Page 18

T he funeral was a quiet affair. The Exorcist Primus of Rome did not attend, surprising nobody, which meant Cesare led the service. It was a solemn aspect of his role. Something of a residual limb from before demons attempted to kill God—but at least it kept her uncle occupied. Selene had no desire to speak with him here. Not under the scrutiny of so many watching eyes—all intent on seeing her fail.

When the service was done, everyone proceeded to one of the large garden courtyards. Jules leaned against the rough bark of a parasol pine. Pine needles dusted the paving stones and floated in the still water of a fountain.

When they had a moment alone, she said softly, dangerously, ‘ Mon petit lapinou? ’

Jules shifted on his feet, tugging at the button at his throat. ‘I had to sell it. I would’ve loved a heads-up that we’re betrothed.’ He hesitated, then corrected himself. ‘That you and Eliot are betrothed.’

‘We’re not.’

He raised both brows.

It had been their parents’ arrangement. A powerful alignment of exorcist families. Selene smothered a sigh, not particularly wanting to explain to Jules that she’d ended their engagement. Now the only man she was betrothed to was him in the guise of a rather suave Eliot D’Alessandro.

‘I broke it off with Eliot.’ Selene enunciated the words. ‘I hadn’t told anybody yet. Now it’s too late .’

The contemporaries of the dead exorcists told stories, laughing about school-age shenanigans, but Selene hadn’t known them well—they’d been years ahead of her at the Academy. Instead, she guided Jules through the clusters of sombre people, introducing him. Or rather, reintroducing Eliot .

Nobody had questioned his identity. A dark-haired man wearing the priceless D’Alessandro swords could only be the banished scion of the family.

Jules hadn’t shown a flicker of surprise when Gabriel told her it had been Cesare who banished Eliot. Of course. Eliot would have warned him. But why hadn’t Eliot mentioned it to her?

She thought of Cesare’s words before she left Rome. I’ll put in a call to the Nice office and have someone meet you . He hadn’t known that Eliot was working that office. Not then. And then it had been too late. She was already on the train and Eliot had been dispatched to meet her. Events had been set in motion that even the Imperium Bellum of Rome could not prevent.

Another thought occurred to her then, and her stomach soured. When she had telephoned Cesare from Nice-Ville, he had requested she greet her fiancé on his behalf. In doing so, had she unknowingly conveyed Cesare’s subtle hint that he expected Eliot to keep the truth of his banishment secret? That it had not been their Academy masters who had sent Eliot away, as she’d believed, but an order from the Imperium Bellum himself?

Florentina waved excitedly, bouncing on her toes. With effort Selene resisted the temptation to roll her eyes.

Jules raised a hand in a lazy wave, then leaned into Selene. ‘You might have to stake your claim, mon c?ur . No big deal, but she wants my—’ He broke off as two mourners passed close by and lowered his voice. ‘Let me put it this way, she wants a personal session with the D’Alessandro sword.’

‘Charming.’ Selene slid her hand into his and linked their fingers. Resting her chin on his shoulder, she gazed up at him from beneath her lashes. ‘Is this better?’

Colour bloomed on his cheekbones and he tousled a hand through his hair, thoroughly messing it up. ‘Much.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Even I’m convinced.’

Florentina appeared somewhat crestfallen.

‘Oh, you were right .’

‘What can I say? I know when I’m wanted.’

‘But not when you’re not?’

‘Oh yes, very droll.’

Selene laughed and mirrored Florentina’s grip from earlier, sliding her hand around his bicep. But she knew what Florentina could not; the skin beneath her fingers told a story of slaughter.

Despite her earlier concerns, Jules was flawless in this role. Which was fortunate, because many of their contemporaries were curious to meet the new Eliot. There was only one classmate who might have picked Jules for an impostor, but he wasn’t here. Her twin, Niccolò.

A booming voice broke the moment of stillness between them. ‘Wonderful to have you home, my boy. Wonderful. A sad day, but a happy one.’

Smiling broadly, Jules met the outstretched hand of the man who had once been her father’s mentor. ‘Likewise, sir—’

‘Adriano de Sanctis, Imperium Politikos,’ Selene whispered against his shoulder.

Jules swallowed. ‘And thank you very much, Imperium. I’m honoured.’

