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REINA, 6 YEARS OLD

Dust to dust.

Ashes to ashes.

Those were the only words the priest said in English. The rest of the service was in Italian, meaning most of the visitors visiting from the States couldn’t understand.

Including me.

All I felt was tightness in my chest. My heavy breathing. Burning in my eyes.

It was an unfamiliar feeling. It was suffocating. I rubbed my chest to ease the ache. To get more oxygen into my lungs. My vision blurred—tears or panic, I didn’t know—but then Phoenix squeezed my hand, bringing my attention to the surroundings.

Air seeped into my lungs. My vision slowly cleared, and the first thing that came into focus was our papà.

He stood shattered, watching the casket lower into the family gravesite. Grandma cried, her soft sobs filling the air while my sister and I stood, eyes wide, clutching each other’s hands. My chest hurt, but I thought that was normal because Phoenix said her chest was aching too.

We stayed back as people said their condolences and left. They would go back to their lives while ours would change forever. Grandma’s husband would soon be her ex-husband, so it was just the four of us left.

“It’s time to say goodbye,” Grandma croaked, her voice trembling.

I had never seen Grandma cry, and something about it had my eyes burning. “I d-don’t want to s-say goodbye.” A hiccup escaped me and I wiped my nose with the back of my hand. “I want Mamma to stay with us.”

I never liked goodbyes. Even when Papà and Mamma left us with a sitter—usually Grandma—to go out to dinner, it would upset me, and I’d fight sleepiness until they returned.

Except there was no avoiding it this time.

Mamma wasn’t coming back. Not this time. I heard Papà say that this was a final goodbye, and then he broke down. He said he didn’t know how to live without her. Right now, he was staring at the casket, unable to look away. He hadn’t moved since the service started. Something in his eyes scared me. Maybe it was grief, or maybe it was something else. I didn’t know.

“Let’s go,” Phoenix signed. I didn’t move, so she tugged on my arms.

“No,” I mouthed stubbornly. I was too tired to move my hands and sign, but Phoenix could read my lips. “Papà’s not leaving, so neither are we.”

Grandma watched our exchange, her face ghostly pale. She looked tired, traveling for the past two days to make it to the funeral on time. She turned to face our father, her eyebrows furrowing in disapproval.

“I’m taking the girls home, Tomaso,” she snapped.

He never looked away from the casket. “I’ll be there soon.”

She glared at him and I shrank, my shoulders slumping. Grandma could be scary when she wanted to be.

“No, not that home,” she hissed. “I’m taking them with me.”

That had Papà looking up from the casket. A few heartbeats passed before understanding settled in his eyes. “I don’t think so, Diana.”

Grandma glared at him, cold and terrifying, and suddenly I didn’t want to go with her. I’d rather stay with Papà. “I wasn’t asking, Tomaso. The girls will be safe with me.”

“I’ll keep them safe.” His face turned red, maybe even purple, and he let out a string of curses I didn’t understand.

“I made a promise to my daughter when she married you.” Her voice boomed in the empty cemetery, disturbing all the souls—dead and alive. “I will keep that promise.”

“You’re not taking my children from me,” he roared.

Grandma stepped forward, and I’d never seen her look so big and strong.

“Grace called me and told me what she found.” Papà’s face turned white. He opened his mouth, then closed it. He tried again, and still no words came out. “I don’t know much about your world, Tomaso,” Grandma continued. “But I know if anyone else learned about it, Phoenix and Reina would be in danger.”

Phoenix’s arm came around me, hugging me tightly, and I could feel her trembling as much as I was. I stared wide-eyed at their exchange while my heart hammered, cracking my ribs, and I knew something dark was starting to take form.

I just didn’t know when or where it would come back to hurt us.