Beyond death

Midnight at the lake

Alessandro POV

Mate.The word hung in the air like a spell, foreign yet undeniably hers. My niece’s voice—or something using her voice—had spoken it before she collapsed into unconsciousness. The sound was unfamiliar, almost primal. In the Marconi family, tales of werewolves and witches had been whispered through generations, but I had always thought them remnants of a bygone era. My grandfather was said to be the last Lupo Mannaro, a werewolf, in our bloodline. When he passed, I believed the lineage ended with him. My father’s casual mentions of these stories had faded into the background of my childhood, dismissed as folklore.

But now, those stories were resurfacing with terrifying clarity. I had once heard rumors of old family journals tucked away in the attic of Frankie and Alba’s home, the ancestral Marconi residence that had stood for four generations. It traced back to our great-grandparents’ migration from northern Italy—upper Tuscany—when my grandfather was just ten. The family’s werewolf heritage was a closely guarded secret, and since neither my father, Sofia, nor I inherited the gene, I assumed it had vanished. I had never felt the need to share this with anyone. Not Sofia. Not Frankie. Not even Enzo, though he knew nearly everything about me.

But now I had no choice. Alba’s transformation changed everything. How was I going to explain this? How could I?

Enzo’s family had embraced me after Sofia’s death. They treated me like one of their own, and I drifted between their home and Frankie’s during my teenage years. Despite their kindness, I never felt settled. Commitment wasn’t my strength, and I avoided the memories tied to the family home. I left it to Frankie and Alba. But now, that house might hold the answers—in journals, in whispers from the past—to the curse we faced.

The urgency gripped me. I needed to act. Somewhere in my childhood, I had heard about a prophecy: a curse like the one on the lake, breakable only by a wolf-witch hybrid. The idea had seemed like fantasy then. But now, here was Alba, my niece, embodying that mix. The clock read 11:15 p.m. In less than forty-five minutes, the summer solstice would begin. Enzo had told me that around 11:45 p.m., the spirits would begin their journey back to the lake. If Alba truly possessed spirit magic, as Enzo did, her presence was crucial.

“Enzo, she’s still unconscious. It’s getting colder, and we need to head to the lake in about fifteen minutes. Can we go inside until then?” I asked, glancing at her limp form in his arms.

“Of course, let’s head inside now,” Martina, Frankie’s mother, responded.

Enzo cradled Alba in a protective hold, her head resting gently against his shoulder. She looked peaceful, almost as if she were merely asleep. But the power she had absorbed—and the awakening of her wolf—must have taken a toll.

“Hey, everyone, there’s something I need to share,” I said, breaking the silence. “It’s best I explain before Alba wakes up, so we’re all prepared.” My voice was uncharacteristically serious.

Frankie turned to me, frowning. “What is it, Ale?”

“Did Sofia ever mention the Lupo Mannaro to you? Our connection to him?” I directed the question specifically at Frankie.

“No. What does this have to do with Alba?” His frustration was evident.

“We believed the werewolf lineage died with our grandfather, but he was a Lupo Mannaro,” I said. “With the way Alba said ‘mate’ to Enzo before passing out, I believe the werewolf gene skipped two generations and returned in her.”

“Wait. What?!” Frankie’s voice rose in disbelief.

Before I could respond, Alba stirred. Her eyes fluttered open, and she looked groggily around the room. “What happened? Why are you all yelling?” she murmured.

Enzo tightened his hold, his protective aura unmistakable. Frankie approached cautiously, sitting beside her. “Honey, Alessandro was just telling us about the werewolf lineage in his family. Is it true? Do you have a wolf?”

Alba nodded slowly. “Yes, it’s true, papà. Her name is Siena.”

Alba POV

The time I spent unconscious felt like an eternity, yet it was only moments. During that time, I bonded with my wolf. Siena had always been with me, watching my life unfold, but she had remained dormant. She explained that my seventeenth birthday should have awakened our connection, but my bound magic had delayed it. Now, with my magic unbound, we could communicate—though shifting would take a few days. I wasn’t sure if I was ready. The pain of unbinding my magic had been unbearable; would this be worse?

As my mind cleared, I felt Enzo’s strong arms around me. His presence was grounding. But then I noticed something that made my heart stop.

“Mamma?” I squeaked.

Standing next to papà was my mother. She looked older than I remembered, her features tired but beautiful. She had been nineteen when she sacrificed herself. Now, she appeared closer to papà’s age. She wasn’t fully solid, her form slightly translucent, yet undeniably real.

“You can see her too?” Enzo’s voice whispered in my ear.

I turned to him, wide-eyed. “Can’t everyone?”

“No,” papà interjected. “It’s not midnight yet. Only you and Enzo can see her because you both possess spirit magic.”

Before I could respond, Nonno’s voice broke the tension. “We need to go to the lake now. Everyone, get in the carriages. We’ll sort this out there.”

My mother stepped closer, her translucent form glowing faintly. “Amore, I’m sorry we kept the truth from you for so long. I’m glad you know now. Ti amo.” She disappeared before I could reply.

Tears stung my eyes, but Enzo squeezed my hand. “She’ll be at the lake,” he said softly.

The ride to Lake Bracciano was surreal. As we moved through the quiet streets, I saw ghostly figures walking along the footpaths. Some moved with purpose, others flickered in and out of sight.

“Do you see them?” I asked Enzo.

He nodded. “They’re the spirits of those sacrificed. Once a year, they return to the lake over the three days of the summer solstice.”

When we arrived, the shore was alive with families, each gathered around wooden markers bearing names. At our family’s marker—“Sofia Marconi”—my mother waved at me. As the clock struck midnight, the spirits walked into the lake, their forms solidifying as they emerged. My mother embraced me, her touch warm despite her ethereal appearance.

“How I’ve missed you, my sweet daughter,” she said.

“I’ve missed you too, mamma.”

Our reunion was interrupted by a piercing scream. My head snapped toward the sound. A crowd was rushing toward Giovanni and his family. Giovanni, the waiter from Enzo’s and my date, looked terrified. The serene beauty of the lake shattered as tension surged through the air.

“Alba,” Siena’s voice echoed in my mind, urgent and sharp. “Be ready. Something dark is here.”