Total pages in book: 36
Estimated words: 34419 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 172(@200wpm)___ 138(@250wpm)___ 115(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 34419 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 172(@200wpm)___ 138(@250wpm)___ 115(@300wpm)
La Strega, La Strega, La Strega.
It's one of the few Italian words I've come to know...and it translates to 'the witch' in English.
Chapter Two
Penelope
THE RAIN'S COME TO a complete stop by the time we arrive at the airport, and I follow behind La Strega as we climb the airsteps leading up to her private five-seater jet. The old me would have taken a million pictures by now, but a lot has changed since then...the first of which is not having my own cellphone like I used to.
I feel myself growing numb as I fasten my seatbelt, and it's only when the pilot announces we're about to take off for Boston that I find out where we're going.
Not good, dude.
I've watched my share of murder-and-slasher flicks, and the only reason bad guys (or bad witches in this case) let their captives know where they're being taken is because they also know those poor souls won't live long enough to tattle.
A cabin attendant pops by my seat as soon as the light for the seatbelt sign switches off. "The shower is ready for your use, signorina."
"I'm not—-"
La Strega looks at me. "Do take a shower. Please."
"But—-"
"To put it bluntly, bambina—-you need one. Per favore."
It's easy to figure out those words mean 'please'...and it's equally easy to understand that her words aren't really a request.
Oh well.
I do kinda stink, anyway, and so I unfasten my seatbelt and dutifully follow behind the cabin attendant, who introduces herself as Rita as she gives me a quick tour of La Strega's jet. The one bedroom available on board is for the signora's private use, the pantry is on the other end, and as we finally make it to our last stop—-
"We've prepared toiletries and fresh towels," Rita says as she opens the door to the shower, "and there's also a selection of dresses to choose from."
"Thanks, Rita."
"Just call out if you need anything else."
Translation: I'm on strict orders to make sure you no longer stink by the time we land.
I close the door on Rita's smiling face, and in a matter of minutes, I've officially joined the mile-high club for showers.
Yay for me.
In my old life, this would've made me the envy of everyone in school, and it almost makes me want to fool myself into thinking that today can be the start of a good thing.
Almost.
But I can't...since bad memories have already crawled out of the woodwork, and I nearly hyperventilate in my effort not to let a single sob out.
Stop! Stop! Stop!
I squeeze my eyes shut, and I keep them shut until my body finally ceases to tremble.
La Strega glances up when I return to my seat, and she nods approvingly when she sees I've ditched my rags for a cowl-necked woolen dress with loose-fitting long sleeves and a skirt that swings around my legs.
"A lovely choice," La Strega compliments.
"Uh...thanks." It feels awkward to be polite to one's kidnapper, but since I've also been raised to always mind my Ps and Qs, it feels next to impossible to just be rude without reason.
Rita comes back to ask if I'd like anything to eat, and I tell her right away I'd love a sandwich if there's any. 'Empty stomachs often lead to stupid decisions' is another thing I've learned from being homeless, and I need all of my wits with me when dealing with a powerful real-life witch.
I can feel the older woman watching me as I take a bite of my sandwich, and I make sure to chew slowly even though I'm tempted to wolf the whole thing down in seconds. Hunger is a sign of weakness, and I still don't know her well enough to reveal any chinks in my armor.
"You still don't trust me," La Strega comments.
Will she kill me if I lie...or will she kill me if I tell the truth?
She's La Strega, after all, and I still remember every gruesome story I've heard about her from other homeless folks.
They say she was once a simple housewife in her fifties...when a group of men had gunned down her husband and son in an attempt to take over the Marchettis' billion-dollar empire. Everyone had thought she would quietly fade into the night after that...but instead she had been reborn from tragedy, and Potenziana had singlehandedly wreaked vengeance on everyone who had conspired against her family. It was only after everyone in her shit list was six feet under that she and the rest of the Marchettis had barricaded themselves in Boston, and since then people in the streets had liked to scare themselves with stories about La Strega and her "crazy" appetite for righting wrongs.
I nearly jump out of my seat when the older woman places her hand over mine.
"I'm not your enemy, bambina."
I look at her hand, which is smaller and frailer than what I imagined it would be like. This was not the hand of a witch, but of a woman who had lost the people she loved the most...like I have.