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O n returning from the library, they took a different route back to the rooms. Jules paused at the skyway between Selene’s building and the one next door where a trio of arched windows decorated each side of the covered stone footbridge. To his right, the Basilica’s great dome dominated the skyline.

When he caught up to Selene, she was patting her pockets in search of the key—an ornate monstrosity tasselled with pale blue silk. Each leaf of the double door was decorated with a coat of arms. Her coat of arms, he realized, reading the motto from Matteo Alleva’s journal. Animas nostras pro populo. Our lives for the people.

His eyes trailed over the spread wing of the lion rampant. Rearing on its hind legs, it dominated the left-hand side of the shield. And above its noble head, a crown. On the right-hand side was a serpent wrapped around a sheaf of keys.

Inside Selene’s rooms, they parted ways and Jules strolled into the sunroom. He withdrew Matteo’s notebook and thumbed through the pages. Noticing a tear, he ran his index finger along the gutter where the pages were sewn into the binding, and felt a ragged edge.

A page had been removed. He tossed the book aside.

Sighing, Jules slouched into a chair. So much for Rome and her libraries. Another severed thread.

Selene walked in, carrying an envelope and wearing a frown.

He watched as she read the card, her expression unchanging, and tried to see beyond the mask. Figure out what she was thinking. Annoyed? Bored? When she ran her fingernails so firmly across the paper’s crease that it threatened to fatigue and tear, he rubbed his hand over his mouth, smothering a smile. Definitely annoyed.

She caught him watching her. ‘It seems as though we have no choice but to attend the stupid Carnival ball.’

Jules raised a brow in question and she tossed the card to him.

Snatching it out of the air, he flipped it open.

The Lord Chamberlain is commanded by Her Imperial Majesty, Ofelia Augustus, Empress of the Holy Vatican Empire, to invite Captain Selene Alleva, Heir of House Alleva, to the Empress’s Carnival Masquerade held on Saturday in honour of His Holiness Alexander II, Exorcist Primus of Rome.

‘I don’t see why I have to go. They only commanded the heir of House Alleva.’

Selene ignored his smirk. ‘ Cesare said. It wasn’t a request.’ She sighed, rubbing a finger between her brows.

‘He said I had to come?’

‘Look underneath.’

Jules flipped it. On the back was a personalization in sloped handwriting reminiscent of Selene’s that had to belong to Cesare.

Eliot instead, she watched him.

He raised his brows.

Finally, reluctantly, she shifted her gaze. ‘Jules. They’re just hunting leathers .’

Unable to fathom the vast difference between what he could see and what she did, he shook his head wordlessly. She was so beautiful , but he couldn’t say that. Chafing his hand lightly against her hip, he was unprepared for the spark of awareness when his thumb met soft skin.

‘Don’t change. They suit you.’

She pressed her lips together.

Skeptic , he thought, amused.

He consciously shifted his thumb back to the relative safety of her waistband. Touching her skin wasn’t helping his predicament at all. Think bad thoughts , Jules coached himself. Not those thoughts . The other kind of bad .

‘And I bet your manoeuvrability’s excellent,’ he added.

She nodded at that.

‘So, um, tell me all about the gross, disgusting demon you slaughtered last time you wore them.’

‘Are you mocking me?’

‘Not at all. I just love war stories. Brutal ones.’

She seemed unconvinced but finally relented. ‘It was rather brutal.’

Selene thought her heart might beat out of her ribcage.

Breathing , a thing of the past. What she could manage had become soft little gasps—like the fluttering of moth wings.

Jules touched the naked skin of her hip, smoothing with a slightly roughened thumb. Dio , he didn’t know he’d met skin. And she certainly wasn’t going to tell him.

‘Good,’ he said, his voice strangely intense. ‘Tell me more.’

‘I-it was a mid-level demon possessing the body of a small boy. Maybe four years old. Very creepy. Too many mouths.’ She drew a line on her cheek. ‘Big long tongue.’

‘Great, excellent.’ He sounded oddly relieved.

Finally he moved so she could see him properly. His proximity was distracting, and the casual lean against the mirror’s gilt frame, with his arms loosely folded over his chest, only emphasized his biceps. But at least those large marked hands were no longer touching the sensitive skin over her hip bones. Why, then, did she feel disappointed?

‘Really, you look great.’

She rolled her eyes, not deigning to reply.

‘Like a total professional,’ he continued, raising his hands as though framing his next words. ‘The consummate Vatican exorcist.’

‘Charmer.’ She used the excuse of reaching for her watch on the dresser to turn away.

Why was he always like this? Did he take nothing seriously? She wasn’t always sure where the mocking ended with him. She didn’t have her footing around him, and she hated that. She always had her footing.

Now was not the time to lose her edge. At least, no more than she already had. She considered the earlier call with Eliot. He and Caterina had turned up a survivor in Saint-Jeannet. The woman’s testimony all but confirmed that Baliel had been tracking someone, that it was no coincidence that he went first to the church where Jules had been abandoned in Saint-Jeannet, then to the orphanage where he was raised in Nice. Both now destroyed. She had known it in her gut, but now she had evidence to support her theory.

It was almost enough to take to Cesare.

She glanced at Jules again. Dark hair flopped over his forehead, and his high cheekbones were dusted with colour. His eyes found hers and a half-smile tugged at his mouth. She found herself beginning to smile back and crushed it.

Almost, but not yet. First she would learn the nature of Baliel’s interest in Jules on her own. She buckled her watch single-handed. Cesare had been distracted lately. Now was not the time.

Besides … She didn’t want to throw Jules to the wolves.

‘ Enough ,’ she snapped, cutting off whatever Jules had been rambling about. ‘Let’s go, shall we?’

He smirked, flicking his eyes down meaningfully at her trailing laces.

Of course her boots were untied. She knelt to thread the laces up her calf, tweaking them until they were taut to her liking.

Reaching for the coat draped at the end of the bed, Jules swirled it over his shoulders. He decided against putting his arms through the sleeves, instead crossing them over his chest as he leaned against her bedpost. She was far too distracted to notice, looping her laces around the hooked eyelet before tying a tight knot. With no more excuses, she looked up.

Dio . It was almost frustrating how good the Vatican uniform looked on him. Some people let the uniform wear them, with its close tailoring and gold details, but Jules had the build to pull it off. A body refined by fighting for survival. All lean legs and narrow hips and—

She dragged her eyes away. Enough .

‘ Deus, desiderium meum ,’ she muttered in Latin, ‘ in Jules Lacroix averte .’

‘Hey.’

‘What?’ she asked flatly, shooting him a look.

‘Did you just curse me out to God ?’

‘No,’ she said airily.

‘We’re only, like, a thousand feet away.’

‘Three hundred.’

‘Even worse. What if he comes for me?’

‘Stop getting on my nerves and move. Dio .’

‘You did it again.’

‘Get your ass out that door or not even God could save you from me.’

Raising his hands, Jules backed out of the room. Then he lazily tucked those scarred hands into his coat pockets.

And again Selene prayed. May God protect me from lustful thoughts about Jules Lacroix.