The Demon Catchers of Milan (28 page)

Nancy Flowers taught me to write. The members of Smoky Wizard Bacon—Brendan Day, Carrie Ferguson, David Englestad, David Gallay, and Kelly Janda—tore the manuscript apart and put it back together again. Because of the trouble these doughty writers took, what you read is far better (and far scarier). Karen Meisner and I shared a couch through a long winter, working on our novels and comparing socks. Her firm belief in me propelled me forward. Robert Kent has always known I could do it. Folks who attended my WisCon readings listened to bits of the book
four times
before it was sold, and laughed every time, bless you all.

The women of Art Chocolate, Cathy Couture, Jane Wash-burn, Kim Long-Ewing, Stacie Arellano, Rhea Ewing, and Rio Mayoleth, and the Dobrá Goddesses, Beth Hoover, Lisa Fiala, Adrien and Hilary Joyner, Laura O’Hadley Allen, and Maggie McKeown Jakubczak, carried me through many ups and downs, offering their support and chocolate (sometimes the same thing). Caitlin Blasdell helped me prepare the manuscript for submission, and then ran off with it to New York, watching over it during the difficult journey books make, until at last
she put it in the hands of Ruth Katcher.
She
made the book even better, with the help of the magnificent team at Egmont, including Bonnie Cutler, managing editor, and copy editor Susan Jeffers and proofreader Joan Giurdanella, from whom no error was safe. Caitlin also made sure that my mother got to hold an advance copy of this book in her hands before she died, for which I will always be grateful.

Professor Richard Martin from the Classics Department at Stanford University made sure that the demon and Uncle Matteo spouted the correct Greek; Margo Keeley lent a helping hand.

My husband, Wolfgang Lochner, always reminded me that when I put my work first, everything else falls into place—including time together. Thanks, pardner.

All of this began with my mother and father, who gave me life, pen and paper, and
time
.

Finally, dear reader, thank you for opening this book; as you turn its pages, take a moment to thank those who helped bring it about.

Kat Beyer

March 13, 2012

Deer Island, Oregon

Author’s Note

My knowledge of Italy and Milan is only the knowledge of a foreigner and a historian. I have learned that a person needs years to scratch the surface of a culture, yet, as many would agree, there’s something about Italy. Each time I go there, I seem to find my senses opened, so that I absorb detail after detail. I also took a degree in medieval history, so I relish reading Italy’s ancient chronicles as much as her modern newspapers. I have tried to give a faithful, if very individual, portrait of a city, a people, and the history of both. I suppose I could pretend any mistakes are Mia’s, but—no, they are my own.

There is a candle shop in the neighborhood where my Della Torres live. It’s called Candele Mum, and I recommend a visit. I’m pretty sure you can breathe on the candles there, though the proprietors might ask you what you’re doing. There is also a thriving
Famiglia Della Torre
, with a website and everything. Don’t bug them about demons or my errant, imaginary cadet branch, please.

Regarding the fate of the Milanese Jews in World War II: I do not know if any of the several hundred Jews deported from
Milan, starting in 1943, were sent to Lublin/Majdanek. The timing is right, as are the nationalities in the camp population. Since many people are so familiar with the name
Auschwitz
that it has lost some of its power to appall, I thought I should remind my readers that there were other camps, with equally horrific conditions. Besides, not everyone knows that Italian Jews were taken away, along with so many others.

In my research I also came across stories I was not taught in high school, about the Jewish resistance in the camps. I think we are wrong when we focus only on human suffering, and treat human triumph as the story of one or two rare individuals. Whole groups resisted in the camps, just as whole groups of Italian Gentiles resisted the deportation of their Jewish neighbors.

Having said that, I chose to leave the story of the woman of Signora Galeazzo’s house sad and unresolved for a reason: we
must not
forget.