Long before Cesare had stepped in to take his place, Adriano had been a staple in her life. He’d drifted away, no doubt disappointed in the part she played in her father’s death, but he looked at her kindly now. ‘Selene, I see you found your fiancé in France?’

Selene curled her fingers slightly tighter around Jules’s bicep. ‘It surprised me too, sir. I didn’t know he was in Nice.’

‘Adriano, please, Selene. You know this.’ She smiled, and Adriano turned to Jules, fondness melting into what she imagined Jules might call his war face . ‘You look after her.’

Jules nodded earnestly, his eyes lingering on her. ‘She’s my sun and stars, sir.’

Adriano made a sound Selene took as approval and sauntered off.

‘The Imperium bloody Politikos of Rome, Selene? Really?’ Jules sat somewhat heavily on the edge of a stone wall.

Shrugging, she tried to extract her hand from his. Even through the gloves he wore to cover the kill marks, she could feel he was beginning to sweat. ‘My godfather.’

‘I feel a little faint.’

From the corner of her eye, she saw Florentina start toward them. Selene stepped between his knees, draping her arms over his shoulders so she could play with his hair. And for a moment Jules seemed not to breathe—probably dissociating.

Not wanting to be a third wheel in their little moment, Florentina veered away.

‘Whose funeral was this anyway?’ Jules asked.

She met his eyes, noting again the lovely green. ‘Lorena, Vissia and Tobio. They were killed in Ostrava.’ She forgot for a clumsy moment why Ostrava rang a bell.

The colour drained from his face and he glanced back toward the chapel. ‘Did … did Tobio fight with a pike?’

She nodded slowly.

He swallowed. ‘Remember how I said …?’

The memory of their study session flashed back. ‘The weather demon.’

‘Yeah.’

She looked him over, reassessing him. He’d put down a demon that had already killed three Academy-trained exorcists. Incredible .

‘ You! ’ someone shouted, barrelling toward Jules.

Jules’s hand moved to his sword before he stilled, shocked by his own instinct for violence. Even here, far from the front. Even now, at a genteel funeral.

‘What are you doing here, maggot? Why didn’t you die in the mud like you were supposed to?’

Selene intercepted the tall man staring daggers at Jules. ‘Enough.’ Her voice rang overloud in the garden and people turned their way. Despite their difference in age, she was his superior. ‘Explain yourself.’

Jules straightened to his full height at her back, one hand resting on the hilt of a D’Alessandro blade.

With eyes that promised murder, Selene stared the man down. In the moment or two of silence that followed, Jules finally recognized the man, recalling the words he’d spoken when they met in Ostrava. Very good, grunt. This was not good at all.

Selene tipped her chin higher. ‘If you’re accusing him of something, Tommaso, spit it out.’

‘This is none of your business, Captain Alleva.’ He spat to the side, showing what he really thought.

She laughed, stepping closer. ‘You’re mistaken. This is my fiancé.’

‘Then why did I see him a week ago covered in mud and shit?’

Selene laughed. ‘I can’t speak for Eliot’s recreational activities—’

‘In Ostrava .’

She bit her lip, eyes narrowing. Despite the danger they were both in, she didn’t waver. ‘You’re mistaken.’

‘No.’

Jules stepped around Selene, forcing Tommaso to back up. ‘You heard her. You’re mistaken.’ His voice was soft. ‘And never spit in front of Selene again. Filthy dog.’

The man’s eyes widened, teeth flashing as his lip curled up. ‘How dare— ’

‘How dare you ?’ Jules channelled Eliot’s posture, the noble blood that ran in Eliot’s veins. He tipped his chin and looked down the length of his nose at him. ‘You come here and disturb this gathering for Vissia and Tobio? For Lorena? Conduct yourself like a filthy foot soldier in front of my fiancée? Have you been in Ostrava too long, Tommaso? Anyone can tell you I was in Nice.’ Jules spread his hands, looking around. ‘Should I ask the Imperium Bellum to come over here and confirm?’

Tommaso’s eyes darted from Cesare Alleva to Selene.

‘No,’ Tommaso muttered and stalked off.

Something about these people made Jules uneasy—they had an iron scent reminiscent of blood. Metallic and dangerous. Compounded here where they gathered together. It brought to mind the French corruption of a well-known Roman saying about the Vaticano Nero —the black they all wore. L’avant-dernier noir que vous ayez jamais vu . The second-last black you will ever see.

