wouldn't have been a cause for concern. However, as I examined the contents of the book, I was taken aback by the inscription:

"To unbind hidden magic."

Magic? The word echoed in my mind, leaving me puzzled. Carefully preserving the page, I turned to the beginning of the book—“Il Grimorio di Jacopo Benevento 1805-1855,” the Grimoire of Jacopo Benevento. Grimoire? A spell book? I recalled fragments of the history of the Benevento witches, my family's origin before settling in Bracciano. Though I had never visited, and my family rarely spoke about it, dismissing it as myth, I now found myself questioning the reality of it all. Had I stumbled upon my father's spell room? Was papà a witch? Did that make his family witches, and by extension, me? Despite lacking any powers that I was aware of, a sense of intuition lingered within me, guiding me to the right things at the right time.

Gently placing the Grimoire back to preserve its secrets, I shifted my attention to the other books neatly arranged on the shelf. At the end, one book caught my eye, looking notably more modern than its companions. I hesitated before opening it, revealing the title: "Il Grimorio di Francesco Benevento 1985-."

I couldn't bring myself to explore further. Shock surged through me, papà was a witch, and he had concealed it from me my entire life. How could I confront him about this revelation? If he possessed a collection of family spell books, it meant my grandparents and likely my aunt were also involved in witchcraft. The implications left me grappling with the truth I had stumbled upon.

With cautious hands, I returned papà's spell-book to its place, leaving the room with a weighty revelation settling over me. It felt as though my entire life had been a carefully constructed facade. Did this imply that witnessing Mamma every Summer Solstice wasn't the miraculous event I had always believed it to be? How was I supposed to proceed with this newfound knowledge on my mind, especially considering the lunch date with Enzo looming ahead? Could I share such thoughts with him? Despite sensing that I could confide in him without judgment, the idea of discussing real-life witches with anyone seemed strangely surreal and challenging.

Countless folktales, rich with enchanting narratives, had woven themselves into the tapestry of Italian culture. But now, I couldn't shake the lingering suspicion that these tales might not be mere flights of fancy; they could be steeped in truth. Questions swirled within me, outnumbering the answers. To whom could I turn for answers? How could I broach the subject with papà, confronting the secret he had guarded so closely throughout my existence? The weight of the discovery pressed upon me, leaving me with a sense of uncertainty about what lay ahead.