"My love, logic isn't sincere
I wonder if love is a true thing."
Romina's car radio is playing Cesare Cremonini while I've got my arm lazily hanging out the window, letting the summer air do its thing.
In the rearview mirror, I keep catching Fiore in the back seat, quietly humming along. Of course, he's perfectly in tune. Pretty and talented, annoyingly effortless. Is there anything he doesn't excel at?
The heat today is warm, but not "I'm-melting-please-let-me-die" warm. The sky's a ridiculous blue, sprinkled with white clouds like someone shook a cotton-candy bag over it—total postcard vibes.
Perfect day for the beach.
And yet… we're headed to Granzette, to the old psychiatric hospital. With any luck, we'll find a ghost willing to lend a hand with the Heptameron. You know, normal weekend activities.
"How much longer, Milo?" Romina asks as she eases to a stop.
"Mm, almost there." I check the GPS. "Turn right here. When you see a bus stop on the left, we're good."
"Fiore," I say, twisting around, "what's the plan? They're not exactly gonna welcome us into an abandoned building with tea and biscuits."
"Relax, I've got a trick up my sleeve." He gives us that sneaky little smile of his. "You two just make sure we can sprint back to the car if things get spicy."
I stare at him.
Romina does too.
"Don't you dare get us arrested, vez", she snaps.
"Chill—everything's legit. Well… mostly. Depends which side of the Veil you're asking from."
We park in the lot by the bus stop. As we climb out, I remind myself this is not a cute field trip: we came prepared. Not because of the ghosts—the weapons would make them laugh—but for other demonic visitors who might not be so welcoming.
Romina's knives are tucked into a thigh holster; I've got my hipster backpack, comfy like a portable camping fridge full of beers. Maybe I need something more… Geralt-of-Rivia style, like a back scabbard or something.
"Ah, before I forget, Romina." Fiore hands her a pair of bright red earplugs. "Keep these handy."
Romina nods, all business, and turns toward the rusted gate of the old hospital: a metal door so ornate it already creaks just from being looked at. Behind the fence, the almost-fairy-tale green of the park barely hides the building rooftops. The padlock seems like it was made to scream: "Nobody gets in here."
"How do we even get inside? By ringing the doorbell…?" I try, but the words die in my throat when I see Fiore fiddling with the lock using a lockpick.
"F-Fiore?!"
"Shhh. Don't distract me. You two, be my wall." He shoves us into place. I silently pray no patrol car shows up—or worse, some judgmental elder on a bike.
A dull CLANK: the lock gives way. Fiore slides off the chain, snickering. "And voilà! +10 Dexterity. Come on in."
We slip inside and shut the gate behind us.
Fiore dashes across the bridge to the second gate. With an improvised parkour move, he climbs up and offers Romina his hand. She mutters, but grabs it; I give her a boost from below, and together we hoist her over. Then Fiore reaches out to me. I take his hand, and my heart skips a bit. Nothing—yeah, even in full-on trespassing mode, my hormones refuse to behave.
All three of us land on the other side.
"Fiore, you said this was totally legit!" Romina whines, clinging to my arm.
"Relax, nobody's gonna catch us," Fiore laughs.
"Brrr… It's freezing, or is it just me?" Romina shivers.
"No, Romie… something feels… off," I whisper, scanning the tree-lined path ahead.
Suddenly, the wind picks up, tossing dry leaves and twigs around. Fiore grabs my arm too.
"Milo… shift the Veil," he says, eyes locked straight ahead. "Romina, let's put the earplugs in."
Quickly, they both pop them in.
"Ready?" I ask, taking a deep breath. One, two, three. There it is—the Veil. The air thickens, and right in front of us, a ghost appears: a nun with a translucent veil fluttering like it's caught in some invisible wind.
"Welcome, dears! It's been ages since I've seen new faces!" she greets us with a smile, like we're VIPs at a parish fair.
"Uh, h-hi," I stammer, awkwardly, while Romina digs her nails into my back and her teeth chatter.
"What brings you here on such a fine breeze?" the nun continues, resting an icy hand on my shoulder. A shiver snakes down to my toes, but I try not to show it.
"We're looking for… information," I say, trying to sound braver than I feel.
"Oh, of course! Come in! Better to talk inside." She gestures to the entrance of the huge, run-down building to our right.
