The Vessel of Ra

Chapter 10: The Widow

"He said Nonno only cares about himself." Carlo grabbed his mother's calloused hands, a woman who worked too hard. "Tell me what I am."

"What do you mean, Carlo?"

"I'm not human. What am I?"

Sofia touched his cheek. "You're my son."

"Something happened tonight. Something horrible."

Sofia focused over Carlo's shoulder, gazing into the past like a fortuneteller. "Your father, oh, he was beautiful." Sofia worked the needles, the soft click-click soothing. "I met him at church. Such a gentleman. Never tried to press his advantage like other boys, never tried anything unsuitable, just an occasional stolen kiss until we married. Then, not long after, there was you. We were happy, and would have stayed so, the three of us."

"What happened to him?"

"Your father had the misfortune to be your grandfather's son." The needles clacked quicker. Yarn wrapped around Sofia's fingers, onto the needle. "One night, one of your grandfather's adventures went astray. Your father saved us, Carlo, by sacrificing himself. He was not human, you see, when we made you, although he didn't know it when we married. He invoked his nature for the first time that night and it consumed him, burned him up." She studied the knitting needles. "That was the end of your father."

Carlo wiped his face with his hands. "I'm a demon's son."

"You are not a demon. You are more human than demon. God will protect you. I've said more than enough prayers."

Carlo shook his head. "God has failed me. He let me become what I am. I need to find Nonno."

"What happened to you?"

"Her sister can control me, can make me—" Carlos blinked back hot tears. How could he tell his mother of the helplessness, the shame he felt, the violation of what he was?

"You changed?" Sofia dropped her knitting in her lap and she pulled him to her. He rested his head by the yarn. "It's not possible, is it?"

Carlo recoiled. "I'm not safe. I shouldn't be here."

Sofia pulled him back and smoothed his hair. "Shh. Where else should you be? Let Mama help you."

Carlo laid his head back on her lap. She smelled of lavender. Without warning, he cried, like he was a small boy again, hurt on the street, skinning his knee. His shoulders shook with sobbing.

She shushed him. "Oh, my poor, poor boy. Don't worry. Don't worry."

He looked up at her. "I'm sorry."

"God knows. It was a shock for you, a shock for me. But all will be well. Carlo?"

"Yes?" He sniffed, his eyes hurting, his head pounding. He looked into her eyes, and she picked up her shears.

"I'm sorry." She pushed the shears up and under his rib cage, ripping through skin and muscle. "I wish it could be some other way." Blood covered Sofia's lace gloves.

Carlo leaned away. His fingers fumbled over blood, trying to staunch the flow. It rippled around his palms, dribbled through his fingers. "Why?"

"I didn't want to lose you, but I was selfish. I am so sorry. I have been a sinner to let you live."

Blood oozed under his shirt. Shock gave way to pain. He pulled out the shears, the metal brushing the edges of his wound. A thousand ants bit his skin and he cried out. The last scarf Sofia had knitted for him, the one he wore, became a morass of blood and wool. Carlo tried to stand and stumbled, falling back to his knees.