The Demon Catchers of Milan #2: The Halcyon Bird Read Online Free Page A

kissing Nonna on the cheek and saying yes to coffee. Égide helped himself to a pastry from the breadbox, and held one up to Francesca, who nodded. He set them on the same plate and sat down beside her. Nonna put her espresso maker back into action. It looks like a double showerhead for dolls, with a miniature platform for two espresso cups. The first time I saw it, I’d been fresh off the plane from Center Plains, NewYork, still rubbing the jet lag out of my eyes, still in shock. Five months later, I felt like I had always sat at this kitchen table, had always heard Francesca ask Égide, “What time is the hearing?”
    “Ten. But they’ll postpone it.”
    “Again?”
    He shrugged. Égide can shrug more elegantly than any Italian. He’s a tall, slender man with the darkest, smoothest skin I have ever seen, the gift of his Rwandan parents. Here, in this casually racist country, I’ve seen him walk up to a stranger to ask if the metro train has left, and heard them snap, “I don’t want to buy anything!” They don’t notice his expensive, beautifully tailored lawyer suit. It’s not like the Milanese to miss a detail like excellent tailoring, but with Égide, they do.
    Most of the time, he ignores it magnificently, as does Francesca. She is as pale as he is dark, with long dark-brown hair that she wears in an elegant knot. Both Francesca and Égide always seem so calm, which, since they are lawyers, kind of surprises me.
    The doorbell to the apartment rang.
    “Mia,” said Nonna, concentrating on the coffee. I jumped up from the table and pressed the intercom button.
    “Who is it?”
    “Brigida and Matteo. Just for a minute.”
    Aunt Brigida swept in, tall, perfectly made-up, with magenta nails like claws, and opinions about everything. She kissed me on the cheek and asked, “Everyone’s still having coffee?” as ifwe were all running late for something.
    Uncle Matteo followed her, smelling of cigarettes, and kissed me, too. “Keeping well?” he asked. “How do you like getting around on your own, now you don’t have to stay inside all the time?”
    “I love it,” I replied fervently.
    His eyes crinkled. “The freedom or the city?”
    “Both,” I said.
    He nodded.
    Aunt Brigida was setting a bag on the kitchen table. “Two bottles of the red from Lucia and Mario, that sponge I was telling you about, and your shampoo,” she told Nonna.
    “Thank you,” Nonna said. “Coffee?”
    “We’re just stopping by,” said Aunt Brigida, just as Uncle Matteo said, “Yes, please!” They looked at each other. “Yours is the best in town,” Aunt Brigida conceded, and took a seat at the table while Nonna set the coffee shower in motion again. Uncle Matteo pulled out a chair for me, then sat himself.
    “What’s on the docket for today?” he asked Égide.
    “Political asylum for three Sudanese women fleeing”—he paused and rolled an eye toward me—“their enforced traditions.”
    “Ah,” said Uncle Matteo, who clearly knew what Égide was talking about, even if I didn’t. I made a mental note to Google Sudan’s traditions.
    “But they’ll postpone the hearing,” Égide said.
    “Our government specializes in postponement,” said Uncle Matteo. “We’ve taken many years to perfect our skills in that direction.”
    Even though Uncle Matteo was speaking Italian, I heard my father’s voice for a moment. My father’s name is Matt, too, and though his voice is pure American, he looks like Uncle Matteo, and Dad would totally be complaining about the government.
    Like Dad, Uncle Matteo gathered thunderclouds on his brow more easily than his older brother Giuliano. Nonno either had a lighter heart or a milder temper, which had always suprised me, since he was the hardworking head of a family of demon catchers. What we’d witnessed the night before was nothing compared to some of the cases I knew he’d worked on, including my own.
    Last October, when the same demon that had killed both Nonno’s