Fiore pulls over into a scruffy clearing beside a wheat field shimmering like a red-hot skillet.
The heat hasn't let up, not even in the afternoon.
So… here we are. Nowhere in particular, in the province of Verona.
All around us, the classic Po Valley scenery: scorched earth, dry ditches, and stretches of land that repeat themselves endlessly, like an image copy-pasted too many times.
Romina pops out of the car, stretching like a blissed-out cat.
"Best nap ever, guys. I needed that," she chirps. Then she looks around. "Okay, Fiore. Where the hell are we?"
He's leaning against the door, a cigarette resting on his lips. His fingers flick the lighter with that lazy, effortless grace that seems custom-designed to send my brain into buffering mode.
One drag. One exhale. Then he looks us over.
"Near the Adige. Although…" He tilts his head. "To be honest, I'm not exactly sure where to go from here."
"What do you mean?" I ask, stepping out too. "Didn't you say you had a friend around here?"
He scratches his head, wearing that look halfway between okay, I messed up and don't start lecturing me.
"I do. He used to live up in Lessinia, but he moved out this way. I just don't know the exact spot."
His gaze drifts to the golden ocean of wheat. "Last time I saw him, it was at a wedding. In a farmhouse nearby…"
"A wedding?" I repeat, thrown off.
Even the Fantastic get married? The idea feels bizarre, for some reason. My mind starts conjuring improbable guests and rituals from another worl—
"What movie is starting in your head, Milo?" he chuckles, cutting me off.
He takes another drag, amused.
"It was a completely normal wedding. Regular people."
Then he taps my nose with a finger. "We heard music… and crashed it."
"Ah. Right. That tracks," I mutter, clearing my throat and trying to ignore the heat in my cheeks. "Crashing parties uninvited is very on-brand for you," I add, thinking of his entrance back in Granzette.
Fiore laughs, light and carefree, then hooks a thumb toward a thin dirt path running along the field.
"Come on. Best thing is to grab our stuff and head that way on foot. Last time we met up just a bit further ahead. Maybe his place really is close."
"So today's hike is the Camino de Santiago, Veneto edition. Sweat version," Romina grumbles, slamming the trunk shut. She hands me the backpack with the sword inside. "First the mountains, now the plains at forty degrees…"
I take the backpack with a smile and sling it over my shoulders. The fabric sticks to me instantly, like a second, scorching skin.
I sigh.
Some days, I miss the industrial air-conditioning of my old office. Everything else can rot.
Fiore stubs out his cigarette and slips the butt into a small container, then we set off along the dirt road.
We walk under the blazing sun for a good half hour. Somewhere in the distance, a tractor grumbles, its plow carving the field with stubborn slowness. Around us, a constant buzz of insects, cicadas especially, perched in the sparse trees lining the path. The few patches of shade offer no real relief.
Romina lags behind me, her shoes now brown with dust.
"You holding up, Romie?" I ask.
"Yeah… if the sun were less aggressive, this might even be a cute walk." She pants, then looks up. "Isn't it supposed to set eventually?"
I follow her gaze.
"Another hour or so. But look." I point at the horizon. Gray streaks cut through the sky; the sun is already breaking behind fast-moving clouds. "We might get a bit of a break."
"Uh… those clouds are moving really fast," Romina says.
Too fast.
My voice drops without me meaning to. "And the wind…?"
We all stop at once.
For a split second, the world hangs still.
Then the temperature plunges. Cold slaps our backs like an omen.
No one needs to say it.
Demons.
"Move. Into the wheat," Fiore orders.
We dive into the field, running through golden corridors. I clutch Romina's hand as the sky seals shut above us like a storm-heavy cloak. Guttural sounds echo around us; it's like the air itself is snarling.
Fiore shoots ahead. The spiked knuckle-dusters are already on his hands.
I keep running until my lungs burn and I lose any sense of direction.
Then Romina yanks me back.
"Wait—Milo—I can't—"
We stop dead.
She bends over, hands on her knees, breath ragged. I drop the backpack and draw the sword without thinking.
A low mist creeps up from the ground. Visibility plummets.
I don't see Fiore.
I don't call out. That would be turning us into a beacon.
Romina pulls out her daggers. Her hands shake, but her gaze is steady.
We press back to back.
I've got you, Romie.
The guttural noises draw closer. Louder. More real.
Then it happens.
A snarl rips the air apart and a demon dives from above, claws first.
I swing.
The blade intercepts it mid-air. The impact jolts my arms brutally, but I don't let go.
The creature crashes into the wheat. A massive canine, milky eyes. Black smoke unravels from its body.
The noise draws more out of the field. Shapes burst through the corridors: a tight pack, mouths open, fangs bared.
