With Wandering Steps and Slow

by XFilesinAMajor

Summary:

You're not Terzo's prime mover, not in the traditional sense. In all your years at the abbey, you've only exchanged a handful of words with him. You doubt he even knows your name.

But you're moving him tonight, and you're the only one doing it--so, technically, yes, you could say you're his prime mover. It's not nearly as enticing as it sounds. It involves a lot of dumb luck or unholy intervention, depending how you view it. And it consists mostly of panic. Panic, personal sacrifice, and quite a bit of lower back pain. It's not fun. It's not sexy. It's not classy.

And if you don't accept the job, it's going to be the last night of his life.

Chapter 1

However, I with thee have fixed my lot, Certain to undergo like doom.

-John Milton, Paradise Lost

 

It was pure chance that I overheard the conversation that would change my life.

That still keeps me up at night, sometimes. If I’d gone down that particular hallway ten seconds earlier or a minute later, I’d have missed it altogether. And the fact that I was down that hallway at all was an anomaly—something I’d done only rarely before, and certainly not late at night. And that door should never have been ajar. I put it down to the wood of the frame, warped by time and weather, becoming just a millimeter out of the latch’s reach. I can only assume that it seemed to catch when Sister closed it, because she would never have been careless enough to leave it open.

The errand that took me down that hall—the precise timing—the tricky latch—the slightest change to any one of those things is all it would have taken to prevent my interference. And yet I was there, tiptoeing down the drafty hall, furiously attempting to convince myself that what I was doing wasn’t actually against the rules. The chapels were open to anyone in need, weren’t they? The Dark Lord and the needs of his children didn’t operate on a strict schedule. It was even in His name, wasn’t it? The Dark Lord. If anything, sneaking into a smaller chapel in the dead of night to pray for His guidance was something of which Lucifer would approve.

That’s what I was telling myself, at any rate. In reality, I half expected one of the resident ghouls to jump out of a shadow, grab me by the throat, and haul me to a sacrificial alter for my transgressions. No, I didn’t really believe that, either—we might be a Satanic church, but we did not go in for human sacrifice. Lucifer liked blood, yes, but He preferred His servants alive. So they had taught me when I first came here, and I had no reason to doubt the truth of it. It was just…being alone in the stone corridors of the abbey, the only light provided by torches that flickered with each chilly draft, it made me feel like a transgressor. And vulnerable. Very alone, very wrong, very vulnerable.

I was padding as silently as I was able, choosing the cold stone against my bare feet rather than risk the sound of my shoes alerting anyone to my presence because, that’s it, I had every right to be here, no reason to feel guilty, don’t be ridiculous. And as I approached a corner, a hushed female voice wound its way into my ear, nearly as soft and sneaky as me. Immediately I froze, looking rapidly around and backing against the wall. No figure manifested, but the voice continued.

So I listened.

That the voice belonged to Sister Imperator only became clear to me later, when I was back in my quarters and my heart had stopped thundering in my ears. It was as though the words had collected inside my head as I hovered fearfully outside that door, but my brain had refused to process any of them until my body sent some signal that it was safe. Curled up on my bed in my clothing, hugging my knees and staring blindly at the wall, I discovered that I had no clear memory of hearing anything. The memory of standing against that wall was barely present—a smudge on my consciousness, nothing more.

But the knowledge filtered slowly into my mind all the same, and I understood what I had heard. Sister Imperator, in a clandestine meeting late at night, speaking urgently and excitedly, but so quietly. To whom? My brain supplied no other side to the conversation, but there were pauses where Imperator had asked a question and seemed to find a response in the silence. A phone call, perhaps? Or another presence in the room with her, someone who could nod understanding or assent but declined to speak? One of the ghouls, most likely.

Did it matter? It did, yes. I wanted to know whose wrath I intended to risk.

Into the black shadows of my bedroom, I blinked. I hadn’t known until that moment what I intended to do. I was, in fact, appalled by what I intended to do. The mere thought of it sent fear coursing through my veins in place of blood, every muscle in my body seizing up in defiance at the very notion. Shivering violently, I hugged myself harder, blinking back tears of panic, telling myself it was impossible.

Yes, it was probably impossible. But with the knowledge I now possessed I couldn’t—I couldn’t—do nothing. The idea of doing nothing was intolerable to me in a way that the dread and likelihood of failure were not. I would act. I knew that as soundly as I knew my own name.

I wished I knew who else had been in that room with Sister, just as I wished she’d conveniently mentioned which room they were using, and whether anyone was guarding the door. The little I knew wasn’t enough, not really. But I shouldn’t have been there to hear anything. I shouldn’t even know the little that I did. To my mind, that meant Lucifer had wanted me to hear what I’d heard. He didn’t approve of Imperator’s plans, and I was His tool in putting a stop to them. I can attribute my courage to nothing more than that half-baked, self-important notion.

It did the trick, though. I released my knees. I got back off my bed. I grabbed my blanket, folding it neatly so that I could pretend, if asked, that I had fetched it from the linen closet. I grabbed the small purse that held my meager savings from my underwear drawer, slipping it in between the folds of the blanket. I crept out of my quarters for what was to be the last time and moved down the hall once more.

The east wing was all I had heard, and that wasn’t very much to go on. Whether it was Lucifer or luck that guided my steps, I found myself in a silent and empty hallway which nonetheless made all the hairs on my arms stand on end, my nipples stiffen, and dread coil in my gut.

There were no guards, but the doors were locked. I pushed against each of them soundlessly to see if, like the one that betrayed Imperator’s intentions, they possessed a faulty latch. Unfortunately, none of them did—and attempting to force them would create too much noise. I put my ear to the nearest locked door and listened intently, but all was silence. The malevolence of the hall wormed its way under my skin. I hugged my blanket tighter around myself, lying to myself that it was only a chill coming in a window that was giving me goosebumps.

A window!

I backed out of that hallway, retreating until I came to a door that led outside, to the abbey grounds. I slipped out into a darkness that seemed less oppressive than what was inside, letting the light of the moon guide me around the outer side of the same hall. Flattened grass and small pebbles shifted under my bare feet, and I kept one hand against the exterior wall as I made my way back. Yes, there were windows. All of them appeared shut, but I tested each all the same. I slipped on a stone as I pulled cautiously at the third one I came to, the result of which was me pulling harder at the frame than I intended. I also fell backward, landing hard on the unyielding ground. My bruised rear and elbow would have to forgive me.

One half of the window stood open. Getting painfully to my feet and picking up the dropped blanket, I came close and peered through it. Empty. No, wait! I wiggled the other half of the window, pulling both sides wide open on their hinges, letting the silvery light cast a larger rectangle onto the plain wooden floor. My next breath would have caught in my throat, had I been breathing at all. What I had a first taken for a slice of shadow from the window latch was in fact a shoe.

A shoe with a foot still inside it, and a leg attached to that. I dared to assume that beyond that, outside the range of the moonlight, was an entire body.

With both sides open, the window was large enough for a human to climb through. Its bottom ledge was at the same height as my shoulders, however, and pulling myself up and through was not an easy or pleasant experience. I had at least one splinter, a banged knee, and aching arms to add to my list of minor ailments by the time I slid softly down to set my feet on the floor. I squinted, waiting impatiently for my eyes to adjust to the dimness, my roiling insides threatening to make me throw up.

Not one body, but two. Just as she’d said. I wondered, fleetingly, what they had done to the third. And they weren’t bodies, that would imply there was no life left in them. Some hasty and awkward groping around brought my fingers to a warm chest and above that, a throat with a slow but steady pulse. Unable to beat down my curiosity, I allowed my fingers to creep further up until they reached hair. Papa Emeritus III, then.

Pushing down the tightness in my throat I turned to the other motionless form. A slow pulse there, as well, and a smooth head. Papa II. I pulled my hands back into my lap, listening to the stillness that wasn’t quite stillness anymore. The goosebumps on my arms had—momentarily—faded away. I could hear them breathing. And with a cold, terrible certainty, I saw the truth of what had to happen. Even if Lucifer was with me, I was only one person. One relatively small, not particularly strong woman. Unconscious on either side of me were two grown men. And she’d be coming for them soon.

I looked back out the window, hoping for some sign from the stars in the black sky. The Dark Lord had gotten me this far but now, it seemed, I was on my own. If I was exceptionally fortune tonight, I had a chance to save one of them. But not both.

Looking back, I’m always faintly surprised I didn’t cry. The injustice of it was certainly worth a few tears. This was choice far and away beyond my pay grade. It wasn’t my place. It wasn’t my responsibility. It wasn’t fair.

But there was no room for tears in that room, and there was no time to dither. I could curse myself, Imperator, even Lucifer for this later. Papa III was a smaller man. With no thought to the impropriety of what I was doing, I grabbed him under the armpits and dragged him toward the window. His shoes made an awful scraping sound against the boards, and I didn’t hesitate to remove them. Then I went back to unceremoniously pulling his heavy, limp form to the open window.

Dragging him was one thing, but lifting him took all the strength I had, and there was no dignity at all in the way I finally toppled down into the grass and rocks with him. I cut my hand as we landed, but barely processed the sting and didn’t notice the blood until long after it dried. Papa was sprawled half atop me, and I hurried to push him off. A faint sound left his lips as he rolled onto his back, and in a flash I was leaning over him, my face inches from his, searching for some sign of consciousness. When none was forthcoming, I grabbed him by the shoulders and shook. He groaned weakly, and in excitement I urgently patted his cheek.

“Papa! Papa, can you hear me?”

His lips moved again—closer to a mumble than a moan, but if there were words behind it they eluded me. A sharp spike of panic lanced through my heart—not disabling me, but driving me back to action. Waking him up was not happening. Back to indignity. It was better than death.

I crawled back to the wall, grabbing the blanket and ascertaining that my purse was still inside. I would need both my arms to move Papa, so I positioned them over his lap and hoped for the best. Adrenaline prevented me from feeling the screaming muscles in my back as I seized him under his arms again, walking backward and bent nearly double as I pulled him away from the abbey and into the night.

I don’t know how long we moved like that. I didn’t stop to think, or feel, or fear. My one goal was to get as far from the abbey as we could, because if we were still on the grounds when Imperator discovered him missing, the ghouls would have little trouble tracking us down. Eventually I found myself at the road into town, which was hardly any less dark and deserted than the grounds. The residents of the local village rarely visited the abbey, and when they did it certainly wouldn’t be in the wee hours of the morning. Any headlights I might see would have to be viewed as a threat.

The adrenaline was wearing off. My muscles protested loudly now, and I had to grit my teeth to continue my mission. Turning back was not an option, and if I paused to rest I doubted I’d be able to rise again. With arms like lead weights, I kept staggering in the direction of town.

Inevitably I tripped over a crack in the pavement, lost my balance, and lost my grip on Papa as I hit the ground. It would have been the perfect opportunity to despair, and had he not groaned loudly and rolled himself lethargically onto his side, I’m sure I would have done just that. Instead I knelt beside him and nearly burst into tears when I saw his eyelids flutter.

“Wake up,” I urged desperately, or maybe I prayed. “You have to wake up, Papa. Wake up!”

Another weak flutter, and then suddenly his eyes were open, staring up at me without comprehension. “Ch’ s’a succ’d’nd?”

My Italian wasn’t perfect at the best of times, let alone when the speaker was barely coherent. I pressed on regardless. “Papa. We have to move. Can you stand?”

“Eh?” He blinked, attempted to focus on me, and then his eyes closed again. Ruthless, I shook him. He attempted to shrug me off, which was at least movement. “Cosa vuoi?” And that was less slurred.

“You’ve been drugged,” I explained, attempting to pull him up into a sitting position. “They’re going to kill you.” I grasped at what little Italian I knew. “Andiamo, Papa. Andiamo, bene? Sì?”

“Sì,” he said, and then “No,” and then “What?” His eyes opened again, white and green both looking to me for some answer or explanation. For a man older than me, with so much talent and power, he seemed so…young. Helpless. Lost.

“Andiamo, Papa. Can you stand? We need to move quickly.”

His nod was slow and groggy, but it was a nod nonetheless. And he didn’t fall over when I ever-so-slightly relaxed my grip on his shoulder. The muscles in his arms tensed—I think perhaps he was trying to push himself up—and then he flopped bonelessly over onto me. I was suddenly very tempted to just start dragging him again. “Che…what’s wrong with my arms?”

I bit back a hysterical laugh. “It’s more than your arms, I’m afraid. Here, let me help.” Or at least try to, I added silently as I forced myself upright once more, standing over him and grasping his hands firmly. “Ready? Uno…due…tre!” I braced my feet and pulled hard as I could. Weak-kneed, Papa did his best to hold some of his own weight when I hauled him to his feet, if only for the few seconds it took to insert myself under his right arm.

Arranging his arm over my shoulders and circling my free arm around his waist was terribly awkward on many levels. On a purely physical level, finding a way to support his uncooperative muscles and keep us both upright was challenging enough—I could have done without the emotional awkwardness on top of it. I doubted Papa was even aware of my embarrassment, but now that he was at least nominally conscious I was starting to notice all the things I hadn’t before.

He wore no papal paints, nor any ceremonial robes. He smelled of sweat and urine. If not for the eyes, I might have wondered if I’d somehow made a mistake, for I’d never seen Papa Emeritus III look anything but impeccable. It felt wrong to me, interacting with him in this condition, in a way that dragging him through a window and across the ground had not. I didn’t want to see him like this, weak and confused. I didn’t want him relying on me for something as simple as staying on his feet. He was Papa. I was nobody. It was wrong.

But everything about this was wrong. I shoved aside my mental discomfort along with the physical and focused on putting one foot in front of the other. If we didn’t get to town, none of it would matter.

