Page 28

J ules woke alone. Morning sun slanted through the windows, painting the parquet floor in gold stripes. He reached for Selene beside him, but the sheets were cool. He sat up and pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, grimacing against a dawning pain. Sleep had kept it just out of reach, but now it drew closer. You are a demon .

He screamed into a pillow without making a sound, the hollowness inside him rupturing. Somehow he’d held himself together in front of Selene, but the reality was ripping him apart. What did it mean that he was all demon without a single drop of human blood in his veins? And how many demons had he killed? He shrugged off his crumpled shirt and flexed his bicep, making the pale scars stand out against tanned skin. To know for sure, he’d have to count the marks. But not yet. He dreaded the knowledge.

After a shower, Selene still wasn’t back. He couldn’t wait here for her to return—he’d go mad—so he reached for the twin swords and strapped them to his hip. He needed to walk, then maybe he could outpace his racing thoughts. Retracing their steps from the night before, he soon found himself climbing the stairs at the Castel Santo Immortale. The castle near the statue-lined bridge was the exorcists’ deployment point and armoury, connected via a tunnel to the rest of the Vatican. No sooner had he cleared the doors than he spotted a familiar golden head. His expression soured and he pushed his hands into his pockets, hoping Gabriel wouldn’t see him.

And as Gabriel crossed the bridge toward him, walking ahead of a column of other exorcists, he almost didn’t. At the last possible moment, he looked up, spotting him. ‘Eliot.’ He looked around, seeming disappointed not to find Selene. ‘I need you to take an important message to Selene. We were just called out for a demon at Palatine Hill, but instead we found a broken ward.’ His jaw tightened beneath his skin. ‘I’m going to report it to the Imperium Bellum, but tell her to keep her guard up.’

Jules nodded. ‘Will do.’ He wanted to ask about the wards, but he couldn’t without risk of exposing himself. Clearly Eliot was supposed to know. Selene had avoided his every question last night. She was impossible.

He crossed the Aelian Bridge and wandered into Rome, threading through narrow stone streets that branched into even smaller alleys, with doors so low he needed to duck head and shoulders to pass. He smiled when he saw the first lamp post decorated with the ‘E’ and ‘K’ key, and turned to go deeper into Sparrow’s territory.

Beneath an ivy-covered bridge that spanned a wide alley was an old church decorated with skulls and carved dancing skeletons. One fleshless head appeared to be screaming. ‘You and me both, mate.’

‘Talking to yourself?’

He smiled, unsurprised by the rich, deep voice. ‘Sparrow. I was hoping we’d speak again.’

The demon’s eyes were warm. ‘Jules.’ Strolling closer, Sparrow looked him up and down. He wore a long wool coat, his slacks belted at his narrow waist and tightening again before the ankle.

‘I’m talking to him ,’ Jules said by way of explanation, nodding at the howling skull. ‘I call him Beno?t.’

‘Beno?t? For how long have you been doing that?’

‘I named him just now. But I think it suits him.’

‘Certainly, blessed seems like the perfect name for a screaming skeleton.’

They walked on together, and Jules told Sparrow what Gabriel had said.

His good humour died. ‘It was not the first.’

‘No,’ Jules agreed. ‘Kalindra gave Selene a handful of ward coins last night.’

‘So that’s what the old woman told her.’

‘You know, I don’t really believe in coincidences,’ Jules murmured, ‘which means the failing wards must be connected to Baliel, no?’

They passed through a wide piazza full of market stalls. The air smelled of sugary sweets and roasting nuts.

Sparrow nodded, expression taut. ‘I think that’s a good guess. Why he’s back, or what he wants, I have no more answers for you, I’m afraid. I just know it bodes ill.’ He glanced at Jules. ‘I don’t know enough about his bloodline to tell how you might be related. Even if you share blood, he could be a threat to you.’

‘Tell me what you wanted to say last night. About the scar. About my—’

Mother . The word caught in his throat.

Sparrow’s gaze settled on Jules’s bicep, as though he could see the scar through his Vatican black. ‘I believe your mother was powerful. She carried you to term here in this world with the exorcist threat hanging over her head, then she did this to protect you.’