A broken clock dominates the tall facade, and just above it, a statue of the Holy Mary watches silently from the roof. The wooden shutters on the windows are falling apart; some are even nailed shut. The ghostly nun opens the door that had seemed firmly locked moments ago and invites us in, disappearing into the darkness inside.
I glance at Romina and Fiore with a determined look. Fiore nods; Romina shakes her head like she's saying: "For heaven's sake, Milo, NO."
No way around it: we have to muster courage, just like in the House of Mirrors, or all this will have been for nothing.
We step into the building, Romina clinging to my T-shirt, Fiore a step ahead. Light filters in through broken frames. The entrance is littered with shards of ceramics, dirt, and rubble. The walls, corroded by time, have peeling pale green plaster; the waiting couches look like they were run over by a bulldozer, dust-covered and wrapped in ivy.
The nun continues down the corridor, softly humming a litany.
"Excuse me!" I try to call after her, but she's already gone, her glow swallowed by the shadows.
"The information we're looking for…!" I start to follow, but a cheerful voice erupts behind me.
"Ooooh! And what kind of information are we talking about?"
Romina, Fiore, and I all jump in unison. We spin around, and a messy-haired ghost woman is staring at us with this mischievous look, bright eyes, and a childlike grin plastered on her face.
"Secret info? Or… indiscreet info? Hihihihihihi!"
I glance at Romina and Fiore for backup, but nope—totally useless: she's frozen solid with fear, he's clearly confused, shoulders shrugged.
Perfect, Milo. Ghost handling is all on you, apparently. Let's go.
I take a deep breath and try again.
"We were told there's a certain treasure hidden here."
The messy-haired woman bursts out laughing and vanishes into a nearby room. I try to follow, but suddenly more ghosts appear: a guy in striped pajamas juggling a deck of cards, a woman clapping for no reason at all, and from the entrance a man in a dirty lab coat dragging a crutch, but somehow grinning like it's the best day of his life.
We're surrounded. They don't look dangerous… I think.
"Of course! The treasure! The Nazis! Quick! The gold! I'll never give it to you! Never! Never!" yells the man with the crutch, charging at us. We duck into the corridor where the nun went.
"But we don't care about gold or relics! We're looking for a book," I try to explain, but the guy has already zoomed past us.
"A book? What book?" asks the clapping woman, a nervous tic jumping in her face.
"A grimoire. Pietro D'Abano's Heptameron", I answer. But even she seems barely interested.
"Ooooh, but I know where it is!" the man with the crutch pops up again.
"Ghe sbòro*, come on! What do you know?" snaps the messy-haired ghost, now serious, her playful smile gone.
"Listen, butei, when I was your age, I could jump ditches lengthwise**", he retorts.
"There's no book here! What do you know?" the messy-haired woman snaps again, crossing her arms.
"Well, I do know! It was that tall guy," the crutch man says, puffing up proudly.
"The one who talked to the anguane?" asks the clapping woman ghost, curious but tense.
"That's the one!"
"A tall man who talked to… who?" I ask, confused, trying to keep up.
"To the anguane, the water women," the ghost nun suddenly reappears behind us. Romina squeaks in panic, but I ignore her. Maybe we're getting close to discovering something in this chaos.
"Yes, yes!" interrupts the clapping woman, tic flicking nervously on her face. "I heard him jabber at the sink! He talked to the drain, haha! He was crazy!"
"He had an important book. Kept it close at all times," the crutch man continues solemnly, moving to the far end of the corridor. "But he's gone. Went home."
"Home? Home, where exactly? Do you know?" I ask, cautiously moving toward him. I stop almost immediately: in the dim corridor light, I hadn't noticed a huge hole in the wooden floor, dug deep down into the earth.
"M-Milo…" Romina stammers, yanking my shirt hard. I turn and see the rest of the ghosts sizing us up, grins almost synchronized, like they're in on the plan.
"W-what's happening…?" I ask. No answer.
And then, all at once, they shove us straight into the hole.
*Ghe sbòro: A Venetian expression mostly used as an exaggeration, but it has multiple meanings depending on the context. For more information, visit www.veneziando.net
**Butei: Means "kids" in Venetian dialect, especially of the Verona province. The entire line is a Venetian saying, used to tell a young person that, at their age, they were much more alert and energetic.