Perhaps I should have attempted to make conversation, or at least offered some encouragement as he tried to walk. But I was putting all my strength and focus into moving us, and I wouldn’t have known what to say anyway. I had never properly appreciated before just how far removed the abbey was from town.

Headlights came into view, and I nearly threw us both to the ground before I noticed which direction they were coming from. Whoever was driving this car, it hadn’t come from the abbey. Did I dare risk flagging them down?

Did I have any choice? At the rate we were going it was amazing that we hadn’t been captured yet. That we were still here served as proof to me that Lucifer was still on our side, and it was just possible He’d sent this car, too. Only a few minutes ago I’d been disturbed by Papa’s plain black clothes, but now I realized how helpful that would be. In one quick movement I shoved my grucifix down the front of my dress, thankful that I had left my wimple back at the abbey.

The vehicle began to slow. “If they ask, you are not Papa,” I said urgently. “We have nothing to do with the church. You’re my husband, and you’re drunk.” My mind continued racing for plausible cover stories. “Your name is Marco, and our car broke down.”

Papa’s soft, tired laugh surprised me. “Am I drunk, amore? Maybe I crashed our car. You—” He attempted to jab an accusatory finger at me, and to this day I don’t know how I managed to keep my face neutral when his finger sank into my breast. “—should not have let me drive.” His balance faltered at that moment and he was forced to cling to my shoulders with both hands, which spared me from having to explain the heat rising in my cheeks. “Cazzo!”

The car was rolling to a stop only a few meters away. I hastily nodded at his addition to the cover story, attempting to shift him back against my side instead of letting him hang off my neck—though the way his face was slowly sliding down my neck didn’t hurt the drunk husband claim at all.

The driver of the car was a man—alone, mustachioed, perhaps a bit older than Papa. I could hear some kind of industrial rock coming from the speakers on the dashboard. It all combined to seem rather promising. I pulled a relieved smile from somewhere in the depths of my soul and plastered it over my face as I raised my voice to greet him.

“Thank you so much for stopping! I thought no one would ever come along! Please, can you give us a ride into town?”

The man leaned over the empty passenger seat, his eyes moving over us doubtfully, possibly regretting stopping now that he’d gotten a good look at us. “Che cosa? Non capisco,” he said with an apologetic shake of his head.

Shit. “Inglese?” I asked with a hopeful smile, buying myself time as I racked my brain for Italian. “Ai…aiuto? Città?” I pointed toward town again, still smiling, silently wishing I were prettier.

“Chi sei? Cosa stai facendo qui? Cosa c’è che non va in lui?” He eyed us warily.

With strength I hadn’t known he currently possessed, Papa pushed himself away from me and staggered over to lean against the car, sticking his head through the window. “Ciao amico! Scusa per la mia ragazza, è la sua prima volta, sai?” His friendly stream of Italian continued as I tried to put together what he was saying, but I was far too slow. I’d barely worked out that he’d called me his girlfriend by the time he and the driver were well into a discussion about—I thought—what had brought us here.

I surrendered any attempt to control the direction of the conversation. I’d just have to trust that Papa was coherent enough to weave a convincing story without my assistance. I did hear lots of “auto” and what I thought was a joke about alcohol. The driver laughed heartily along with him, and I didn’t need to fake my look of polite bemusement. Yes, this was Papa Terzo, known for his charm and his silver tongue, but it was still difficult to believe he could chat like this when not so long ago he’d barely been able to keep his eyes open. And he was slipping again, I realized, gradually sinking down the side of the vehicle as he talked, his head weaving slightly as if it wasn’t quite steady on his neck.

I moved closer again, putting an arm around him. It wasn’t enough. I added my other arm, physically straining to pull him upright. He looked over at me, raised his eyebrows suggestively, and made another joke to the driver. Undoubtedly at my expense.

“We need to get back to town, remember?” I glared at him, which annoyingly only made him laugh more. “You’re not well.”

“Non vede l’ora di portarmi a letto,” he told the driver with a grin. I only caught a few of the words, but they were enough to make me blush.

“Sarà delusa!” the driver cackled, but to my intense relief he also gestured to the rear seat of his car, inviting us in. I had to help Papa, and once the door was open he flopped gracelessly across the entire seat. I debated leaving him to it and sitting in front with the driver, but a horny, possibly inebriated, definitely foreign girlfriend wouldn’t hesitate to squeeze into the back seat beside him, and so that was what I did. The last thing I wanted was to raise suspicions now, when we were so close.

He flopped around some more to make room for me before dropping his head into my lap. That felt more deeply wrong than helping him stand had, especially when he grinned up at me through disheveled hair, dark pinpricks of facial hair speckling his jaw and upper lip. I managed a weak smile in return.

As soon as the car had turned around, taking us toward the town, the grin dropped off his face and fear crept in, widening his eyes and tightening the corners of his mouth. I wasn’t sure if having a frightened Papa in my lap was any more appropriate than having a smirking one there—but he was alive, and so was I, and that was what mattered. Moreover, I hadn’t had to use any money from the purse I’d hastily shoved down my bra when Papa started walking. I’d been prepared to use some of it to pay for a ride into town, but it didn’t look as though I would need to. That meant more money for when we got there, at which point we would… Fuck, I’d better figure that out.

I twisted in the seat, lowering my head so that I could speak directly into Papa’s ear. If the driver wanted to think I was doing something romantic, that was fine. So long as he didn’t hear what I was saying. Even though he’d turned the volume of his music back up, and even though he didn’t seem to speak any English, I was taking no chances. “Where did you tell him to take us?”

“Into town.” I watched his throat move as he swallowed his fear. “Where you’re going to tell me what is going on.”

I was sure he intended that to sound like a demand, and he almost succeeded. Considering he could hardly sit up on his own, he sounded impressively imperious and sure of himself. It was only his eyes that betrayed to me how uncertain he really was. “Of course I will,” I promised, though I doubted my answers would prove satisfactory. “Did you give him an address?”

He shook his head. “What address would I give?” Before I could come up with a response to that, I felt his hand grasp my wrist—not tight enough to hurt, but with a desperation that caught me off guard. “What did you do to me, sorella?”

“What?” I jerked backward, shocked at the accusation even though I suppose I should have seen it coming. “I didn’t do anything, Papa! It wasn’t me!”

He shook his head again, maintaining his grip on my wrist, and a flash of anger momentarily supplanted the fear in his face. “I remember nothing! My body will not listen to me. It is…so difficult, to stay focused. I can see you’re terrified, but of what? Where is Secondo? I…we were…” His fingers loosened, his hand falling from my wrist back to his torso, and his eyelashes fluttered as his eyes rolled back. His next words were so quiet I nearly didn’t catch them, even as close as I was. “Help me.”

I bit into my lip, fighting back any and all emotions, and laid my hand on top of his. “I’m trying, Papa,” I murmured. Despite my use of his title, I was speaking mostly to myself. Between his smooth lies to the driver of the car and the effort of moving about so soon after waking, he had clearly exhausted himself.

At least I knew that he hadn’t told the driver a specific location. I could let him rest for the remaining minute or two it would take to reach the town. I knew there were a few hotels there, but they were small and few. It was not a huge metropolis. I’d need to find a way to get Papa further away as soon as possible, but right now I would settle for a place to keep him hidden while he slept off whatever drugs they had given him. Any room would do. Preferably a cheap one.

“Quale via?” the driver asked, looking over the seatback when we reached the first major crossroads.

“Hotel,” I answered, thankful some things required no translation, and gestured vaguely ahead and to the left.

Our unnamed driver tilted his head a bit further, probably wondering why his new buddy wasn’t the one answering, and laughed softly to himself when he saw Papa all but passed out on me. He muttered something to himself in Italian, shaking his head in amusement, and returned his focus to the streets. I leaned forward awkwardly over Papa’s head to tap him on the shoulder less than a minute later. “Qui, grazie,” I told him, gesturing to the shabby hotel just ahead of us. “Si fermi qui.”

He grinned at me as he pulled over the car to the side of the street. “Buon lavoro, signorina! Ti faremo parlare come si deve subito, eh?” I smiled politely and nodded. “Il tuo uomo sta dormendo?”

“Sta bene,” I assured him, deducing the gist of the second question, and patting Papa gently on the cheek. “We’re here. Let’s get you inside.”

His eyes opened once more, and again I saw that utter lack of comprehension. It was almost as if I could hear his thoughts, jumping around like scared rabbits. Where am I? Who’s that? Why do I feel ill? Is this a car? What’s wrong with me? What’s going on?

“It’s okay,” I said, ceasing the patting and letting my palm rest against his prickly cheek in what I hoped was a reassuring manner. “I’ll explain once we’re inside. Okay?”

He looked at me for a long, uncomfortable moment before nodding. “Okay, sì. Inside.” His eyebrows pulled down doubtfully, but I felt a fresh surge of the adrenaline that had abandoned me during the short drive. Luck had been with us, certainly. But we weren’t home free yet, either. I needed to get him into this hotel, and get a room without raising any suspicions. If the driver offered to help me get Papa in, he’d find out we didn’t have a room there. On the other hand, if Papa fell over in the middle of the hotel lobby, that would also attract attention.

I sent a quick prayer down to Lucifer as I exited the vehicle, turning back to take both his hands in mine. He was clearly improving, even if it was slowly; he wobbled on his feet but slung his arm over my shoulders with very little assistance. I fit my arm around his waist tight enough that I worried I would hurt him, but rather than complain he turned us back toward the driver for a slurred but exuberant “Grazie mille!” The man laughed, winking as he wished us a good night, and thankfully showed no sign of getting out of his car. In fact, he took off as soon as we were on the sidewalk. Grateful as I was for his assistance, I was relieved to see him go.

“I’m going to get a room,” I told Papa, escorting him to the hotel door with painful slowness. “Keep pretending you’re drunk.”

He huffed a bit of air out through his nose, almost a laugh. “I wish I were drunk. That, at least, would make sense.”

I was already fretting over my Italian, too full of anxiety to offer him any sympathy at the moment. “Una stanza, right? Vorrei una stanza?”

“Vorremmo,” he corrected me, exhaustion already returning to his voice. “Can we pay for one?” I reached my free hand under my collar and retrieved the small purse from my bra. He smiled weakly when I showed him. “Ah. Good.”

We made it into the lobby. It was about as shabby as I had imagined. There was an older woman reading a book behind a dingy counter and I headed straight for her, pausing only for a second to consider whether or not I should deposit Papa in one of the few upholstered chairs. No—it would be more work than it was worth to get him back up afterward, and I was still paranoid enough that I wanted to keep him as close as possible.

I wasted no time beating about the bush with the woman. “Vorremmo una stanza, per favore.”

She barely glanced at us, flicking her eyes up once before turning the page of her book. “Sessantacinque per notte.”

I winced, suspecting she’d pegged me as a tourist and was overcharging me accordingly, but I was in no position to haggle. Papa made a sound of protest as I opened my purse, but I ignored him and he took the hint. I pulled out twice the number of euros she’d quoted, since even though it had to be nearing dawn by now this probably still counted as a night.

The woman put a finger in her book for long enough to accept the money, count it, and give us one appraising look before shaking her head. At least she kept her thoughts to herself as she passed me a numbered room key. She didn’t even ask for my name. I’d ordinarily find that a huge red flag, but tonight I was grateful for the criminal negligence.

The room was even more disappointing than the lobby. The bed was neatly made and there were no visible stains on it, but that’s the nicest thing I can say about it. Then again, I wasn’t interested in much else, either. Being able to deposit Papa on a mattress and lock the door behind us was such a profound relief that as soon as it was done I leaned my back against the door and started shaking.

The shaking escalated, so I wrapped my arms around myself and sank down the door, trying to catch my breath as the panic I had so long kept at bay took over. My chest felt too small, I couldn’t fit any air in there. I closed my eyes, taking short, shallow gasps, and hugged my knees tightly against myself as the enormity of what I had just done hit me. Every thought I hadn’t allowed myself to entertain surrounded me, beating at the edges of my brain and falling over each other to demand my attention.

I tried so hard to shove it all aside again, but this time it wouldn’t budge. I had just lost everything. I had no idea how close I’d come (or how many times) to failure, capture, death. I didn’t know what, exactly, would have happened if I’d failed, and moreover I didn’t know what would happen now. Every ache and pain from the night flared up, and tears stung the backs of my eyes. I couldn’t breathe! I was in a crappy hotel room with a drugged former Satanic Pope who had no idea what was going on and any minute he was going to turn to me for answers, and I didn’t have any.

I hugged my knees tighter, burying my face in them and struggling to supplant the searing panic in my chest with air. My head was starting to buzz, my lungs aching, but none of my attempts to draw proper breath made it past the very tops of my lungs.

Maybe it was just as well I had no air in my lungs, because the sudden thud not far from my feet startled a strangled sound out of me that would otherwise have been a scream. My head snapped up, and immediately I saw the source of the thud. Papa was no longer on the bed, but at my feet on the floor. Not quite sprawled helplessly, but clearly his attempt to stand had gone more poorly than he’d anticipated. He was still sorting himself out from a heap into a more comfortable position—no, it wasn’t a more comfortable position he was trying for after all. He half-crawled the short distance between us as I stared, frozen, choking on my overdue fear.

He reached the spot next to me, laboriously pulling himself up and propping his back against the wall. My vision was going fuzzy at the edges by then, and all I could think was that once I passed out my breathing would return itself to normal. I barely processed his hand creeping over my shoulders until he had me in an ungainly half-hug. “Sorella.”

I shook my head into my knees.