Jules hung his head.

Sparrow’s good eye searched his face. ‘Why do you look like that? It’s true.’

Jules shook his head bitterly. ‘I don’t know if I can admire her. She bound my … power … before I ever knew I had it. How would you feel if your mother clipped your wings before you ever left the nest, Sparrow?’

Maybe it was lucky she had. Even with her mark, he was a monster. How much worse would he have been without it?

‘But she didn’t,’ Sparrow murmured, expression gentle. ‘This is much more sophisticated magic than the crude Vatican brands. Comparable to using a sledgehammer to amputate a finger.’ He flicked his eyes up, holding Jules’s gaze. ‘This magic is sublime. And from a woman who had just given birth.’

Jules ran his palm over the raised scar on his bicep. ‘I understand the concept of half -demons. They have a human parent. It makes some kind of twisted sense.’ In truth, the thought repulsed him, and he couldn’t entirely keep it from his voice. ‘But I’ve seen demons. They’re rarely—’ Jules looked at Sparrow. ‘ Beautiful . Perfect.’

Sparrow’s gorgeous mouth was tempted to a smile. ‘A good question. The answer is that you and I were made in this world. Long ago it was much easier for demons to come here.’

‘Why?’

He shrugged. ‘I’m not sure anyone knows. Maybe Baliel. Or someone who was alive back then.’ Sparrow leaned closer, his voice conspiratorial. ‘And back then demons were not monstrous.’

Jules thought about Baliel and about the weather demon he had crossed blades with on the battlefield. Perhaps they were what demons used to be. He withdrew Matteo Alleva’s notebook from his pocket. ‘This belonged to Selene’s father.’ He opened the book to Matteo’s sketch of Baliel.

Brows crumpling, Sparrow turned the notebook between his hands. ‘You’re sure this belonged to Matteo Alleva?’

Jules nodded, puzzled. ‘Why?’

‘Demon dukes aren’t your typical demon. They’re immensely powerful. Their presence here is like a stone dropped in a pond. Demons usually know when one is here.’ Sparrow frowned. ‘I suppose we missed something.’ They stopped in the middle of one of the many bridges spanning the Tiber. He handed the notebook back to Jules.

‘Don’t you think it’s strange? An exorcist knowing a demon duke? Knowing him well enough to commit his face to paper so clearly?’ Jules ran his thumb over the sketch, wondering how this man was related to him. It still seemed unlikely.

‘It would be,’ Sparrow began slowly, deep voice considered. ‘Except that Matteo Alleva was crucified.’

‘By Cesare.’ Jules’s fingers tightened on the notebook, knuckles turning ghostly white as he dug his nails into the leather. ‘His own brother, no less.’

Sparrow’s face was grim.

‘Do you know what he was executed for?’ Jules asked.

Sparrow’s eyes drifted to the notebook. ‘Would that I did. All I know is that the Vatican declared him an apostate.’

Jules thumbed the notebook pages, wondering what Matteo knew that had made him reject the Vatican so completely that his own brother killed him for it.

He frowned. ‘I need to read this.’

Upon Selene’s return to her rooms, she found a scrap of paper with a scrawl of messy writing on the sideboard in place of Jules.

Back soon. J

Surely that couldn’t be all? She turned it over, searching for more, then scrunched it in her hand. Damn him .

She stormed out of her rooms and down the hall.

Useless . Why bother leaving a note if that was all he was going to write?

Striding around the corner ahead, Jules grinned when he saw her, eyes flicking down to the crumpled note in her fist. ‘You found my message, I see.’

‘Is that what you call this?’

‘Of course,’ he said simply, rocking on his heels with his hands in his pockets. He looked too damn pleased with himself, a teasing smirk curling the corners of his mouth.

‘What if I’d needed to find you?’

He shrugged. ‘You didn’t, did you?’

Throwing her hands up, she stalked past him. He was being deliberately obtuse.

