Aldo glared down his nose at her. It was bigger than Matteo’s, broader. There were other differences too. His son probably had more of his mother in him than the man would have wished.
“I don’t know how this was done. I never even believed such a thing was possible until I saw Matteo change before my very eyes.”
“How, exactly?”
The Conte sighed, his eyes growing distant. “He was sick for a few days. I was very concerned. We consulted a physician, but he deteriorated so quickly. The doctor told me to prepare for the worst, but I couldn’t accept that. Some visitors had come to call. We were supposed to be hosting a house party that weekend. Instead, we turned them away, those that lived nearby. A few stayed.”
Isobel nodded.
Aldo looked down, his face older than it had been a moment before. “Matteo had stopped answering questions or responding when touched. He was so cold. I thought I was losing my only child. I watched over him from a chair next to him. But I fell asleep. When I woke, he was gone.”
“And then what happened?” she prompted when he stayed silent.
“I went looking for him. Instead, I encountered a maid running out of the study. One of my friends who lived too far to travel home was spending the night. Apparently, our guest had been having some fun with the girl in one of the parlors. When I went inside, this man was dead and Matteo was just sitting there staring blankly at the wall.”
Isobel made an effort to smooth her features. “He was raping her, wasn’t he?”
Surprised, the Conte looked up. “No, Matteo has never forced any of them.”
This time she did frown. “I wasn’t talking about him. I meant your friend. The one who was with the maid.”
The Conte scowled at her. “She wasn’t even pretty. I doubt he had to force her. And she was just a servant. What does it signify? What matters was Matteo. He’d killed someone—a peer.”
She had to look down at the table to hide the cold rage that no doubt filled her eyes. Even cursed, Matteo had more regard for the poor maid than his father. Isobel didn’t have any particular hatred of the aristocracy, but she did hate men like the count—men so filled with arrogance and disdain for those beneath them that they thought nothing of hurting the weak or turning a blind eye when others did.
The fact that it hadn’t even occurred to him to be angry at his friend for having ‘fun’ under the same roof as his supposedly dying son—well, that was beyond the pale.
Closing her eyes and breathing deeply, she focused on burying her feelings. They would do her no good now.
“You said Matteo never...forced himself on his victims,” she said, her throat tight.
“On the women? No, of course not.”
Liar.
“Then why did you take only women? Maids and others from the lower classes. You could have just as easily taken men. Criminals—men the world would be better off without,” she said, glaring at him.
The Conte gave her a cold look, examining her from head to toe before leaning back in his chair. “Sometimes we did. It wasn’t always possible. Are you going to help my son, or do I need to find another witch?”
Anger bubbled up, getting the better of her tongue. “If you can, I would advise you to do so,” she said between gritted teeth. “I can’t do anything for him.”
“Can’t or won’t?” The menace in the Conte’s voice was clear, but Isobel refused to be cowed.
“You haven’t told me anything that would be useful in finding a cure. No information on how or why he was cursed.”
“Because I don’t know!” he yelled.
Isobel flinched in spite of herself before she took a deep breath. “Then tell me what you do know.”
His hands opened and closed. “What else is there?”
Isobel gripped the table. “How does he kill? You said he doesn’t rape. You don’t give him a weapon. Does he simply strangle the women?”
The Conte shook his head. “No. He barely touches them. They just die.”
Taken aback, Isobel’s mouth fell open. “How exactly?”
He rolled his eyes. “When the malady returned, I found what my son needed and did as I did with you,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “It was the only thing that brought him back. But only for a short time—anywhere from a few days to a week. It used to be longer at the beginning. My servants alerted me to the strangeness of the bodies. They appeared pristine, completely untouched. So we watched a few times from a window or other vantage point.”
Isobel shuddered slightly. The thought of the Conte and his men observing Matteo and his victims like an experiment, watching a predator with his prey, sickened her. But the Conte didn’t care what she thought. He simply continued.
“After a certain point, you have to stay away from him. He goes very still and cold. Then the next person he touches dies. Man or woman, it doesn’t matter. All he has to do is touch them. He puts his hands on them, and they convulse and fall down dead. That’s all.”