“Sorella, look at me.” I lifted my tear-streaked face and turned it toward him, gasping uselessly. “Okay, good. You keep your eyes on mine, sì?” I gave a jerky little nod. “We’re going to breathe together. You copy me, yes?”

I nodded with slightly less hysteria. Focusing on his eyes did help, a little. They were so odd: mismatched, the white one strange and disconcerting, the hazel one warm and friendly, dark eyelashes, delicate crows feet at the corners, almost hypnotic. Eyes you could get lost in. I put all my attention onto his eyes, but the edges of my vision picked up the way his nose and chest moved as he drew in a long, slow breath. My body automatically tried to mirror it, though I don’t think much air made all the way to my lungs.

But it was working. Slowly, my chest relaxed, my respiratory system mimicking the deep, calming breaths that he took. His fingers moved against my shoulder and one edge of his lips curled up in a smile. “Yes, sì, that’s good.” He waited patiently until I tipped my head back against the wall, closing my eyes and breathing evenly once more.

But as soon as the panic attack had passed, his concern for me returned to the back-burner. “Now,” he said in a tone that was still remarkably even, all things considered, “I need you to tell me what has happened.”

I took one more nice, slow breath, and reopened my eyes. I’d known this was coming. He had every right to an explanation, however unsatisfactory it might be. “Thank you,” I began, because I truly did appreciate the time he had given me to pull myself together. But what did I say next? Where did I begin? “I woke from a drea…a nightmare this morning just after 1:30. It was silly, but I couldn’t go back to sleep, and so I got dressed and headed to the Lilith Chapel.”

He didn’t question this, so I took another slow breath and pressed on. “I heard a voice when I came to a corner. I didn’t intend to eavesdrop, but what I overheard shocked me so deeply that I couldn’t bring myself to leave. It was Sister Imperator, though I don’t know who she was speaking to. Whoever it was, they were discussing plans to…” I stopped to gulp, my chest tightening again at having to disclose the horror. “…to kill all the former Papas. And to, to put them—I mean, you—on display for…” My mouth felt dry, and I couldn’t bring myself to look at him. “…for profit, I think. She said she’d had you drugged and moved to the east wing but that whoever she was talking to needed to hurry and prepare the sword and embalming chemicals.”

I made myself lift my eyes, expecting a slew of questions from Papa, but though his eyes were fixed on me he only nodded for me to continue.

I let my eyes slide sideways again, focusing on the abstract painting hanging on the opposite wall. “I fled back to my room before she could notice me, but I knew I had to do something. But it was Sister Imperator! I didn’t know who to turn to, who I could trust to help beyond Lucifer Himself. I would hope that any sibling of sin would readily defy Imperator to protect their Papas, but I didn’t know. I couldn’t take the risk. So I went alone. When I—”

“Alone?” Until that moment in my story he had been justifiably upset. Tense, frightened, angry, confused, disoriented, yes, all of those—but he’d kept it all relatively controlled. But at my latest admission, Papa had no qualms at interrupting me and made no effort at all to hide the distress in his voice. “Where are my brothers?”

I’d almost forgotten that he’d left his arm draped over my shoulders, but when I didn’t immediately answer his nails bit through the thin fabric of my sleeve and dug into my skin. “Sorella!” I doubt he was even aware he was hurting me, because his voice was roughed by raw desperation, not anger. “Where are my brothers?”

“Papa, I…I’m afraid I don’t know.” Admitting that had no right to cause me as much pain as it did. “Papa Emeritus I wasn’t in the room where I found you. Maybe he wasn’t there yet, maybe they had already taken him…elsewhere.” I wouldn’t tell him that his oldest brother had most likely been dead by the time I got there, but I could tell from his reaction that he understood all the same.

“And Secondo?” His fingers gripped my arm harder, and I could see his throat working as he fought to keep his own panic at bay.

“He was there with you, Papa.” The memory of groping in the dark for some sign of life in that room and finding two pulses filled me with belated grief. “But you were both unconscious, and—”

“And where is he now?” His eyes, that had been so improbably reassuring a few minutes ago, now seemed dangerous and wild. While it was good that his muscle control was returning, I was certain there would be bruises on my arm tomorrow. And I was starting to get a little frightened of the man I’d rescued.

“I don’t know. I’m sorry.” I whispered the words, not daring to allow any expression into my voice. “It was just me, and there was no time. I could only help one of you.”

“Then you should have saved him!” Papa nearly shouted, releasing my arm and shoving me harshly away in the same movement. When I straightened back up, he had both hands over his face, the tips of his fingers protruding through his disheveled hair.

I waited a moment, massaging my arm, but he said nothing else. I continued waiting, since I wasn’t sure what else to do anyway, and soon I noticed his shoulders beginning to shake. I shifted marginally closer, clueless as to what to say. Some things are beyond comfort.

He must have sensed how close I still was, but he didn’t try to shove me away again. Instead, he lifted his face and dropped his hands, letting me see his damp cheeks and the redness in his eyes. “I am sorry, sorella,” he said thickly, wiping his face on his sleeve like a child. “You aren’t to blame for any of this. I should be thanking you, sì? You took many risks without being asked, and if Sister Imperator truly wanted me dead and you robbed her of that…” He swallowed hard and shook his head bleakly. “Neither of us can ever go back.”

“No, we can’t,” I whispered. More to myself than him, really. Neither of us said anything for a bit, but we remained sitting side by side against the wall, our shoulders just touching. “You don’t owe me any thanks,” I said eventually, not looking at him. “You didn’t ask me to do it.”

“Why did you?” Out of the corner of my eye, I could see that he, too, was staring at cheap hotel artwork instead of his companion.

I shrugged, which he felt even if he didn’t see it. “Someone had to.”

He cleared his throat carefully. “And why me?”

Slowly, I turned my head to look at him. “Honestly?”

Maybe my response surprised him, because he considered for a second before nodding his head. “Yes.”

“You’re lighter.”

Papa stared at me.

I made a tiny, apologetic shrug.

Silence fell once more.

“Good,” he said after a while. “That’s…that reason is okay.” He mused some more before adding, “I still don’t like it.”

“Neither do I, Papa,” I said heavily, then realized how awful that sounded. “That I couldn’t take you both, I mean! I’m not sorry for getting you out of there.”

“Hm.” I’m not sure if I was imagining it, but I think I saw the smallest of smiles flutter over his lips. “Well, since it seems we are stuck together for now…I suppose I’ll have to forgive you for it.”

Chapter 2

I woke up to sun streaming in around the edges of the blinds, and Papa’s hard cock pressed into my thigh.

Well. That was something.

His hand was also resting comfortably on my breast, and I could feel the scruff of his jaw against my collarbone.

If he’d been awake, it would all have been very awkward.

It was still, if I’m being completely honest with myself, pretty damn awkward. And also somewhat enticing. Which just made it more awkward, really.

I couldn’t blame him for what he did in his sleep. He was Papa Emeritus III, after all. None of the Papas had a reputation for spending many nights alone, and I’d been stupid enough to share a bed with the biggest playboy of the lot. Of course he’d gravitate toward a warm body on his mattress.

Alright, that wasn’t totally fair to myself. The choice to share a bed with him hadn’t been stupid. It hadn’t been any choice at all, really. Just like all the rest of the previous night.

Exhaustion had seized both of us quickly after we’d finished with the distressing conversation, which made perfect sense after all the physical and emotional exertion. I remembered him tilting his head back against the wall, staring dully at the stained ceiling as he tried to come to terms with the dramatic, heartbreaking turn his life had taken.

I’d gotten up to investigate what was behind the only other door within our room. It opened to reveal a toilet, sink, and tiny shower crammed together so tightly that the backs of my legs bumped the toilet seat as I’d leaned over the sink to splash some water on my face. There was a singular plastic cup in evidence, which I had rinsed out before using, just to be safe. The water was cool and delicious against the back of my throat, and I had downed two cups of it quick enough to give myself a stomachache.

I had then filled the cup up a third time and carried it out to Papa, only to find him sound asleep in the same position I’d left him. Taking a seat on the floor once more, I’d sat and observed the slow, even rise and fall of his chest, taking unintentional inventory of which lines faded from his face as stress receded into sleep. He still looked rough and haggard, not young and innocent, but I felt a surge of protectiveness toward him all the same.

It would have been nice if I could wish him dreams more pleasant than our reality and just leave him like that. I’d considered it. But I didn’t know what drugs they’d put in his system, and even though he seemed to be improving I didn’t want to leave anything to chance unless it was absolutely necessary. Gently, I’d put a hand on his shoulder to rouse him, offering a lame smile when he pried open his eyes.

“I know it’s not the most tempting bed,” I’d tried to joke, holding the cup of water steady as he’d slowly wrapped a hand around it, over mine. “But you really shouldn’t sleep against the wall.”

“A sore neck is the least of my problems right now,” he’d sighed in between small sips.

“True, but we don’t really need to add any more problems to the list, either, do we?”

He’d shot me a quick sideways look and hummed noncommittally, but after he’d drained the cup he did let me hoist him to his feet one more time. That time he’d muttered half-heartedly about the indignity of needing help to stand, and kept mumbling resentfully that he wasn’t an old man yet as I helped him to the bed.

He had fallen asleep almost immediately.

And me? I’d sat on the edge of the bed, reassuring myself that his breathing was still strong, that he was safely on his side so that he wouldn’t choke in the event of any unexpected vomiting, determined that he would not die on my watch. I refused to have done all this for nothing.

The trouble, of course, is that watching someone sleep is very calmly. And I was already hanging on to consciousness by a tenuous thread. I vaguely remembered lying down next to him, so that I could keep watch without having to hold my heavy head up any longer. Clearly, I’d fallen into just as deep a sleep as he had.

And here I was, waking up to the first day of the rest of my life, with a tired headache beating against my skull and an aging former antipope wrapped around me.

It wasn’t actually that bad, if I ignored the erection pushing against the outside of my leg. If I pretended that was just an uncomfortable twist in his belt or something, the rest of it was…nice. The way he’d nestled against me in his sleep, the soft tickle of his breath on my neck, the reassuring presence of another human body…it made me feel safe, wanted. I knew it was only an illusion, but still. My headache suggested that I focus on those nice things, let my eyes drift closed, and rest a little more.

I gave in and listened to it, dozing for a while longer, fluctuating between sleepily plotting out what I would need to do when I finally got up, and embracing the fleeting coziness of my position. It was all too easy to set aside conscious thought, ignore the lingering odors of sweat and urine and appalling morning breath, forget that Papa resented my choice in saving him, and imagine that I mattered to someone. This must be what it felt like, to be loved.

My pleasant drowsing was ended abruptly by a whimper near my ear. Not the panicked shout of someone waking from a nightmare, but it definitely wasn’t the moan of a sex dream, either. He almost sounded like a lost puppy, sad and confused. I turned my head carefully, shifting my shoulder away so that I could see my companion’s face. His hand grasped reflexively at my chest as he shook his head in small negations of whatever was plaguing his dreams.

He whimpered again, the crows feet at the edges of his eyes more prominent than ever as his eyes moved rapidly behind their lids. I made no further attempts to pull away, but the next small, pathetic sound carried a word: “No.”

“Papa?” I asked in concern, placing my hand over the back of his.

“No, no.” He continued shaking his head as abortive movements of distress spread into the rest of his body. “Non voglio, no!”

Most definitely a bad dream. “Papa,” I said again, more urgently, wrapping my hand tightly around his. “It’s a dream, it’s alright!” No, it wasn’t alright. For all I knew his dream wasn’t half so bad as the reality I was waking him up to. But he sounded so distressed.

“Mamma,” he cried softly, face contorting in his sleep, and I couldn’t take it anymore.

“Papa!” I raised my voice, sitting myself up and leaning over him, having vague flashbacks of the previous night as I grabbed his shoulder and shook. “Wake up!”

His eyes opened abruptly, though it was a moment before they focused on anything in the room, let alone me. When he did register my face above him, he blinked in confusion, brows pulling down to crease his forehead. I retreated to my own side of the bed as he propped himself up on one elbow, looking around dazedly as he massaged one of his temples.

Please remember, I thought as it dawned on me that he might not. Please remember last night. I don’t want to tell you all over again. I can’t do that again. Please.

Then I almost regretted the wish, because I saw the way he looked when his memories aligned themselves. It wasn’t shock, nothing so dramatic as that. It was resignation. All the life seemed to drain out of his face as he recalled the previous night, and he let himself back down onto the pillow with an air of hopelessness. “Good morning, sorella.”

“Buongiorno, Papa,” I responded, making an effort. I even went so far as to manufacture a smile.

He didn’t return the gesture. Instead, he stared up at the ceiling as though it had personally wronged him. “Don’t call me that.”

I bit into my lower lip unhappily. None of this had occurred to me last night. The big things had made it through, after the fact: I had defied Sister Imperator. I had failed to save the other Papas. I wasn’t a Sister of Sin anymore. I could never go back to the only real home I’d ever known.

The smaller things, though? That the man I’d saved would wake me first with uninvited snuggling, then calls for his mother, then the sulky attitude of a petulant teenager? In my mind, I had been saving Papa Emeritus III, the stylish and compelling former leader of my church, from an appalling attack on his life. But as he’d just pointed out—he couldn’t be that person anymore. Maybe he never had been. Maybe that person didn’t even really exist.

I’d rescued a complete stranger.

Tears prickling the backs of my eyes, I pulled in a calming breath and summoned another false smile. “Alright. What should I call you?”

He shrugged dejectedly. “Whatever you like.”

I considered that. The easy answer, of course, was Terzo. That was the only informal name I’d ever heard anyone use when referring to him. But he hadn’t said that, had he. He’d decided he couldn’t be bothered. He’d decided to leave it up to me.

