Strega (Strega Series) Read Online Free Page B

nerves and exhaustion, and counted the minutes until morning.

VI
    I opened my eyes to complete darkness. The candle had burned out. The small green lamp in the dark corner was off. As my eyes struggled to bring my surroundings into focus, my limbs tingled with panic. I'd drifted off to sleep, for how long I did not know, and the power was out.
    I peered behind the curtain and out over the street. The soft glow of a neighbor's tall lamppost cast its light like a coveted beacon on the dark sea. The small porch lights of several other houses also illuminated the sleeping neighborhood. Ours was the only house without power.
    In the short time that I lived in that house, it was a regular occurrence for one of us to blow a fuse while drying our hair or running the coffee grinder. The circuits were so old, so sensitive, that we accommodated their weakness. Upgrading the electric panel was next on the list of renovations. But for now, using too much power inevitably resulted in total blackout and required replacing a fuse. This most often happened during the morning rush, or in the evening when I was getting ready to go out while the dishwasher was running.
    Surely that night, I put on too many lights. Jack was always the one to venture downstairs to the fuse box. But I was alone, and if I didn't do it, I would be sitting in darkness until morning. I relit the candle and found my way to the closet, grabbed the long-handled metal flashlight, and gathered my courage to go to the basement.
    I slowly lifted the old-fashioned iron latch on the door that separated our side of the house from the vacant side. Slowly, I crossed the threshold into the unfamiliar space where the darkness was strange. Silhouettes that I didn't recognize seemed to come alive around me and reach for me. With each step I took, their eerie vagueness tickled the back of my neck with long, haunting fingers. I aimed my flashlight in every direction, unmasking foreign objects and for a moment destroying their intimidating forms. The basement door loomed in front of me, beckoning me deeper into the darkness until I could restore light. Everything in me wanted to turn around and run back to the space I knew, even if it meant being stranded in the dark until dawn. But I reached out for the doorknob and turned it.
    The steep stairs descended into the basement with no walls or railings to insulate me from what might be waiting in the shadows. I frantically waved the flashlight from side to side as I took each step down, half expecting to find a pair of leering eyes waiting for me. When my foot finally hit the basement floor, I spun around and cast my light in all directions to ensure that I was alone.
    The basement was as spacious and uncluttered as the rest of the house. In one corner, there was a workbench with a rotating saw and several small ends of wood beside it. Behind it, a few old screens, glass panes, and half-used cans of paint. Beside the washer and dryer, there was a wooden drying rack with a bright, colorful neck scarf hanging from the top rung.
    As I approached the fuse box with the flashlight, a new light—soft and blue—shimmered like the surface of the ocean beneath the glowing moon. It illuminated the entire basement. I spun around to find its source when something caught my eye. Something by the stairs that was not there a moment earlier. I fixed my flashlight on what at first appeared to be a blouse or shawl, and crouched down to touch it. The rich, scarlet red material melted into my fingertips. As I pulled at a loose fold, the cold, sharp clang of metal against concrete echoed throughout the basement. I aimed my flashlight at the glistening surface of a silver blade.
    Strangely beautiful, this blade captivated my full attention. With a thin line of soft, light blue stone inlaid at its center, its razor-sharp double edges came to a severe point. A magnificent silver crescent moon formed a crossguard at the base of the handle, which itself was also