Behind me, Romina screams.
I spin just in time to see one of them leap at her. Her daggers flash, but an extra claw tears into her arm.
She cries out, and my chest tightens painfully.
Then a metallic crash from above.
Fiore drops from the sky with brutal force. His knuckle-dusters slice through the air. Two demons hit the ground.
"They're coming from every side!" he shouts, dropping a third with a brutal hook. "There's an old farmhouse ahead—move!"
I try to shield Romina, swinging wildly, no technique, no breath left. Just panic.
Most of my strikes hit nothing. Creatures pour in from every direction. The wheat that sheltered us now traps us, tangling every movement.
Romina forces herself upright and bolts forward. I follow, stumbling.
Fiore covers us like a force of nature, but for every demon that falls, another takes its place. The pack seems endless.
Then the wheat parts.
Ahead, a ruined farmhouse swallowed by vines. Half the roof has collapsed.
We throw ourselves inside what looks like an old kitchen.
Fiore grabs the door and slams it shut. An instant later, demons crash against it.
"Milo! Something for the door!" he snarls, bracing it with everything he has.
Romina is already climbing onto a rusted stove, trying to shove it down by herself.
I rush to her side. Together we drag it across the floor and wedge it against the entrance. Fiore piles bricks and broken beams on top as the barricade shudders under the impacts.
We hold our breath.
It holds.
"At least the windows are sealed…" Romina pants.
"Yeah, but that hole in the roof—"
I look up. Gray sky looms overhead.
"They can't come in from there… right?"
Fiore doesn't look away from the opening. He wipes sweat from his brow with his forearm.
"Let's hope."
His hands are smeared with black, acrid blood. My stomach churns.
Then I see Romina's arm.
She's bleeding more than I thought.
"Shit—let me see, Romie."
I drop the sword and kneel beside her, digging blindly through the backpack. Bandages, gauze, disinfectant, all jumbled together.
My hands shake as I clean the wound.
"Does it hurt?"
She shakes her head, jaw clenched.
Fuck! Not again…
"Fiore, we can't hold like this. Not with what we can do right now."
My voice trembles, thick with panic and frustration. "I need to figure out how to exorcise. And I needed to figure it out yesterday."
Fiore hurls a chunk of wood against the wall.
"There are too many! I thought they'd stay hidden during the day—I thought—" He clenches his fists. "I dropped my guard like a rookie."
"You couldn't have known," I say quickly, stuffing the supplies back into the pack and grabbing the sword. "There was no way to predict this."
But he doesn't hear me.
Something is rising in him. I feel it before I see it: a dark knot that twists my stomach, steals my breath along with his.
Without thinking, I grab him by the neck and force him to look at me.
"Hey."
My voice comes out impossibly calm.
"Look at me."
His eyes lock onto mine.
And that crushing tension inside both of us… slips away.
The knot loosens.
Fiore inhales sharply, like breaking the surface after being underwater.
"Yeah…" he murmurs, dazed. "I couldn't have known."
I let go instantly, heart hammering.
He blinks, then turns away as if nothing happened.
I stare at my hand.
What… what did I just do?
A memory flashes back: Fiore's words in that dusty office.
"An empathic Intuitive doesn't just 'understand' others. The skilled ones can even influence others' emotions."
I swallow.
My chest tightens. A sick feeling crawls up my spine.
Oh no.
I press a hand to my forehead, fighting panic.
You didn't do it on purpose.
Calm down, Milo.
Breathe.
One thing at a time.
"Guys… it's quiet out there," Romina says behind me.
Her voice grounds me.
I listen. She's right. The monstrous howls are gone.
"Do you think they left?" she asks, hopeful.
Fiore scans the sky and clicks his tongue. "I don't think so. The air hasn't changed."
As if to prove him right, a deep growl erupts above us.
From the hole in the roof, an enormous winged creature peers in, its massive body unmistakably canine.
We're rats in a trap.
"Oh no…" Romina whispers.
The demon tries to force itself through. It doesn't fit. The roof gives way. Bricks and beams rain down. We shield our heads as best we can.
The beast drools, its snarl twisting its muzzle into something like a crude smile.
We huddle in a corner.
Fiore steps in front of us, fists raised. His eyes search for an escape that doesn't exist.
I don't know where the strength comes from, but I step up beside him, gripping the sword with both hands.
"D-don't give up!" I shout.
Fiore spits on the floor, knuckles tightening.
"Come on, you piece of shit!" he snarls. "Get your ass down here if you've got the guts!"
The demon slams its claws down again. More debris.
Still no room to get through.
Then—
A rooster crows.
Shrill. Violent.
It echoes off the walls like an alarm.
I freeze.
Fiore, instead, bursts out laughing.
"B.G.!"