“What did your mother call you?”

That got his attention, at least. “My mother? Cara, I have not seen my mother since I was four years old.”

That, I thought to myself, actually explained a lot. It didn’t escape my notice, either, that I was suddenly cara instead of sorella. A small acknowledgement that I, too, might have an identity beyond my position in the church. “And?” I pressed, relieved that I was at least getting some kind of reaction now. “What did she call you?”

He stopped staring at the ceiling, propping himself up on his elbows again to scowl at me. “Paperotto.” He sat up all the way, spreading his palms in annoyance. “Surely you’re not going to call me that!”

For some reason, his frustration drew a genuine smile from me. “Why? What does it mean?”

“I’m not telling you.” He crossed his arms.

“Oh. Okay.” I stood up, painfully stretching out my sore muscles. “I’ll just call you Pain-in-the-ass, then.”

I was facing away from him, but I heard the indignant gasp. “You wouldn’t dare to disrespect your pa—” Realizing what he was saying, he broke off with a growl of irritation. I continued to focus on my stretching. The small of my back was every bit as tight as I’d expected it to be. “Terzo,” he snapped. “You call me Terzo.”

It was tempting, bizarrely, to keep teasing him. I think I could tell, in some way, that the banter was somehow soothing for him, despite his display of annoyance. It was certainly helping me. It was a real conversation, albeit a very small one, that I was having with the man instead of the figurehead. But deliberately antagonizing him any more after all he’d just been through felt cruel, so I let it go.

“Thank you,” I said sincerely instead, executing one final stretch before turning around. “It’s nice to meet you, Terzo.”

“Meet me?” he repeated incredulously, and when I simply raised my eyebrows he actually laughed for the span of half a second. “Okay, sì, okay. A fresh start.” He held out his hand to me like a gentleman. “It is my pleasure to meet you…” He hesitated just long enough to confirm for me that no, he really didn’t know my name. “…cara.” Probably trying to cover it up, he kissed my knuckles instead of shaking my hand. “And what would you like me to call you?”

“Oh, I think cara works just fine for now.” Alright, maybe I could antagonize him just a little more.

Terzo narrowed his eyes at me, but now it was thoughtful rather than suspicious. He was trying to figure out why I didn’t want to give him my real name. I could almost see the cogs turning. Was it because giving him my real name felt too personal? Or was it just the opposite, did I favor cara because it could be considered a term of endearment? Or was it something more practical? Maybe I didn’t want to give him my real name so that he couldn’t betray me, if our luck were to turn sour? He couldn’t figure out my feelings toward him, and clearly it bothered him.

But he must have decided that if I could be difficult and vague, so could he. “Certamente, cara. As you wish.” He paused, and I wondered if he wasn’t going to challenge me after all, but then he made a face of distaste and said “Excuse me, but my mouth tastes as if something has crawled into it and died. Is that the bathroom?”

“I guess you could call it that,” I told him, thinking longingly of the familiar claw-footed baths at the abbey, the old-fashioned pull-chain toilets, the gargoyle-shaped faucets. The way the toilet seats were always, always cold. That one bathroom that the upper clergy studiously ignored, allowing obscene drawings, sexual advice, and poorly written poems to decorate almost every inch of the walls.

The sudden rush of homesickness was almost disabling. I ground my teeth together and blinked furiously as Terzo worked his way off the bed. That was a much better thing to focus on. I’d focus on that. “Do you need any help?” I asked as he put his socked feet gingerly on the floor.

I hadn’t meant it to sound condescending, but repressing the tremor in my voice obviously had the wrong affect because he sighed in an excellent imitation of a martyr. “How helpless do you think I am?”

“Not at all!” I said quickly, adding for honesty’s sake, “At least, not when you have no drugs in your system. How are you feeling today?”

He pushed himself to his feet and stayed there without swaying, giving me a very pained expression. “How am I feeling today? Every part of me aches. I am no doubt covered in bruises. My mouth tastes vile, and my clothes are sticking to me. My nose has put in a polite request to be far away from the rest of my body. My head aches as if there is a vice around it. My bladder is painfully full, and my stomach is also registering complaints. My brothers are—” He stopped himself abruptly, shaking his head and swallowing both the words and the emotion behind them.

The room wasn’t large. It was impossible not to see the depth of pain in his eyes from where I was standing. Coward that I was, I looked away.

“I can make it to the bathroom myself, I think,” he said in an entirely different, almost flat, tone. “Thank you.”

I nodded dumbly and stepped back, allowing him a clear path. I admit that when the bathroom door closed behind him, I was relieved. The door provided only a weak illusion of privacy, but a weak illusion was still better than nothing at all. He was undoubtedly glad to have a break from my presence, and I was just as glad to have the bedroom to myself. I lay back on the bed with a soft groan, stretching out more and reaching around my back to massage the knot of muscles there. It was more painful than I cared to admit. Sleeping in a strange bed after dragging at least 65 kilos of dead weight along for…I had no idea how long, it had felt like hours. At any rate, that would definitely do it.

I heard the sink running, followed by a pause, followed by the sound of someone relieving themself. After that it went completely quiet, which could mean any number of things. Most of them didn’t really bear thinking about. I continued listening to the resounding silence from behind the bathroom door. I did hope he was alright.

Relatively speaking, anyway. He wasn’t alright. He was nothing like alright. Nor should he be. Lucifer knew I wasn’t, and he’d just lost more in one night than I’d ever had in the first place.

Still, shouldn’t I have heard the sink again by now? He might not be the antipope anymore, but he could at least wash his hands. Unless he wasn’t done dirtying them, in which case I should mind my own fucking business. I hadn’t heard any ominous thuds coming from the bathroom, and nothing short of that required my interference. I would focus on myself, instead. On my aching back, my total lack of a plan, my dwindling finances, and…huh, when had that happened to my hand?

The short, jagged cut in the back of my hand was long since scabbed over, the dried blood almost indecipherable from the dirt. Several of my fingernails were ripped, too. If I hadn’t kept them habitually trimmed, they’d probably all have torn off at the quick. Thank Satan for small favors, I supposed.

I could really do with a bath. A long, hot bath. Ha, what a joke. I doubted there was even a complimentary bottle of shampoo in that little shower. That, I decided, should be my first priority. No, not a bath, but venturing out of this room to find some essentials. Shampoo. Painkillers. Food. When was the last time I’d eaten? For that matter, what time was it?

We’d need new clothes, too. My habit was close enough to a dress that it hadn’t attracted notice yet, but I’d feel much safer in street clothes. Terzo was going to be recognizable no matter what, even without his face paint, which was why I’d have to be the one doing the shopping—but I had no doubt he’d appreciate something clean to change into.

Chasing a faint memory of tossing my change purse into the corner of the room last night, I smoothed out the comforter, hunted down the money, and dumped it all out onto the bed to count. Ironically, it was Sister Imperator’s doing that I had any money to my name at all. It had come to me two years ago, when my grandfather died.

I’d thought it was funny at the time. I’d barely known my grandfather—where was he when I was out on the streets? Where was this money when I’d actually needed it? I’d been fully prepared to give all of this pittance of an inheritance—probably sent just to ease his own conscience anyway—to the abbey. Let that money benefit the Dark Lord. I owed Him everything, after all.

But Imperator, with a rare kind smile, had refused to accept more than half. She’d told me I might be grateful for it someday. Well, she’d been right about that, though I’d be willing to bet this wasn’t how she had imagined I would use it.

Staring at the small pile of €100 notes (along with a few €5 and some loose change), it looked like a lot. It was a lot, if all I needed was some essentials and somewhere to sleep for a few days. I could easily afford a place with a decent bath if I didn’t have to worry about anything beyond this week. But we needed to get out of town, maybe even out of the country, and still have money left over when we got there…and I doubted my companion had any finances he could access without alerting the ministry.

Containing my sigh, I ordered the notes and put most of them away in the purse again. I kept out one of the larger bills and several €5s, tucking them into my bra instead. It would be stupid to walk around town with all our money on me. I’d take only what I’d need and leave the rest safe here.

There was still distressingly little sound coming from the other side of the bathroom door. What was he doing in there? I rose from the bed one more time and rapped gently at the door with my knuckles. “Pa—” Wrong. I cut myself off quickly, covering with a lame cough. “Terzo?”

            After a pause, I heard a non-comital “Yes?”

            I let out a breath I hadn’t known I’d been holding. “Just…just making sure you’re okay.”

“Never better.” It was impressive, just how much sarcasm he could pack into four syllables.

I wasn’t going to stand around having a one-sided conversation with a guy doing Satan-knew-what in the bathroom. “Listen, I’m going to go out. To find some food, less conspicuous clothes, stuff like that. Do you…do you want to tell me your sizes? Or anything in particular you need?”

I heard a sigh. “Pantaloni, 48. Shoe, 41. Shirt, fort—”

“You realize I’m buying sweatpants and t-shirts, right?”

Silence.

“Look,” I said with as much compassion as I could muster, “I know it’s not what you’re used to. But right now, that’s kind of the point. I’m going to leave my purse here with you, alright? Please stay here until I get back?”

“Where else would I go?” he said glumly, barely loud enough for me to hear, but then he raised his voice. “Forgive my mood, cara. That’s a good plan. Be safe out there.”

I’d been glancing around for my shoes, trying to recall where I’d kicked them off, only to remember that I no longer owned any. His apology in that moment gave me a desperately needed boost to my own mood. “I’ll do my best,” I promised. “Do. Um. Do you want some breakfast?”

“Un caffè would put me forever in your debt,” he said, sounding marginally more like the man I thought I knew.

“Really?” I asked, before I could think better of the comment. “That’s what will put you forever in my debt? A cup of coffee?” At least I kept the inappropriate bubble of laughter out of my voice.

This was met by a very loud sort of silence. “I don’t remember you being this difficult as a sister of sin.”

“You don’t remember me at all,” I pointed out, and took myself and my dirty bare feet out of the room.

That might have been a little unfair, I thought as I headed quickly out of the hotel. No, not unfair necessarily. But maybe a little unkind. It wasn’t his fault he couldn’t recall my name. Not when I’d never really gone out of my way to draw attention to myself. Not when he was recovering from such an awful shock. And a nightmare on top of that, now I thought about it.

By the time I found myself a pair of €2 flip-flops in the underwhelming store near the hotel, I was feeling fairly guilty about taking that cheap shot. Neither of us was in a terrific mood this morning. I ought to be focusing on the way he’d helped me through that panic attack last night, even though he’d had no idea what was going on. Or the way he’d managed to charm that guy into giving us a ride despite being severely drugged at the time. It wasn’t really him I was angry at, it was everything else. Literally everything else. These flip-flops were coming apart already, my back hadn’t stopped hurting, and I was half-expecting every person I saw to be someone from the abbey, ready to grab me right off the street.

At least the crappy plastic sandals made me feel like I wasn’t going to get kicked out of the moderately more respectable stores further down the street. I found a pharmacy first, where I was able to find toothbrushes, some toothpaste and soap, shampoo, and a bottle of ibuprofen. After that I had to pass several more fashionable clothing stores, rounding a corner and crossing a street before I found something that looked affordable.

It was still more expensive than I’d hoped, but I was at least able to find the right sorts of things. Two pairs of grey sweats—I didn’t care if they were both men’s, they were sweatpants. Packs of socks and underwear—I made a random guess and went with boxers for Terzo. Two plain black men’s t-shirts—one for him to wear, one for me to sleep in. A plain white v-neck in what looked like my size. A cheap pair of size 41 running shoes and some fabric slip-ons for me. I even found some cheap sunglasses to hide his unusual eyes.

There was a small grocery shop up the street after that. Most of the money I’d brought was gone, but I picked up a large bottle of water, several oranges, and a package of biscotti. It was just as well this was the last of my errands, since by now my arms were weighed down with bags of purchases.

I had all of €4 leftover when I got out of the grocery, but I was feeling bad enough about my parting comment to Terzo that I stopped at a café on the way back and spent the last of it on un caffè. It looked more like an espresso to me, so I was busy worrying that I’d gotten it wrong as I crossed the street to get back to the hotel. I only noticed Sister Imperator’s face looking out of a car window when I glanced up to open the hotel door. She was looking the other direction, thankfully, and I didn’t think she’d seen me. But I practically ran through the lobby to our room, incredibly grateful that a different woman was behind the desk today.

The door didn’t open when I turned the knob, and I frantically checked to see if I had the wrong room somehow as I rattled the handle uselessly. I’d left the key inside, of course. It had seemed like the smart thing to do at the time, but now I felt horribly exposed. What if Imperator came into the hotel right now to ask if anyone had seen us? I was happier than ever about the negligence of the woman checking us in last night, but that wasn’t going to do any good if Imperator could see me standing here beating on the door.

Oh. My logic finally outpaced my fear. I was just standing here yanking at the door without attempting to identify myself. If I were the one inside, I wouldn’t open it either! “Sweetie,” I called, choosing my words carefully and taking care not to shout, “it’s me. Do you want to open the door so I don’t drop your damn coffee?”

The door opened, and I nearly dropped the coffee anyway.

I don’t know what I’d been expecting. I left him alone for an hour, it made sense that he’d strip off his gross clothes and make use of the shower. I just hadn’t thought about it. I’d been far more focused on my rude parting comment, on my paranoia on the streets, on getting everything we’d need without going over my self-imposed budget, to spare a thought over what he might be doing without me.

Showering was definitely part of the answer. Bothering to put anything on afterward was definitely not part of the answer.

