Some type of black bird—I’d seen them before but had no idea what type—swooped down, landing on the slide, watching us with a wary but hopeful eye. I still had some bread on the sleigh.
Brando glanced at the bird, at me, and then told Mia they were going to try to feed it. He tore off a piece of the loaf and she flung it.
In a ruffle of black feathers, he took off, perching higher in a tree—deliberating. Was it worth the bait?
Brando lowered his voice, then showed Mia how to toss the bread so the bird would feel more comfortable coming for the food.
Her eyebrows lifted in a move that was definitely his. She leaned close to his face and whispered, “Irdie?”
The grin he gave her completely transformed his face. If there was anyone who could make Brando Fausti smile, it was his daughter.
Feeling more confident, the bird swooped down, snatched a piece of bread, and then took it back to his perch.
Mia pointed at it but kept quiet, staring, like Brando was telling her to do, whispering in her ear.
The bird, satisfied that the bread was good enough to attempt another chance, came down again. This time it hopped a little at a time, cautious, but brave enough to snatch another piece and then fly off, as though it was never there to begin with.
“It’s a bit ghostly,” I said, staring at the open space the bird had vacated. “How fast they move, leaving no trace.”
Brando’s stare broke mine, and I looked at him.
“Every living thing leaves a print,” he said, wearing a serious expression, eyes intent. “If it bleeds, it has to. Fingerprint, footprint, there’s always a trail to follow. You have his scent. You’ll find his trail. You’ll lead me to him.”
“How can you be so certain?” I asked, feeling as frustrated as ever.
The pressure was mounting to beat the monster on ourtrail. Admitting that I only knew that someone had betrayed us, but not who, was as good as admitting defeat.
“Look at the snow, Scarlett,” he said, nodding to the area. “Tell me what you see.”
“Irdie,” Mia whispered. “Amma.”
“Pretty birdie.” I smiled at her. Then I looked—really looked. The bird had left footprints in the snow, but the falling drifts, even as slow as they fell, covered the slight tracks in no time.
“Wait,” Brando said, still giving me the serious expression.
The bird came and went as his leisure, though he was still a bit quirky.
Mia became over excited and threw the last piece of bread, this time startling the fragile creature, sending it off in a blast of inky feathers that left one drifting to the ground.
“There it is,” Brando whispered. “It’ll come.”
“If not?” I huddled closer into my coat, suddenly feeling chillier than I had before.
“He’ll come to us, and I’ll deal with him. Now.” He stood, swooped Mia up, and then held out his hand to me. “Let’s take a horse-drawn carriage home.”
“Orsie!”
31
Scarlett
“La vita con te è una favola,” I whispered, handing Brando a glass of whiskey.
Keeping my hand on his shoulder, I slipped around the front of the chair he’d positioned in front of the glass wall in the bedroom, situating myself on his lap, and we both stared out at the cold snow and burning stars.
The glass stilled at his lips. “Life with me is a fairy tale, ah?” He took a drink, then rested the hand with the glass on the arm of the chair, the liquid burning amber in the lambency of the night’s lights. His other hand caressed down my black-stocking clad leg. “Who am I in the tale of our lives? Hero or villain, my wife?”
Grinning, I leaned down, close enough for him to steal a kiss. He went to, but I moved away in time. His face turned hard, except for his molten eyes, and his caress on my leg turned into a hard grip on my knee.