Falling into step with her, he lowered his voice. ‘I bumped into Gabriel coming back from Palatine Hill. They found another broken ward.’

The blood drained from her face, uncertain which part of that alarmed her more.

His large hand landed lightly on her shoulder. ‘I didn’t mention anything,’ he reassured her softly, his eyes skipping over her face. And sure enough, her heartbeat gradually slowed. ‘Told him I’d tell you. That’s it.’

The clipped sound of boots on slate announced a whole swathe of Academy grads from her year. She turned, watching them go.

‘Coming to train, Selene?’ called Chiara, one of Gabriel’s artificers.

Jules stepped up behind her. ‘Do you think you can defeat me?’ His breath made her hair tickle her neck, and heat flooded her cheeks.

‘I already did. Yesterday.’

He shrugged, smirking. ‘I don’t remember it like that.’

By the time they arrived at the training yard, Selene had her mask securely back in place. She pictured her expression as marble, like the demons that flanked the Aelian Bridge. No flush stained her cheeks, betraying what she hid inside her ribs. But what exactly was she hiding? Fingertips smoothing over the bandage Jules had tied around her hand, lingering over his careful butterfly knot, she realized she couldn’t put a name to this feeling.

A strange disquiet made her feel as though events were slipping out of her control. The unpleasant sensation redoubled when Florentina lit up upon seeing Jules.

Short memory , Selene thought caustically.

Flipping her long golden ponytail over one shoulder, Florentina bounded up to Jules, moulding herself to his side. ‘You’re not cross with me, are you?’ Florentina pouted out her lower lip, as though he might be so easily swayed.

‘How could I be cross with you?’ Jules smiled easily.

Men .

Florentina shot her a triumphant look over Jules’s shoulder.

Selene forced a smile. With teeth.

Watching them talk, it was as though something large and particularly toothy was gnawing at her intestines. Perhaps this was what it felt like to be possessed. Unpleasant, certainly. Regrettably, she wasn’t possessed. More like obsessed . The ward coins jangled in her pocket and her new insignia weighed heavily on her lapel, yet all she could think about was the way Florentina put on her most gregarious act for Jules, forcing a surprised laugh out of him.

It was similar to how she’d felt last night, whenever Sparrow had looked at Jules like he was a delicious morsel. And damn it, he was, but Sparrow had no business noticing. Nor did Florentina. Then again, neither did she .

Selene pressed a hand to her forehead. She was probably sick. The stress of this past week. That had to be it …

After training—and a long, hot shower—Selene joined Jules in the sunroom. He was poring over her father’s notebook again.

She thought Eliot had been remarkably optimistic to imagine her father might have anything useful to add seven years after his death, but when she’d voiced the thought aloud, Jules had waved the sketch at her again. ‘Matteo’s the only exorcist who met Baliel. Everyone else is under the misapprehension he hasn’t been seen for a hundred years.’

Dio Immortale , she was sick of seeing that face.

Despite herself, she drifted closer and plucked the book from his hands. ‘How do you know that?’ she said absently, running her fingers along the green leather spine. Even if it was useless, it was a beautiful object. An intricate Alleva ‘A’ decorated the spine above the vol. ii .

‘When I showed Sparrow the picture of Baliel, he mentioned it.’

Sparrow . She tried not to react to his name, but felt the bitter twist to her mouth. She bit her lower lip and returned to the pages. Near the end, her father’s handwriting became so tiny it took on an incomprehensible slant. She turned it sideways and tipped her head, hoping the change of angle would illuminate the situation.

No, not incomprehensible. Latin .

‘I think he’s written in code. Or the best he could manage in the time that he had.’

‘I thought you knew Latin?’

Grimacing, she shook her head. ‘Not enough.’

She flipped through the book, scanning the pages. Words jumped out at her and she paused.

Jules looked over her shoulder. ‘ Initia: Deus et Daemones . Well, that one sounds intriguing.’

Selene nodded. ‘That much I know. The Beginning: God and the Demons ,’ she said, running her fingertip over the pictures around the edge. Her father had drawn an intricate labyrinthine border with symbols she recognized. Divorare . Protezione . Ritorno . Fortuna . They were symbols for triggering magic. Devour . Protection . Return . Fortune .