“Thank you, cara.” Terzo plucked the espresso out of my hand before stepping out of the way so that I could get into the room. Completely unbothered, he closed and locked it behind me. I made every effort not to stare at his ass as he did so. For the most part I succeeded, concentrating very hard on the bags hanging off my wrist, but I couldn’t stop myself from noticing that it was a pretty nice ass. Especially considering his age.

I’d already gotten a look at the other side when he opened the door. Not as impressive—but then, he hadn’t been hard, either. Which was a good thing. I didn’t want to see that. I’d seen enough hard dicks for one lifetime and why was I even still thinking about this?

“Too good for towels, are we?” I said acidly, forgetting all about the apology I’d been intending to make when I returned.

“Towels? No, I used them. I hung them up afterward.” He seemed so perplexed, turning away from the door to—

“Put that away, would you?” I snapped, rifling through the bags until I found the pack of boxers. “Here!”

He was still holding his espresso in one hand, but he bent to pick up the package I’d tossed toward him. “Ah! How thoughtful.” He sounded amused. “I meant no offense, you know. You seemed in such a rush to get inside, I didn’t pause.”

Imperator. Outside the building. Possibly inside it now. How had I forgotten? Seeing a naked man shouldn’t have affected me that much! “I saw Imperator on the street,” I said, lowering my voice even though it meant stepping closer to him. “I don’t think she saw me. But maybe we should lay low for a while.”

Terzo nodded. The only indication of distress was the way his eyes widened. “She has little authority here,” he said, lowering his voice to match mine. “But the door will stay locked, absolutely. And there will be no need for us to talk. You take a shower, eh? I will quietly enjoy my caffè.”

“In the nude?” Even with the threat of discovery looming over us, I had to ask. Because who sat around a hotel room drinking espresso naked?

A real smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, an expression that made it all the way to his eyes. It didn’t last long, but the fact that it was there at all made the world seem, briefly, like a better place. “Since it is so important to you, I will put on some of these.” He waggled the package of underwear in his hand.

“Thank you,” I said, inexplicably smiling back, and grabbed the bag of toiletries as I fled to the shower.

Chapter 3

            Imperator never did come knocking, thankfully. I got out of the shower, damp towel wrapped around myself, to find Terzo donning not just boxers, but a pair of sweatpants as well. A shirt would have been too much to ask. I’d just have to deal with the lean muscles in his arms and shoulders, as well as the salt and pepper hair decorating his chest and disappearing down beneath the elastic grey waistband. Sitting on the bed with his back propped up with pillows against the headboard, breaking segments off a freshly peeled orange, he looked like a model for a provocative tourism ad. Enjoy the flavors of Italy.

            When he saw me he smiled, leaned forward, and held out a piece to me. I could easily imagine another sibling of sin, someone who wasn’t me, dropping their towel to the floor and crawling over the comforter to eat it right out of his hand. Probably sucking the juice off his fingers for good measure before leaning in further to press lingering kisses all over his chest before moving on…

            But the thing was, I didn’t get the impression he was trying to seduce me. Maybe it was just wishful thinking on my part, because I didn’t want any further complications in my already upside-down life, but he seemed pleased when I just took the offered segment of orange, shoved it into my mouth whole, and kept my towel carefully in place as I sat down by his feet.

            “Thanks,” I said when I was done chewing, and he passed me another without my having to ask. It was probably just because I was hungry, but it tasted like the best orange I’d ever eaten.

            “Thank you, for going out to buy all these things.” Terzo smiled at me again. It seemed genuine. Maybe he was one of those people who got noticeably nicer after they’d had their morning dose of caffeine.

            I shrugged, uncomfortable with the gratitude. “It needed to be done. How was your coffee? I hope they got it right. I said un caffè and that’s what they gave me.”

            “No, no, it was perfect,” he reassured me, breaking off another segment for himself. I noticed the discarded pieces of the peel sitting in a pile near the head of the bed and almost complained but bit my tongue. There were worse things than a citrus-scented pillow. Provided the peels made it to the trash before bed. “Exactly what I needed.”

            I looked hopefully at the remaining three segments of fruit he was holding. Yes, there were more in the grocery bag, but that would involve getting back up, walking to the bag, bending over, and then sitting down again all without losing my towel. He passed me all three, grinned, and slid off the bed to grab another orange himself. It was such a little thing, just a minor act of civility and appreciation. It had no right to make a huge ball of emotion inflate inside me.

            Terzo noticed, because of course he would, damn it. “Sor—cara? What is it?”

            I shook my head, mentally tearing the bubble inside me to shreds until I could speak evenly. I don’t handle kindness well, I almost told him, which would have been the truth. Instead, I went with a slightly less personal truth. “I’m just…well, you know. Stressed? Scared? Lost? Take your pick.”

            “I do know.” He nodded soberly. “I’ll do my best not to overload your emotions with orange slices, in the future.”

            I narrowed my eyes at him. “Are you mocking me?”

            He kept his deliberately wide and innocent. “I don’t know how you can accuse me of such a thing! I’m wounded, truly.” Amusement flickered over his expression, then abruptly died. “I’m not. No. An attempt to lighten the mood, that’s all.”

            “Oh.” I found myself slightly disappointed by his honesty. “There’s nothing wrong with trying to lighten the mood. It beats sitting here crying all day, doesn’t it?”

            To my relief, his smile returned—and so what if it was a little less genuine than before? “Sì, I agree. I don’t enjoy sitting around feeling sorry for myself.”

            Well, look at that. We actually had something in common. “Me neither.” I popped another bit of orange into my mouth. “Not that I’m above indulging into the occasional panic attack—you saw that last night—but feeling sorry for myself has never gotten me anywhere good. Try to avoid it when I can.”

            He looked at me thoughtfully, barely glancing at his hands as he peeled the second orange. “You were wrong, you know.”

            “Huh?” I asked eloquently.

            His answering half-smile held an apology. “Before you left earlier. You said I don’t remember you at all from the abbey, and that is not true.”

            The way I lifted my eyebrows didn’t quite call him a liar, but it displayed my polite skepticism. “Really.”

            Terzo nodded, turning a piece of orange peel over and over in his hands. “It’s true, there are many sib—there were, I mean, no, I do mean there are, but—” He gave that up as a lost cause, but I understood what he was trying to say. “I met many people in my role as Papa. I’m not always so good with names. But I do remember you. I’ve seen you praying—before the altar, in the pews, in chapels. Always alone. Very devout, that much was clear. But even during mass, during ceremonies, during festivities…”

He glanced down at the peel in his hands, as if surprised to find it still there. “Sometimes you were talking or laughing with other sisters, yes, but always you seemed alone.” And damn it, he brought his mismatched eyes back up in time to catch the shock and discomfort on my face. “Am I wrong?”

“No,” I sighed, since there was no point in lying. “That’s…annoyingly astute, actually. And I shouldn’t have said that earlier, that was rude.”

He shrugged off the apology. “I was being rude, also.”

“You have every right to be cranky,” I said, not quite looking at him. “Considering the circumstances.”

“Ah. Yes. The circumstances.” Terzo cleared his throat, suddenly just as eager to change the subject as I was. “No one attempted to enter while you were in the shower, by the way.”

A small, reluctant smile came back to me, and I bit into another orange segment. “I gathered as much, since you were still alone when I came out.”

“I just thought you would like to know,” he responded, waggling his eyebrows. “I listened at the door as I drank my caffè, and there was nothing. Imperator would not want any rumors flying about one of the former papas foiling her plans so easily.” I glanced at him, and once again all trace of amusement vanished from his eyes as if it had never been there. “Not that I had anything to do with foiling them. The credit for that belongs to you.”

“The credit?” I mused, recalling his reaction from last night. “Or the blame?”

He looked at me sadly. “They are one and the same, cara. Did…” He stopped himself, and I went through another orange segment while waiting to see if he’d continue. “You didn’t…see anyone with Sister Imperator, did you?”

“You mean just now?” I asked, gesturing loosely in the direction of the hotel lobby. “Or last night?” Why did I say that? I immediately cursed my own stupidity. What difference did it make, since I hadn’t seen anyone with her either time? “I didn’t see anyone last night,” I said, hurrying to correct my mistake. “She was definitely talking to someone, but I honestly couldn’t tell you who. And in the street, I…” I forced myself to slow down, try to think back. “Maybe it wasn’t even her. I only saw her for a second, and she wasn’t looking at me.”

“But you believed it was her,” he prompted.

“Yes,” I agreed, trying to freeze the image in my mind. “I think it was. She was in the passenger seat of a dark car. So someone must have been with her to drive, at the very least. I’m sorry, that’s all I can remember. Why?”

“Just wondering,” he said, very interested in his orange peel all of a sudden, clearly lying. “Let me hear about the rest of your shopping trip! What was in the bag you took with you into the bathroom?”

I elected not to push. Whatever he was really thinking about, it’d come out eventually. It wasn’t as though either of us was going anywhere. “I’d have thought it was obvious—bathroom things. Soap, shampoo, toothpaste, you know. Oh! I got some ibuprofen, do you need any?”

His eyes lit briefly not with excitement, but at the very least relief. “Please.” That told me that while he might look relaxed lounging half-naked around the room, he was silently dealing with at least as many aches and pains today as I was.

I popped one more bite of orange into my mouth, nodded, and held onto the spot I’d tucked my towel in on itself as I passed him the rest of the fruit and worked my way off the bed. I paused to grab the clothing bag, figuring I could get dressed while I was in there grabbing the medicine.

I spent a minute tearing off tags and plastic once the door was securely closed behind me. My towel came untucked, and I let it fall off me as I stepped into a fresh pair of cotton underwear. They were extremely unremarkable, as were the sweats I pulled on over them. But they were soft and comfortable. Instead of the more fitted shirt I’d chosen for myself, I pulled on one of the large black t-shirts. I didn’t have a clean bra, but I could do without one as long as I wasn’t leaving the hotel.

I hadn’t looked in a mirror since…yesterday morning, probably. But I paused to look at my own reflection now. Fuck, I’d forgotten to buy a brush. I combed my half-dry hair with my fingers before giving it up as a lost cause. Even if I somehow got it silky smooth, it wouldn’t do anything for the prominent shadows under my eyes, chapped lips, and the way one eyelid kept twitching. My eyes had always held a listless, far-away quality, at least to my own mind. Now that had taken over completely. I could have been staring at a zombie or vampire, some dead-eyed creature of the night.

There was a light, musical rapping at the door. “Are you alright in there?”

I ran my hands over my face. “No, I fell into the toilet and I need you to come save me.” The pause that followed gave me time to grab the bottle of ibuprofen from the floor just outside the shower, where I’d accidentally bumped or kicked it while maneuvering in the tiny space.

“You’re…you’re kidding, yes?”

Oh, Satan help me.

“Yes, I’m kidding,” I said, opening the door with bottle in hand. “Thank you for not taking me literally and running to the rescue. I think opening the door fast would have knocked me unconscious. Here.”

“Molte grazie.” He twisted off the lid, dumped an alarming number of tablets into his palm, and swallowed them dry.

“Uh,” I said, taken aback. “You didn’t want some water with that?”

“I suppose,” Terzo conceded, passing the bottle and cap back separately as he edged around me to turn on the sink and drink from a cupped hand. I was still standing there stupidly when he straightened up, wiped his mouth off on the back of his dripping hand, and headed back toward the bed with a sharp laugh at my reaction. “You think my life has been so easy I’ve never needed medicine before, cara?”

He didn’t have to put it like that! “No. I just thought you’d have a little more…” There was no polite way to end that sentence. I declined to finish it. “What hurts the most?” I asked instead.

“Why?” Back to reclining on the bed, his face twitched with dark humor. “Are you hoping to kiss it better?”

“No,” I scowled, regretting showing any concern at all. “But I might have offered you a massage, if it was your back. My back’s been killing me, so I get it.”

“Ah.” Terzo nodded knowingly, in a way that grated against my nerves. “A very generous offer, certo. But what if it’s not my back? What if it is here?” He reached up, wincing as he pushed his fingers into the base of his neck. I almost fell for it, stepping closer to the bed with sympathy, but then he continued. “Or here?” He brought his hand down, splaying his fingers over his chest and giving me puppy dog eyes.

I crossed my arms defiantly over my own chest, glad I’d gone for the less fitted shirt. “Can you not? Please? I was being serious!”

Great, now he looked genuinely wounded. “You weren’t being serious a moment ago when you begged me to save you from the toilet,” he pointed out.

“Well, no,” I admitted, relaxing my posture slightly and biting the inside of my cheek. I was being too defensive. “That’s fair, but…” I made an unhappy sound, dropping my arms. “It’s just you and me, and neither of us is exactly at our best right now. Don’t you have an—an off-switch, or something? For all the flirting?”

He blinked at me slowly. “I…” He coughed uncomfortably. “I’m not sure. I don’t think I do. It’s…it’s just teasing, I don’t mean anything by it.”

“Don’t you?”

“You think I have no self-control?”

“I just watched you swallow half a bottle of painkillers. You tell me.”

He glared at me for a moment, both wounded and angry judging by his eyes. “No, you know, this—this is good. You make it very clear, how little you think of me. It proves for me that you were telling the truth last night when you said you only saved me because I was lighter. If I was not small, you would have taken Secondo instead, no doubt, and we would both be better off for it!”

I reeled as if he’d dealt a physical blow. “That’s not—no! Don’t say that! I don’t—ugh!” Breaking off into a wordless cry of anger and dismay, I attempted to marshal my thoughts. “That’s not fair, you asshole! At least you didn’t have to make a fucking Sophie’s Choice with two men you respected! Because yes, I did respect you both. I respected the hell out of you. I practically worshipped you. And I had to…to just act and…” Despite all my earlier claims about hating to feel sorry for myself, tears were coursing down my cheeks, making my speech thick and difficult. “And I have to live with that! If he’s dead now, it’s because of me, not because of you, okay? So don’t you dare throw that in my face!”

