“How does it feel again?” Branwell asked.
“Like dissonance. It is the opposite of whatever I am. I don’t think we could co-exist in the same place. And as I currently value my existence—half-formed as it is—I don’t particularly want to jeopardize it.”
Silence.
Branwell stroked his beard. “Let’s start by examining why it’s here. Is it tied to us brothers, or is it tied to Jack? We’ve both lived in this palazzo as well as the family villa, so it’s hard to say. When did you first notice the scar in Villa Maledetti, Jack?”
“I mentioned it to Tennyson several weeks ago.”
“And you two didn’t say anything to the rest of us?” Chiara shot me a decidedly judgmental scowl.
“We’re saying something now, are we not?”
Chiara’s replying look could best be described asscathing.
“Tennyson and I were pursuing it,” I continued. “The activity surrounding the purchase of my villa consumed a good deal of our time, honestly. Until the scar ruptured yesterday, there was no reason to assume it was a problem.”
Chiara opened her mouth, intent on asking her normal thirty follow-up questions.
“Leave it, Chiara.” Branwell sliced a gloved hand through the air.
“Don’t dismiss my input, Bran.” She popped a hand back onto her hip. “Over the past year, we’ve run with the assumption that Jack’s ghostliness and the D’Angelo curse are simply parallel anomalies. But they may be more closely tied than we previously thought.”
Clever. She was so very clever.
She continued, “I think the best thing we can do is test it. You said the scar in Volterra opened when you used your GUT, Tenn. Let’s try to activate it. ”
A pause while everyone absorbed this.
“Agreed,” Tennyson said.
I grimaced. Was anyone else concerned about the scar’s ghost sucking tendencies?
“Worried, Lord Knight?” Chiara’s snark reached me.
Actually . . .
Tennyson and Branwell turned to me.
“We’ll be careful.” Branwell nodded toward me. “In my past encounters with the Chucky-slime, my GUT didn’t necessarily activate it. It was a whole sequence of events. Testing the scar is the only way to learn if it is actually tied to our GUTs. We’ll keep you as safe as possible, Jack. If I activate my GUT deliberately, then it’s easy to break the connection if the scar reacts.”
“Sounds good.” Chiara slapped her hands together. “I have something I need you to read for me anyway, Bran.”
She darted out of the room, feet clacking up the stairs. She returned a few minutes later with a glittery paper cutout of what appeared to be a lightning bolt.
“This was taped to my bedpost this morning.” She handed the paper to Branwell.
We all simply stared at her.
Chiara rolled her hand. “I have no clue how it got there.”
We men all exchanged a look. The brothers, in particular, seemed . . . worried. As if the appearance of a lightning bolt were somehow more than it seemed.
“You okay, Chiara?” Tennyson asked.
Chiara whirled on him, a cat with her claws extended. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She said the words too quickly, slurring them into one:Whatsthatsupposedtomean?