Jules let out a long breath, watching Tommaso go. ‘Who knew funerals could get even more fun?’ he murmured.

Selene plastered on a smile and laughed, as though the altercation was nothing. Even Jules was almost convinced. She drew him back to the edge of the gathering. ‘Do you want to head back to my rooms? I need to stay a bit longer.’ She glanced toward Cesare Alleva, who was busy entertaining a crowd of sycophants.

‘You trust me out of your sight?’

She let her eyes roam up and down his length. ‘You’ve proven yourself. Besides, we had an agreement. I can offer you access that nobody else can.’ She cast a meaningful look at the pale dome of St Peter’s Basilica looming over them, and beyond, the forbidding towers of the new Vatican complex stood starker for its light. A fortress indeed. There was no way he’d ever get in if he wasn’t welcome.

‘All this so I can get into your library.’

Surprisingly a smile flashed across her face. ‘Yeah. A tad academic for a soldier.’

He pressed a hand to his heart. ‘Ouch. My Achilles heel.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘ Go . Before Tommaso comes back.’

He pushed his hands into his pockets as he strolled away, taking in the lush gardens. Towering cedars edged the park, growing taller even than the dome of St Peter’s. The grass beneath his feet was smooth and spongy. Pencil pines lined walled gardens, creating pockets of privacy. It was unbelievable he was here at all.

A gold-lit fountain drew his eye and he skipped down a handful of steps into an enclosed garden, surrounded on three sides by trees and thick shrubbery with gravel paths disappearing in three directions. Approaching the fountain, he leaned his hands against the stone. Coins winked at him from underwater. Sparing a glance around, he dipped his hand in and pocketed a few. Waste not, want not and all that.

‘That’s enough , Selene.’

It took a moment for Jules to place the deep velvet tones of Cesare Alleva. He could win hearts with that voice, the Imperium Bellum.

Their voices drifted closer, and almost too late Jules realized that they were coming down one of the paths. He leapt over the stone wall and disappeared beneath the trees. He wasn’t ready to meet another Imperium.

Eliot’s contemporaries had been surprisingly easy to fool, through a complex blend of disregard for the Eliot they’d once known and belief in the power of puberty. But Jules had the strong suspicion that the Imperium Bellum wasn’t the kind of man to make such mistakes.

Cesare sighed. ‘Forget Baliel. It sounds as though you removed him from the equation. I’m more concerned about you overextending yourself.’ He paced back and forth then stopped suddenly, looking down at her. ‘I’ve told you. Other exorcists can train their bodies to withstand their own borrowed power. But yours flows through you from God . It is too much for you. You’re burning yourself out until there is nothing left.’

Jules didn’t understand. Was this some religious hyperbole or did exorcists actually believe it? He wished he could see Selene’s face. Was Cesare getting the stubborn frown? Or maybe the crumpled brows Jules got when he really irritated her.

‘I understand, uncle.’ Selene’s tone was flat. ‘But I want you to know I’ll use it if I must. As I did in Nice. I had to banish that demon—imperfectly, granted, he’ll be back—but there was too much at stake.’

Jules cocked his head. Why was her uncle lambasting her for saving Nice, instead of lauding her success? She’d almost lost an arm in that fight. And even though Baliel had been consumed by his own flames and Selene had been unconscious long before the demon spoke his final words, she had fought fiercely. Cesare should be proud.

‘Selene—’

‘ Even if it pushes me to the brink of death. Even then, I will do what I must. I respect your opinion, but I—’

‘This is God’s power you’re playing with.’ Cesare’s deep voice cut across hers. ‘Remember that. You’re not strong enough, my darling girl. Your body, your soul , and your mind will wither and burn long before God’s power dries up. I will not bury you too.’

His words were layered with love and concern, but Jules sensed an undercurrent of something cold and calculating beneath. It took Jules a moment to realize what that was: Cesare was afraid of Selene.

Whether he believed what he was saying or not, Jules could tell Cesare wanted her small.

Before they parted ways on the train, Eliot had warned him about Cesare Alleva, the Imperium Bellum of all Rome. Cesare had condemned his own brother—Selene’s father, Matteo—to death. He’d crucified him.

Ruthlessness was a baseline concept for the man.