The fact that part of me was expecting him to back down and apologize just showed how little I actually knew the man. He did nothing of the sort. Instead he rolled over, burying his face in a pillow and curling up in abject misery. I could hear the harsh, choking, sobs every time he came up for air, so intense they were nearly silent.

My nose was running. I went into the bathroom and blew it into a handful of single-ply toilet paper. I took several slow breaths, mopping at my face because the tears refused to stop. What a pair we were. What were you thinking, Lucifer, putting me on this path? I can’t help him. I can’t even help myself.

I sat on the closed toilet for a while, allowing myself to feel my sense of loss and betrayal, to cry it out. I could still hear Terzo’s ragged gasps and sniffles and I wanted to comfort him, I did. I just didn’t have the faintest clue where to start.

In retrospect, yelling at him about me letting his brothers die hadn’t been the best approach. That was my bad, mea culpa. He’d caught me off guard, and I’d fucked up. I had to stop expecting him to be my idea of him. Put aside everything I thought I knew.

I’d tried to do that just earlier today, hadn’t I? Guess I’d better try harder.

I was still sniffling pathetically, but I mostly had my emotions back in hand when I exited the bathroom with the entire roll of toilet paper. He was still shirtless, back to me, his tear-reddened face hidden mostly by wet hair and pillow. I saw down slowly, giving him plenty of time to process my presence. He didn’t acknowledge me at all, but that was better than a lot of the ways he could have reacted.

His back shook with another deep, painful sob. I reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. He kept ignoring me. I moved my thumb, slowly and gently, back and forth over an inch or so of skin. I might have apologized, if my throat wasn’t still too tight to speak. As it was, he didn’t shrug me off, so I expanded the arc I was making with my thumb, trying not to think about anything except the warmth and tone of his skin, the smattering of small dots that could probably count as faint moles or dark freckles, depending on the lighting.

There was a larger mole on the back of his upper arm, almost blending in with a surprisingly delicate Baphomet tattoo reaching down to his elbow. I hadn’t taken time to appreciate it before. Well. Why would I have? Yet here I was admiring the work as I ran my hand soothingly up and down his arm.

“What are you doing?”

His voice was almost unrecognizable, but I was glad to hear it all the same. “Looking at your tattoo. Trying to offer some sympathy. Probably doing a shit job at it.”

Terzo made no comment. At least he didn’t agree with me.

“I’m not trying to seduce you,” I said gently, “just to be clear.”

His shoulders shook with what felt—maybe—like a weak laugh. It turned into another silent sob, but he fought through it. “I can’t imagine why not,” he said between unsteady breaths. “I am sure I’m irresistible right now. That you can control yourself quite remarkable.”

He couldn’t see it, but I smiled. “The fact that you’re joking right now is the remarkable thing.”

“Why do you assume I’m joking?”

It was another pathetic attempt at humor, but I wasn’t kidding about being impressed by the fact that he was trying at all. I got up, walked around to what I’d started to consider “my side” of the bed, and lay down facing him. “I do respect you, Papa.” His eyes snapped open, about to object, but I beat him to it. “I know, call you Terzo. I will. I’m used to thinking of you as Papa, it’s hard to switch over. Because I respect you. Whether or not you hold that role, I respect you. I just…”

That treacherous ball of emotion surged up to block my throat again, and I quickly destroyed it. “I didn’t mean to imply you can’t control yourself. At least, not in…in that way. I don’t believe you’d force yourself on anyone.” And I didn’t. Removed from his position and his face paint, he was a mystery to me in most ways—and in some other ways, he annoyed me. But I trusted him. I should have led with that. “I trust you, okay? I respect you and I trust you.”

He released a deep, shuddering sigh, and focused his bloodshot eyes on me. “Thank you, cara.” He uncurled one of his hands and extended a few inches to pat the backs of my fingers. “I appreciate that. But it wasn’t your words that set me off.”

I still had the wad of makeshift tissue in my other hand. I passed it to him, and he accepted. “It all finally caught up to you, huh?”

Terzo shook his head slightly, objecting to everything or possibly nothing. He drew in another long stuttering breath. “It’s…it’s stupid, really.” He pushed some of the tear-soaked hair out of his face. “Even after all you told me last night, I woke up this morning hoping that…well, that there was still hope.” He pushed himself up a little, mopping at his damp face. “Because I thought, certo, my ghouls would not follow such an order. Even from Imperator. I’m no longer Papa, but they were…we had…”

His eyes closed again, hard, and I wrapped my fingers around his as he fought against a fresh wave of grief. After a painful stretch of moments, he won the battle and looked at me once more. “I thought they might come to my assistance. With their senses, I’m sure they could track me if they wished to. They wouldn’t stand idly by while— At least I don’t think they could, but—” He sniffled, blew his nose into the tissue. “But what do I know? I never saw any of this coming.”

I’d never interacted much with the nameless ghouls. I had no idea what they would or wouldn’t do, so it seemed better not to venture any opinion. I’d heard the rumors around the abbey, but that didn’t qualify me to speak on the subject. Especially not to the one person who would know. I tried to imagine myself in his shoes right now; yesterday he’d had brothers, a home, a group of trusted servants sent by Lucifer himself, and yet here he was utterly alone. I had empathy, but it was difficult to relate. There had never been many people I’d expected to have my back, so I didn’t know what losing them would be like.

“No one would have seen this coming,” I offered at last. “It doesn’t mean that everything else you know is suddenly wrong.”

He nodded fractionally, hand tightening against mine, ducking his head so that I couldn’t see his eyes. “Omega would come. I know he would. And he hasn’t.” I heard his throat click as he swallowed the despair that wanted to break free. “So that, that means…he’s gone, too. She sent them all back. Or worse.”

I’d thought a minute ago, watching him curled in on himself like a lost child, that I couldn’t feel any worse for him. But a torturous ache of sympathy found its way into my heart at his last observation. It wasn’t just his brothers he’d lost last night. And not just servants, either, that was evident in every syllable. We’d both lost everything, but there had been a lot more to his everything than there was to mine.

“Oh, Terzo,” I whispered, so full of twisting empathy it threatened to make me vomit. “I’m so sorry.”

“They’re all gone,” he whispered hoarsely, more to himself than to me. Despite his grip on my hand, I think he’d half forgotten I was even there. “If Omega is…and my brothers are really dead…” He made an indecipherable noise in the back of his throat. “Then there’s no one left in this world who knows me at all.”

It would have been nice to be able to say something reassuring. To tell him that wasn’t the case. But it probably was the case. He’d know better than me, right? What on earth could I say to something like that? Me, who’d spent half my life making sure that no one alive knew me, at least not in the way he meant.

Oh Lucifer. I was going to have to let him in, wasn’t I. Fear gripped my spine at the very thought. Maybe I should just surrender to his flirting and let him fuck me. That’d be easier. That was just my body. It shouldn’t be that hard, I told myself firmly. He’s already seen you cry, seen you scared, seen you vulnerable. What’s so scary about letting him get to know you a little bit?

Everything, that was what.

He wasn’t crying now. He was watching me, heterochromatic eyes on mine, no life or hope in either of them.

Fuck it.

“Nobody really knows me, either,” I said, meeting his gaze. “But I’m still here.” I swallowed down my rising anxiety. “So are you. It doesn’t kill you. You know you, right?”

His answering gulp was halfway between a laugh and a sob. “That’s just it. I don’t know if I do.”

“Of course you do,” I said, temporarily surprised out of my fear. “If you didn’t…I mean, who did everyone else know?” I could see the argument starting as soon as he parted his lips, and I cut it off quickly. “I don’t mean the people who knew you as Papa. I mean the ones you’re mourning right now. They knew you, and that means there’s a you to know. Which means that if it’s what you want, in time, there can be more people who really know you.”

That had some affect, I could tell from his eyes. He wasn’t looking at me anymore, he was staring off somewhere into memories. It wasn’t good, but it was certainly better. I’d take a Terzo lost down memory lane over a Terzo bereft of any hope at all.

And I’d hardly had to share anything about myself in the process. I mentally gave myself a congratulatory pat on the back.

“And what about you?” he asked, bringing his gaze back into the depressing present.

Damn it. “What about me?”

“Do you…” His eyes flickered, and for a split second I imagined he could see right through me and know how terrified I was by his impending question. Maybe he did see, and changed his question because of it. Or maybe he’d never been planning to ask it in the first place. “Do you want to know me?”

I nearly went weak with relief: a question that wasn’t really about me. I took it seriously, though. It was still a serious question. In fact, it was probably a terrifying one, from his point of view. “Absolutely,” I said, dredging up a smile, and scooted across the space between us to pull him into a hug. “It’d be an honor, really.”

“Not Papa?” he asked guardedly into my shoulder as his arms automatically returned the embrace.

“No,” I said simply. I understood now. Papa was just a mask, always had been. But this man was real, and I’d been put on this path with him for a reason. And anyway, it wasn’t as if I could spend all my time for the foreseeable future with him and not get to know him.

A small part of me had been worried, when I pulled him into that hug, that he’d take it to mean something else, something more. Because then I’d have to shut him down, and he’d get sad all over again, and I wasn’t really sure how good I was at giving platonic hugs anyway so I’d worry it was my fault somehow, and we’d both wind up feeling even worse…

But he didn’t. He just clung to me like a life preserver in stormy waters. And I realized after a minute that it wasn’t only for him. There it was again, that feeling from when I first woke up that morning. The notion that I actually mattered to someone. The illusion of acceptance, importance, value. Which was stupid, because how could he accept me if I couldn’t let him really know me?

Still. The feeling might not be earned, but the hug was real. And somehow, it did help.

After a long time, Terzo flexed his fingers on my back, gradually relaxing his grip and stretching them out. I let him go quickly, withdrawing myself from his arms, but I didn’t go too far. “Thank you,” he said, soft but sincere, and gave a lost-sounding little laugh. “My fingers hurt now, I’ve been holding you too tight. I didn’t hurt you?”

The laugh that slipped out of me was louder, almost audacious against the somber mood we’d brought into the room. It surprised even me, and I clapped a hand to my mouth immediately. “Sorry. I just…” A soft giggle slipped around my fingers and escaped. “After all I’ve been through—in the past 24 hours, I mean—I don’t think I’m going to get hurt by a hug.”

He brought his hand to my wrist, tugging my hand down from my mouth. “You have a pretty smile, cara, even if you are laughing at me.”

“I’m not laughing at you,” I responded, though I gave up trying to suppress the smile. “It’s just funny—it’s a hug. It was…we needed that. Not something you need to apologize for.”

“Ah.” He smiled slightly, the lines at the corners of his eyes crinkling up. “It really must have helped. Not only are you smiling, you haven’t scolded me for flirting with you.”

“That’s because I didn’t think you were trying to flirt.” I lifted my eyebrows with only a hint of wariness. “Was I wrong?”

“I never try to flirt,” he said with a touch of the familiar arrogant charm. “No, it was simply an observation. You have a pretty smile and frankly, it is a relief that you there are any smiles left in you.”

A warm, pleasant feeling settled in my chest. Mellow, not strong enough an emotion that I felt the need to push it down. “You’re smiling too, you know.”

It faded as he realized it was there, taking on an edge of sadness, but it didn’t vanish completely. “I don’t expect there will be many of them in the coming days—but it’s good to know there are still some left in me, too.”

I nodded. “It is. We’ll just have to enjoy them while they last.”

“Sì,” he agreed, and then lapsed into silence as we both tried to figure out where to go from here. He came to a decision before I did. “You told me earlier that your back hurts. I would like to help with that, if you’ll allow me.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” I protested, even though I could certainly use some help with it. The ibuprofen had hardly done anything for the muscles that were bothering me the most.

“I don’t have to, no,” he agreed, tilting his head. “But you have already done far more than you had to for me, and I would like to return the favor in some small way.”

“You already gave me a slice of orange,” I pointed out, making a joke because I felt awkward. I didn’t want him feeling like he was in my debt somehow. That wasn’t why I’d done any of this.

“I gave you five slices,” he corrected me, sitting up. I didn’t point out his smile to him this time, and it stayed. “Which you bought yourself. Unless you stole them,” he added as an afterthought. He didn’t sound particularly concerned about the possibility. “Either way, I have done nothing at all to thank you for all you’ve done.” He made a flipping motion with his hands, suggesting I roll over onto my stomach. “Please.”

“You’re sure you’re not trying to seduce me,” I asked, but I was already adjusting my position on the bed. I hurt, and if he really wanted to help so much, who was I to fight it?

“Give me some credit,” he said, sounding amused as he settled comfortably next to my legs. “I know I have many flaws, cara, but I’m not stupid enough to attempt any such thing.” His thumbs pressed into the small of my back through the fabric of my shirt. No move to even push it out of the way, he really was keeping things respectable. “You tell me when I find the spot, okay?”

Okay is what I would have said, if at that moment the heel of his hand hadn’t hit exactly the right spot. I moaned instead, audibly and to my infinite embarrassment.

“Ah, yes, I feel it,” he said, not giving any indication that I’d just made the sort of sound that he was surely used to hearing in a very different context. “This is quite the knot, I’m sorry you got it on my account.” He kept massaging the area, albeit more gently. “Thank you for allowing me to correct it. You’re doing me a favor, really, because this gives me something to focus on. I need distraction.”

