"You might as well tell me everything so I know whether or not you are going to be trouble for me," Marcella insisted.
On her right, Cosimo said, "You say that like you aren't going to be trouble for me. Us, I mean. The family."
"Right," Bridget said, trying not to laugh. "You're definitely going to be trouble forthe family."
Marcella drank more wine. "You want me to go first?"
"Yes," Yelena said, studying her. "I've never seen magic like yours before."
"Truly? It's not exactly unique here in Italy."
"Yelena was born in Faerie," Cosimo explained. "This is her first time in Europe."
Marcella's mind instantly filled with a hundred questions. "I've never met anyone from Faerie before. How delightful. To answer your question, my magic is a form of Benedicaria. It is folk magic mixed with some pagan and Christian beliefs, like petitioning saints and angels for help. There are also elements of natural healing."
Bridget hummed. "That explains the books and papers you have written. Do you use any of the older practices that you have unearthed from the Renaissance and earlier?"
"You have read my work?" Marcella rested a hand on her cheek. "I'm flattered. And yes, some of the practices I have written about I have incorporated into my own. I believe everyone's magic and the way we access it is unique. I take what works for me and leave the rest."
"Almost like my trash magic," Reeve said thoughtfully and then explained his own magical abilities to her.
"So you take literal trash and transmute it?" Marcella lifted her glass. "If I had your ability, I can only imagine what I could have turned mystronzoex-husband into."
Cosimo choked on his wine as he tried not to laugh, and she winked at him. Too late, she realized his children were studying their interactions. She quickly asked who was next in the magical show-and-tell.
Marcella could only sit back and wonder at the talent around her. She had always assumed that the rumors about the magical power in the Greatdrakes family were mainly bullshit. Now she knew otherwise. She angled herself toward Cosimo.
"What about you? What's your specialty? Apart from frustrating the research of unsuspecting witches, I mean," she teased, the wine washing away some of her nerves.
"I am like Valentine and don't have a specialty. I like to do a bit of everything," Cosimo replied. He graced her with his panty-melting smile. "Including frustrating witches."
In more ways than one,Marcella's treacherous brain prompted. She cleared her throat and asked, "What about your research? Why are you stealing my books all the time?"
"Can't you guess?" he asked.
Marcella bit the inside of her cheek and put down her glass. "Shall I use my witchy powers to read your mind?"
"You can try." Cosimo rested his elbow on the table and propped his head up in his hand. "Take your best guess…and no giving her any hints, children."
There was a challenging gleam in his eyes that went a little bit further than playfulness. Marcella couldn't resist. She took his other hand and pretended to read his palm. He had long fingers and a few calluses in places that surprised her. Usually, academics didn't have any of those.
"Careful, Cosimo, she might actually be able to do it," Charlotte teased, her smile widening.
"She can definitely do it," Yelena said with a knowing look.
Marcella turned back to his palm and lightly traced her fingers over the lines. "Oh, I see. How interesting."
"What?" Cosimo asked, trying hard to be serious. "Is there a dark-haired and mysterious stranger I'm going to fall in love with in my future?"
Marcella cocked a brow. "Do you want there to be?"
His teasing smile reappeared. "Stop stalling and make your guess."
Marcella closed her eyes and stopped playing. She got quick flashes of books, old portraits, ledgers, and a tomb of green stone. She recognized that tomb in an instant.
"I knew it," she said, opening her eyes. "You are looking for Cosimo Medici's legendary grimoire."
The smile slipped off Cosimo's face, and the table erupted in jeers and catcalls. Marcella ran her thumb over his palm once more before dropping his hand.