Jules frowned, pointing at four symbols she barely recognized decorating each corner of the next page. ‘These were on the hexagonal discs.’

‘What discs?’ she said absently.

Jules snorted. ‘The ones that made you lose your—’

She shot him a warning look.

‘The ward coins.’

He still sounded sullen and she struggled not to roll her eyes.

Then his words sank in. Legamento . Foca . Proteggere . Guardia .

‘ Bind . Seal . Protect . Guard ,’ she murmured. She grabbed his hand, pulling him out of the room and into the corridor. ‘Come on. We’re going to the language library.’

This library was inside one of the smaller domes. The floor was a vast marble mosaic of aigikampos, winged hippocampi, and other sea monsters. The walls were unknowable, covered as they were by tall shelves. Selene took Jules up the hidden staircase and found the books on translation on the top walkway, just below the dome.

She piled thick leather tomes into Jules’s arms and drew him to a desk by one of the ceiling windows. The dome was dark, what little light there was came from two chandeliers that hung halfway to the floor below.

At last, the books she needed were spread out before her and she held her fountain pen poised. ‘ Oh . I don’t have paper.’

Jules flipped to the back of a book and ripped out a blank page.

She gasped.

He rolled his eyes. ‘Oh, come on. Nobody else needed it.’

Her silence was condemnation enough. Still, she accepted the page. Holding the notebook open with a finger, she juggled one of the Latin dictionaries and held the fountain pen between her teeth.

With a laugh Jules claimed the pen and slid the torn page in front of himself. ‘I’ll transcribe.’ Limned in pale winter light, he looked otherworldly.

Finally, she dragged her eyes away and began to translate.

The Vatican does not often speak of its origins. We forget because we do not wish to remember.

And by any accounting, two centuries is time enough to forget much. Even as I watch, Rome, who survived empires, crumbles around me. As we fight for our city and our people, I can’t help but think it’s not reason enough to forget that demons were the ones who gave us the means to fight and protect.

Selene paused at that, frowning. It was known in the Vatican, among those who graduated from the Academy, how they got their borrowed power. They all went through it. So what did her father mean, exactly? She skimmed the page again, then flipped through to the first entry they had read. It reassembled itself before her eyes. The dashed-out sections. The corrections. The way he had written the known dogma and replaced it with … discoveries ?

She read on, eyes skimming the Latin as she grew more comfortable, but she didn’t speak the next part aloud for Jules.

Demons gave us the symbols we use to kill them.

And they gave us the wards.

Jules looked up. ‘Selene?’

She stared at the page. ‘Sorry… I don’t know how to translate the next bit, hang on.’ She flicked through the pages and then closed the book. ‘Let’s take this with us. We’ll do more later.’ Or she’d find a way to lose the notebook, because her father was mad, wasn’t he? There was no way demons had given them the wards. Even as she thought it, she felt her confidence waver. Could the reason her father died be written in these pages?

She jumped when Jules closed the large book, releasing a puff of dust. ‘It’s interesting. I heard something similar recently.’

‘Hm?’ Selene glanced at her watch, only half listening. Damn . It was long since time they started getting ready for the masquerade.

Jules drew doodles around the edge of the page, staring out the window with unfocused eyes. ‘On my last day in Ostrava, I met someone on the battlefield who said something like, The Holy Vatican Empire, and all those beneath their aegis, have forgotten much . Or words to that effect.’

She frowned, searching his face. His easy smile was gone, replaced by an expression taut with pain. Not for the first time she wondered what had happened that day. What had driven him from war when he’d been so deadly proficient at it?

‘Who—and I mean this in the strongest sense—the absolute fuck said something like that on a battlefield?’

His eyes snapped up to hers. They were bottomless and a self-preservation instinct made her want to lean away. She ignored it. Even if he seemed far away and unknowable, he was still Jules .

‘The Caspian Tsarina,’ he said in a voice not quite his own. ‘After she wiped out my entire battalion.’