He kept up an innocuous one-sided conversation as he worked the muscles into submission bit by bit. Long before he finished, though not before I’d caught myself drooling into the citrus-scented comforter, I realized what he was doing with the stream of talk. Yes, he was distracting himself from dwelling on the pain of his losses. But it was more than that. He’d sensed how mortified I was by my reaction, and he was going to keep feigning obliviousness for as long as it took so that I could relax.

That quiet, happy feeling was back in my chest. And though he couldn’t see it with my face hidden against the mattress, I was smiling again.

Chapter 4

            Terzo didn’t share my problems with enjoying a massage. Or maybe I just wasn’t as good at it as he was. Regardless, he managed to drag me into conversation with him as I attempted to loosen the tension in his shoulders. “A little further out, if you don’t mi—ohhh sì. What did you do to me last night, cara, that so much of me is sore?”

            I stilled my hands. “Terzo?”

            “Yes?”

            “You’re doing it again.”

            He stifled a laugh. “Mi dispiace, forgive me. I will lie here silently, biting my tongue.”

            That lasted about twenty seconds. He filled the space with a long exhalation of pleasure as I pushed my hands up in an arc between his shoulders. This would be much easier, I reflected, with some lotion or oil. Though I would die before I’d suggest anything of the sort.

            Anyway, he’d probably bring it up himself if I waited another minute or two.

            “What is your plan for this evening?”

            “This evening?” I switched to my elbow, digging into one of the more stubborn muscles. “Well, we’re here through tomorrow morning. So, lay low and rest?”

            He hissed as I worked my elbow in a circle, and I backed off on the pressure slightly. “I’m torn between asking what you think we’re supposed to do in here all evening, and what it is you plan to do tomorrow.”

            “I just told you. Rest.”

            “I will lose my mind if I do nothing but sit in this room.”

            “I’ll buy you a straitjacket.”

            “You’re teasing me again. Very cruel, cara, very cruel.”

            I grinned, adjusting the position of my elbow again. “That’s me, alright! There’s no way you are going out on the town tonight.”

            “Out on the town?” he repeated, seemingly amused by my choice of phrase. “What do you think I’m proposing? A club? A five-star restaurant? Strolling brazenly down the main street, looking for trouble?”

            I knew he wasn’t looking at me, but I raised my eyebrows anyway. “I don’t think this place has a club or a five-star restaurant. It barely even has a main street. Which is good, because I’m not feeling quite suicidal enough to go take my chances in public.”

            “Maybe I am,” he replied with a quickness and levity that nonetheless set off alarm bells in my head.

            “I hope you’re joking,” I said flatly, sitting back and switching over to the heels of my hands. “Because I’m not letting you throw your life away after everything I did to save it. Weren’t you just thanking me for that a little bit ago?”

            “I gave you a massage. We’re even.”

            I didn’t mean to, but I snorted in laughter, cutting it off within a split second so that it could pass as a cough. “I save your life, you give me a back massage, and we’re even?”

            Terzo waited just a beat before saying earnestly, “I give very good massages.”

            That time I didn’t bother trying to hide my giggle. It was obviously the reaction he was going for, so I might as well give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d succeeded. “You do,” I agreed when the giggles ebbed away. “Much better than me, I’m afraid. But it’s the thought that counts, right?”

            “No, you’re doing wonderfully…as well as possible without any oils, at least.”

            And there it was.

            I bit the inside of my cheek, keeping my voice even. It was tempting to laugh at his hopeful tone of voice, because he really was charming (and so transparent), but the truth of the situation wasn’t really a laughing matter. “Yes, I should have bought some while I was out. I should have gotten more food, too. And—”

“Some wine?”

“You just had coffee,” I pointed out, and he shrugged under my hands. “I was going to say, a hairbrush. And probably a dozen other things. But I was trying to be quick, not draw any attention to myself, and not spend too much.”

“Ah.” He subsided, letting me carry on my battle with his shoulder muscles for a minute, making only the occasional small sound of pain or pleasure. But the man was terrible at keeping his mouth shut—I was starting to suspect he just hated silence—and eventually he picked the topic back up. “I know it’s not the most polite thing to ask, but there is not much room for manners here and now, is there. How much money is there?”

“No, you have every right to know,” I told him, pausing the massage so I could focus. “There’s…” Quick mental math, just to be sure I was remembering correctly. “Just over €1,100. Currently, €1,178.15.”

There was a surprised pause. “You’re very precise.”

“When you don’t have a lot, every penny counts.”

The next pause was more thoughtful. “Here, let me turn over.” I moved out of the way, and he rolled over onto his back, shifting his shoulders around in a way that suggested my best efforts hadn’t fixed much. “I see why you want to spend so little of it. You should not have paid so much for this room. I don’t think it’s worth half what that woman charged you.”

“Yeah, well.” I shrugged uncomfortably. “You were barely coherent and I was convinced Imperator or someone was going to catch up to us any minute. I didn’t want to waste time quibbling over price.”

“I was perfectly coherent!” Terzo countered, lifting his chin. “I didn’t understand what was happening and my leg muscles weren’t cooperating, but I was not incoherent.”

I refrained from rolling my eyes. Barely. “You know what I mean!”

He must have known I was holding back, because the corners of his eyes crinkled up in amusement. “I simply want it on record that I was coherent.”

“Fine.” My lips tightened in a smirk. “It’s on record.”

“Thank you,” he said graciously, still smiling. “May I also ask, cara, what you intend to do with the rest of this money?”

I sighed. “Obviously we need to get further away from the abbey. Getting a taxi to the train station first thing in the morning and then taking a train out of the country will probably use up at least €500. That leaves around €650 for food and shelter until we figure out what to do next, so any suggestions you have are—”

Terzo was already shaking his head. “We don’t take a train. Or taxi. If she has any interest in catching us to correct her mistake, she’ll have someone there. Also, as you say, it uses far too much money.”

I nodded, since both of those had already been concerns of mine. But there weren’t really many alternatives. “You’re suggesting we hitchhike?”

“Why not? It will keep us away from train stations and highways, our movements will be unpredictable, and it will cost little.”

Logically, I had to concede that he made good points. And hitchhiking through Italy with an older, male, native speaker was undoubtedly very different from, say, hitchhiking through France as a solo young woman with only a little French. If Terzo wasn’t worried, I shouldn’t be either. Besides, we had Satan himself on our side.

“Cara?”

I blinked. Oh, of course. He was waiting for some sort of response. “Have you ever hitchhiked before?”

For an instant, his grin had all the naughty, wicked glee of a much younger man. “You think I’ve never escaped the abbey before?”

“But…surely you would have had transportation. The tour van. Your car. A limousine.”

He settled further back on the bed, folding his arms behind his head in a gesture that looked very relaxed and careless. I wasn’t deceived, because I caught the flash of a wince as one of his still-tense muscles moved the wrong way, but even so he made it look good. “In my position as Papa, certainly. As a Cardinal as well, it’s true, I found it difficult to go anywhere without some form of company. A standard is expected by the Church, of course.”

A spasm of pain—mental, this time, I thought—danced over his face as he spoke of the Church, but it vanished as quickly as it came. In fact, when it was gone his grin stretched that much further. “But when I was a young man, and all the pressure became too much, I did sometimes manage to slip away and give myself a vacation.”

“Where would you go?”

“Ah, nowhere too far. Naples or Bari, usually. Rome, once. I’d been there before, you know. But for work, not to see the sights. And once, we made it all the way to Milan.”

“We?” I asked, because he’d made it sound like these were all adventures he’d had on his own.

“Ah, sì.” His grin at the fond memory turned abruptly sorrowful. “I was not alone on all these escapes.” His throat worked, and I’d already guessed his companion before he divulged it. “He was the one who did it first, actually…of course he was. He did everything before me.”

“Your brother?”

He nodded. The oppressive grief in the room felt as though it were pulling closer in around us, ready to seize us—or at least Terzo—in its clutches again at any moment. I knew the mourning was necessary and healthy, but just the thought of more tears just now made me feel drained. It seemed like he responded well to physical contact. Maybe I could ground him with it.

I shifted myself closer, right up against his side, and placed my palm over his heart. He looked at me in surprise, and I actually felt his heart rate spike and then slow back to a normal pace. “Maybe it would help to talk about him?” I asked with what I hoped was an encouraging smile.

There was a bad moment as I thought the grief was going to overtake him after all and I should have just kept my dumb mouth shut. But then he shrugged dejectedly, winced a little, and cracked a half-hearted smile. “I don’t see how it can make things worse.” He paused, gathering his thoughts. “It was different with Primo. He was so much older, eh? Already a grown man when padre brought us to the abbey—‘Here you go, son, these two little bambinos are your brothers! See you later!’”

I snorted in amusement at his imitation, and his weak smile turned into a grin.

“Well, you know, he was like that,” he went on, encouraged by the fact that I would find his memories interesting or entertaining. “He didn’t raise us. Primo raised us, at least as much as anybody did. The siblings assigned to teach us tried, but—” His grin had an edge of mischief now. “Worse than the ghouls,’ I remember one saying once. ‘Like a pair of wild animals! Can’t you do something, Cardinal? They listen to you.’” He laughed. “We didn’t want to sit and learn, we wanted to play! Primo, he let us play.”

His eyes looked off into memory, and his smile turned fond. “He taught us hide and seek, chased us around, helped us catch frogs in the pond. And then he covered for us when we tore our clothes or got coated in mud. When I broke my leg, he brought sweets to my room and carried me around everywhere until it healed.”

“Aww,” I murmured, smiling over how sweet that was. “How old were you?”

Terzo’s eyes took a moment to come back out of the past and refocus themselves on me. “When I broke my leg? Seven, I think. No, eight, because we were trying to pick…eh, what’s the English word? Mela cotogna.”

My Italian being what it was, I hadn’t the faintest idea. “Apples? Peaches? Um…”

“No, no.” He shook his head. “A yellow fruit.”

“Lemons?”

He looked me dead in the face, unimpressed. “You really think I do not know the word lemon?” I grimaced in apology, and he shook his head to dismiss the whole thing. “Never mind. They don’t grow until October, maybe late September, but either way it would have been after my birthday.”

I tried to imagine this young Cardinal Primo, carrying around an eight-year-old boy for a month. He couldn’t have been all that light, by that age. “He sounds like a wonderful big brother.”

“He was,” he said simply, still smiling to himself.

I didn’t want to push the direction of the conversation too much, so I stuck with the story about his injury. “How did you break it? Did you fall off a la—”

“Quince!” He nearly shouted in excitement, sitting up dramatically. “That’s what you call it! Mela cotogna. Quince.” He settled back down into the pillows, looking smug.

“Oh!” Was I supposed to offer him congratulations on remembering? No, that would feel too patronizing. “Cool. Um. So were you climbing a ladder to pick it, or what happened?”

“A ladder?” Buoyed by remembering the fruit name, he laughed. “No, there was no ladder. You’re right, there most likely would have been one, if Primo was there when it happened. He would have stopped us being so stupid.”

So no ladder, got it. “Did he yell at you afterward?”

“No, no. He wouldn’t yell at an injured little boy, that was not his style.” He paused thoughtfully. “I think he yelled at Secondo, however. When I was not there.”

“Why? Was it his fault?”

“No more than mine.” He shook his head a little, smiling. I wondered if he’d forgotten for a moment that they were dead, or if the pleasant memories were enough to make it bearable. “Only, he escaped without injury, and because he was older, he should have known better. Ha. You know he’s only three months older than me? That’s nothing. Nothing! But he was always bigger and stronger.”

There was a trace of resentment to the laugh that followed, but also nostalgia. “I sealed my position as baby brother the day we met,” he told me. I lifted my eyebrows, inviting him to continue without having to interject and inane comments. “At least, that is what he always said. I don’t remember it at all, but he loved telling that story. Sometimes I wonder if he really remembers it either, but it doesn’t really matter. Even if he doesn’t, he’s told it so many times that it became true.”

I settled back on my elbows, trying not to focus on the way he was speaking about his brother in the present tense, to just enjoy the story and the sound of his voice. The timbre, the accent, the dramatic inflections that had always made him so good at public speaking. He liked talking, obviously. I was content to listen.

            “Our father had made a trip to collect us both and bring us to be raised in the church. I was crying for my mamma the whole train ride, at least according to Secondo. A skinny little thing with ragged clothes and a snotty nose who smelled like fish and wouldn’t shut up about wanting to go home, that’s how he always put it.” He smiled wryly as I struggled to picture him like that. “Il padre told us we were brothers, and since he scared me and I couldn’t have my mamma, I started clinging to Secondo instead. He always said he’d never seen a kid cry so much. That he started a game with me just to get me to stop.”

            Had I said I was content just to listen? I wasn’t. This story begged too many questions. “You mean your dad just went and took you away from your mother? How? Did you ever see her again? Is she still alive?”

            “You’re thinking we can go to her?” he asked, seeing right through to the question I hadn’t asked. “I hate to crush your hopes, but remember? I have not seen her since I was four. I wouldn’t know her if I saw her, and I very much doubt she would want to see me.”

            Damn it! I knew I should have kept my mouth shut, I knew it. I was just making things worse. His brothers, lover, closest friends, all dead. His father was probably complicit in their murder and sounded like a shit excuse for a parent anyway. Now here I was reminding him that he’d essentially never known his mother. What else could I bring up to drive home that feeling of isolation, of no one alive really knowing him?

            The part that upset me the most, though, was that the pity in his eyes was plainly not for himself. It was for me.

            “You don’t know that,” I said, not taking my own advice about keeping my mouth shut. “If you were so young you don’t remember, how do you know she didn’t fight your dad tooth and nail to keep you? How do you know she didn’t try to write, or visit? Maybe you turning up on her doorstep would be everything she’s dreamed of. And I’m not saying that because I want to believe there’s some potential safe destination for us.”