Selene had fallen silent. Jules’s hands were fists, his nails biting his palms. A strange sense of protectiveness filled him. He didn’t need to hear more. The Imperium Bellum was a beautiful, terrible creature. So like Selene in many ways. It was clear to him now that she’d learned at Cesare’s knee. Jules felt his instincts quicken. The man was a threat. Perhaps even an enemy.

Cesare sighed. A few beats of silence passed, then he spoke again. ‘You’re expected at the Carnival Masquerade at the Colosseum. Bring Eliot, since it appears he is here anyway. Your attendance is not up for discussion.’

‘Will you be there?’

Cesare snorted softly, and that was answer enough, even for Jules. He gently touched her cheek, thumb smoothing along the high bone. ‘I don’t want to lose you.’ He kissed her brow and disappeared in the direction of the Vatican proper.

Selene seemed smaller somehow. Even among these men who took up so much space, she didn’t usually look this small.

Jules wanted to undo what had been done. Wanted her to take up space again. Light it up.

He hopped silently down to the grass, bending below the draping needles of a weeping pine. His footsteps were soundless as he stepped up behind her, covering her eyes with a hand. She was a blur of movement as she twisted, slamming into his solar plexus as she threw him. Jules stumbled and they fell in a tangle of arms and legs and sweet-smelling dark hair. And the kind of curses that should rightly be reserved for a sailor, not the beautiful lush lips of Selene Alleva.

‘ Vaffanculo, idiota! ’

She slammed him into the water, gun pressed to his forehead as she knelt over him, rear pressed against the one part of him that should not be showing interest right now. Not in response to this bloody monster.

His fingernails scraped algae from the shallow fountain as he shoved himself up, gasping for breath as water trickled down his face.

‘ You— ’ Selene snarled, grabbing his shirt to yank him an inch closer as though intending to bite. A fraction of his mind noted the way she lowered her gun to her side, but a more significant part was occupied by the tightening of his trousers. He was a sick man.

And if Selene noticed, she’d make him no man at all.

Jules attempted a charming smile. ‘Surprise?’

Her lips curled over bared teeth, very much not smiling.

Selene holstered the gun at her thigh and palmed a knife. Its point tickled his chin.

‘What on earth happened here?’ Florentina asked, surprising them both.

Selene flipped the knife, concealing it against her wrist.

‘How romantic,’ another voice added, dripping with sarcasm.

Gabriel, too . Of course it had to be him, strolling unhurriedly down the steps with his hands tucked in his pockets. How would Selene explain threatening her fiancé at knifepoint? A beat passed where neither moved.

Jules took her wrist, further concealing the knife. ‘Please don’t kill me for this,’ he breathed, and caught her lips in a kiss.

His fingers tightened, holding her wrist captive between them. Her bones felt absurdly fragile. She let out a little sound of surprise and he tangled his other hand in her hair. Her mouth softened beneath his and for the briefest of moments he tasted her.

Jules smoothed her hair back from her face with his palms. ‘It’s good to see you too, bellezza , but next time there’s no need to tackle me into a fountain.’

‘How dare you?’ she breathed, eyes flashing like flat gold coins in her fury.

He smothered a smile.

Furious was an improvement on whatever emotion she’d felt before with Cesare. Ignoring the danger, he drew her closer and tucked strands of her hair behind her ear. Her eyes held his, and her lips parted but no words came.

Florentina scoffed, breaking Selene’s stillness. Jules felt the loss of her full attention.

‘Crazy in love, Selene?’ Florentina asked. ‘I’d never pick you as the type.’

Selene pressed the lightest kiss to the tip of Jules’s nose, and only then spared Florentina a bored look. ‘Can you blame me?’ She flicked her eyes down to where his wet shirt clung to his skin, translucent against the planes of his chest. Her thighs still brushed his hips. She plucked at his sleeve, tugging it away from his skin. Hiding his scars.

Florentina laughed, though it was devoid of any humour.

‘Come now, if you stay in there you’ll become waterlogged,’ Gabriel said, his voice rich with suppressed amusement.

As she stood, Selene uncurled her fingers from the knife. It fell toward the water and Jules caught it neatly as he reached for her proffered hand, sliding it into his sleeve.

As she pulled him up, Selene hissed viciously against his ear. ‘Don’t think I didn’t notice that you’re hard.’