            “You don’t understand!” His mood turned on the edge of a knife, eyes flashing at me angrily as he sat up straight. “You don’t know anything about it. We are not going there.”

            I edged backward, making a mental note to never make him seriously mad. “Okay, fine! I’m sorry. I just thought—never mind. I’ll shut up. Sorry. It’s none of my business.”

            He continued to glare, quietly seething, but my fervent apology eventually penetrated and he relaxed. “No, I am sorry,” he sighed, shoulders sagging. He ran his fingers through his hair. “I complain that I have no one left who knows me, and then I shout at you when you try.”

            “It’s okay,” I said at once, relieved that he’d calmed down. “Emotional tenterhooks and all that. And you’re right, I don’t know anything about it.”

            “Did you know your mother?”

            The question caught me unprepared, since I’d been so focused on his stories and feelings and our plans. “Yeah,” I said, internal panic winding its tendrils through me. “I did.”

            Terzo looked at me curiously, probably deciding how hard to push. “There is some reason you can’t go to her for assistance?”

            I stared at him. “That was very carefully worded. Thank you.”

            A shred of arrogance and charm crept into his features. “You’re welcome.” He spread his hands, waiting for my answer. “Well?”

            “There is, yes,” I told him.

            He accepted that. “Alright then. We will hitchhike to…somewhere. Perhaps we will decide when we get there. That means, cara, that we will need to go out again. To purchase more supplies.”

            “We?” I demanded, eyebrows up austerely. “We’ve already been through this, Terzo.”

            “Fine, bene, you.” He flapped a hand dismissively and actually rolled his eyes. “It is difficult for me, allowing a beautiful young woman to do all the work while I lay here doing nothing.”

            I chewed on my lip for a moment, deciding which particular aspect of that I wanted to comment on, before saying “75% of the abbey’s siblings are beautiful young women. I don’t believe for a second that you have any problem letting them do work for you.”

            “While I lay around doing nothing, cara!” he re-emphasized for me, though he at least seemed entertained. “I won’t allow you to twist my words.”

            “You’re just trying to talk me into letting you out of the hotel.”

            “I don’t need your permission.” He gave me a look, stern and dangerous but also playful and sexy, and I squirmed just a tiny bit.

Alright, I wasn’t totally immune to his charms. I could still do without them, though. “You’re doing it again,” I said wearily, already getting sick of the refrain.

“I didn’t say anything this time,” he protested, changing from dangerous and sexy to wounded and sexy in the span of a heartbeat.

“And you’re still doing it.” I gave in a little, allowing my lips tug upward in amusement.

            “You know, most people find me delightful,” Terzo commented. It wasn’t accusatory, he was just throwing the fact out there to see how I’d react. “Charismatic and alluring.”

            I tilted my head to the side, meeting his—yes, alluring—gaze. “Well, then I guess it’s too bad you’re stuck with me,” I said carelessly, sliding off the bed and dragging open the singular drawer of the small nightstand, looking for something to write on. “Seriously? Not even a pen?”

            “What do you need a pen for?” He rolled over on the bed, lying on his stomach and examining the empty drawer with me.

            I slammed it shut with a huff. “To make a shopping list, of course! You’re the hitchhiking expert, you’re going to have to tell me what we need.”

            Stubborn, he shook his head. “I know what we need, and I will spend less of your money getting it.”

            “You just agreed to let me go,” I sighed. “Reluctantly, yes, but—”

            “Yes, well, I have changed my mind, now that you tell me you don’t know what to buy. And I have not forgotten that car ride last night either. Your Italian is, forgive me, but it’s terrible. You are undeniably foreign, they will charge you higher rates. You need me for this, cara. And I need to get out of this room.”

            “And what about the risk?” I crossed my arms. “It was only, what, two hours ago that I saw Sister Imperator on the street? Not even.”

            He shrugged. “I wear a disguise. I assume the sunglasses in the bag were intended for me. These are nothing like my usual clothes, even the ones I wear in private.”

            I wondered what clothes he did wear in private. Probably a silk robe or something, black or red, artistically left half-open to show off his chest and thighs, barely covering his—

            Thankfully, Terzo’s deep sigh dragged me off that train of thought. “I’ll need to change my hair.” I watched him run his fingers through his dark hair and sigh again. My empathy perked up; that wasn’t a melodramatic sigh of vanity. It was reluctant acceptance of the fact that he was going to have to cut away another part of himself in the name of caution. He’d always, at least as far as I knew, worn his thick, dark hair as a trademark. Whether it was styled back over his brow or shaggy and falling into his face to frame his eyes, the only times I hadn’t seen it on him were when his mitre concealed it. It seemed like a small thing—hair grew back, after all—but on top of everything else I could imagine how it would hurt.

            “You don’t have to,” I said, allowing the sympathy to permeate my voice. “So I spend a few more euros, no big deal. You can stay here. It’s smarter if you stay here.”

            “No,” he said with a smile so sad it made me wonder how it even qualified as one. His lips were turned up, yes, but the pain in his eyes completely negated that. “No, what is smarter is to do the thing which saves us money and will also make me less recognizable for the coming weeks. Don’t lie to me.” He drew in a deep, slow breath, straightened up, and ran his fingers through his hair.

            I didn’t think he knew he was doing it. I didn’t point it out. “I wasn’t lying,” I said gently.

            He shook his head firmly. “I don’t need to be coddled. I know you’re not seeing me at my best, but you said you respect me, sì?”

            I nodded. There was no point in trying to dress up the truth into something softer. And frankly, I respected him all the more for pointing that out. “I’ll be back in ten minutes,” I said, picking my small purse back up and selecting one of the remaining €5 notes. If we weren’t beating around the bush, then we might as well get it over with.

            “Is that a promise?” he asked, more a request than an expression of doubt. “You don’t go off and leave me alone here all evening?”

            “With €5?” I asked skeptically, which won me a weak laugh. Since it hadn’t gone so badly earlier, I stopped to give him a quick hug before heading for the door. “Yes, I promise.”

            It wasn’t a difficult promise to keep, really. The cheap store where I’d bought the flip-flops earlier was still open, and it easily covered a pair of low-quality scissors, a disposable razor, and a can of shaving cream. Hopefully he wasn’t picky—we couldn’t afford to be.

            Of course, when I walked in the door he greeted me with “That was twelve minutes” and the expression of a kicked puppy.

I bit into my lower lip to suppress a laugh that came anyway. “Mi dispiace, signore.” If I was going to laugh at him, I might as well go all-out, right? I clapped my hands to my chest dramatically. “Due minute? Perdon, per favore, per favore!”

He laughed. A beautiful, low rumble in his throat, making me feel like I’d accomplished something great. “This is exactly why I don’t want you going shopping on your own! A disaster waiting to happen.”

I dropped the bag on the bed and kicked off my shoes again. “It was minutes that I screwed up, right? What’s the word for minutes?”

“Minuti. But also your accent is…hm…”

“Not good?” I said flatly, since I already knew.

He laughed again. “It is very thoughtful of you to beg my forgiveness in Italian. But in public, you leave the talking to me, eh?”

“Sì, signore.” I changed my tone to that of a bored, disrespectful teenager.

He shot me another Look, but said nothing.

Unsure what else to do, I lay back on the bed and examined the cracks in the ceiling as he took the contents out of the bag one by one. “Is it…weird for you?” I asked. I hadn’t meant to say that out loud, had I? I was just thinking.

“Is what weird for me?” Undoubtedly eager to put off cutting his hair, Terzo turned his attention to me.

“Um. Well.” There was no reason not to say it aloud, really. “Sharing a room with someone you haven’t fucked.”

“Is that a r—” He stopped himself, cleared his throat, and started over in a less seductive voice. “I suppose it is. It’s been many years since I have, but…” He sighed, raking his fingers through his hair again. “But this isn’t my room. This isn’t my life. Everything about this is weird already. So it doesn’t seem so weird, if that…” Another sigh. “If that makes any sense.”

“It does, actually.” That was one less thing to feel awkward about, one less thing to worry about. And the less things I had to worry about, the better.

Neither of us had anything to say for a minute after that, and after a while he broke the silence by grabbing the scissors and standing up. “Va bene. Let’s get this over with.”

I hesitated. “Do you. Er. Want my help?”

“Thank you,” he answered quietly with his back to me, “but this is something I should do myself.”

Why did I feel so bad for him over something that was so minor, in the grand scheme of things? “I get it. But let me know if you change your mind. I’m not exactly going anywhere.”

He went into the bathroom, shut the door, then came out again a minute later to grab the razor before shutting himself back in there. I sat on the bed, drumming my heels softly against the sideboard while looking idly around the room.

I could understand why he didn’t want me to take off shopping again without him. Aside from his valid points about my Italian and knowledge of what we’d need, sitting in here alone was like an invitation for every bad memory, every fear, every insecurity, to parade through my mind. What kind of terrible hotel didn’t even have a television in it? There weren’t any in our rooms at the abbey, either, but we had things to do there. I’d had a stack of books by my bed—some religious, some frivolous. If I’d wanted to join in games or discussions with other siblings, I could have done so. Here…nothing.

Without Terzo in here with me, I had literally nothing to do but think about my uncertain future or everything I’d lost. If I wanted to stretch, I could think about everything he’d lost, not that that was much better. Then it hit me that since I’d told him nothing at all about myself, he didn’t have even that option when he was alone. He’d just be twiddling his thumbs, thinking about the people and the life he’d lost.

Shit, put like that I felt bad leaving him here by himself when I went out the first time! Half-listening as the sink turned on, I made a mental note to pick up a deck of cards or a cheap paperback when we went back out. Any kind of distraction was going to be worth the investment.

I tried to focus on that, on what other things we’d need to buy for hitchhiking to an unknown destination. Instead, my brain piped up to remind me how many marketable skills I had, for when we inevitably ran out of money. Why was he so determined not to seek out his mother? I wouldn’t pry, because he’d taken care not to pry with me and the least I could do was return the favor. But I could still wonder.

It was a relief when I heard the sink turn off. I realized I was just staring at the door, anticipating it opening, eager for anything at all to happen. That would come off as rude, though, staring at him as he came out of the bathroom. I hurriedly lay back on the bed, crossing my ankles and going back to checking out the uninteresting lines in the ceiling that were already disappointingly familiar.

I listened as the door opened, waited as I heard the soft sound of bare feet moving over dingy carpet. Then I gave myself permission to roll onto my elbow, rising off my back just enough to take a quick look.

            Oh Lucifer. He’d taken it all off.

            That shouldn’t have been a shock. It was why I’d gotten the razor, after all—I had no experience cutting men’s hair, and the chances of him doing a good job at himself with only a single mirror and poor lighting had been tragically low. Shaving all of it off was a better option than looking like he’d blindly hacked off hunks.

            And it didn’t look bad, either. Once I got over the shock, it was actually rather striking. Without the distraction of all that hair, his sharp features, soft lips, and dark lashes naturally drew my gaze. The smile-lines around his eyes became more obvious, the shadows beneath them less significant. Somehow, unexpectedly, he looked younger now.

            Anxiety filled up his expression, all the more visible now, and he ran his hands nervously over his bare scalp. “It’s bad, sì? You’re staring.”

            “No!” I exclaimed, a little more enthusiastically than I’d intended. “No, not at all! Just different.”

            He sat down beside me, obviously miserable. His throat moved twice before he said anything. “It feels wrong.”

            “I’m sure it feels strange,” I agreed cautiously. “But you look very handsome.”

            He raised an eyebrow to show how sincerely he doubted that. “You agreed not to lie.”

            “I know.” I let my lips quirk upward. “I’m not lying. It’s different, sure, but definitely not bad. And it’ll grow back.”

            “Bah.” He made a face of displeasure. “It’ll grow back grey.”

            “What’s wrong with that?”

            “Well, cara, you may not have noticed, but I am very vain.”

            I would have laughed anyway, but it was the way he delivered it—completely deadpan, almost funereal in his seriousness, but with a twinkle dancing at the edge of his green eye—that really made me lose it.

            “What are you laughing about?” he demanded with exactly the same inflection, which only made me laugh harder.

            When I was doubled over on the bed, gasping for breath, grasping a cramp in my side from laughing too hard, Terzo stood up with dignity. Through tears of mirth, I saw him put his hands on his hips, still shirtless, tapping his foot impatiently. “Could you get ahold of yourself, cara? Sometime today, perhaps? We have shopping to do.”

Notes:

Italian:
Ch’ s’a succ’d’nd?” - “What’s going on?” (slurred)
Cosa vuoi? – “What do you want?”
Che cosa? Non capisco – “What? I don’t understand.”
Chi sei? Cosa stai facendo qui? Cosa c’è che non va in lui? – “Who are you? What are you doing here? What's wrong with him?”
Ciao amico! Scusa per la mia ragazza, è la sua prima volta, sai? – “Hey buddy! Sorry about my girlfriend, it's her first time, you know?
Non vede l’ora di portarmi a letto – “She can’t wait to get me to bed.”
Sarà delusa – “She’s going to be disappointed!”
Quale via? – “Which way?”
Qui, grazie. Si fermi qui – “Here, thanks. Stop here.”
Buon lavoro, signorina! Ti faremo parlare come si deve subito, eh? – “Good job, miss! We'll have you speaking properly soon, eh?”
Il tuo uomo sta dormendo? – “Is your man sleeping?”
Vorrei una stanza – “I’d like a room.”
Vorremmo una stanza, per favore – “We would like a room, please.”
Sessantacinque per notte – “Sixty five [euro] a night.”