The early afternoon sun blazes down on me as my knees threaten to buckle and send me to the concrete—wait, make that cobblestones. The part of the park we’re in is cobbled with life-size statues of racehorses and jockeys running across it, a fountain tossing up water behind. I consider dunking myself.
A busy street borders the other side, drivers honking at each other. Callie stands hesitantly at my side, her hands hovering like she’s afraid to touch me.
I avoid sinking to my knees, preserving some dignity. “Callie dearest,” I say, “please stop doing that.”
“I know, I’m so sorry, I didn’t think.” She’s the picture of concern. “I just wanted to get out of there.”
“Why didn’t you tell your family what we’re doing? I’m sure they’d let us out of this if they knew that—”
“That we’re also pursuing a prisoner from Hell? You didn’t hear my mom this morning. I told you she doesn’t think I should be doing any of this. And then there’s—”
A pair of skateboarders glides straight at us, separating to go wide on either side of us and high-fiving once they’re past. They’re the only other people in the park, save an older male couple reading the paper on a bench two dozen feet away.
“What?” I ask.
“I can’t disappoint her.” She holds up the folder. “We have to channel our inner Tim Gunns and make it work.”
Our task from Father is going to be impossible enough on its own. But if this is how she feels … What can I do but relent? I take another sweep of our surroundings and miss my enhanced senses. I’m not entirely useless though.
“Doing both will be hard, but I have an idea. What does this entail? Our job here, the game.”
I heard what her mom said, but I want to make sure I’m not missing any nuances. Like the ones my enhanced mind usually fills in for me.
Callie shrugs. “We have to be stationed here for six hours. People competing will be racing around to different checkpoints today and tomorrow—we’ll be somewhere else then—and we give them the clue to find the next place.” She pauses. “We just have to take their password first, obtained from the previous site. And that’s…” She flips through the folder while still holding the T-shirts in the crook of her arm. “Ha.”
“What?”
“The password is ‘Enemy of Lucifer.’” She sniffs. “Very funny. The clue must be to find a certain church.”
“They better hope he doesn’t show up at his name being said so often.”
Callie blinks—and I admit to liking the fact I can tell it’s difficult for her not to stare at my face now that she can fully appreciate its glory. “Is that a possibility?”
One I shouldn’t have raised based on the tone of the question. “Extremely unlikely. Anyway, back to my idea.”
She tucks a stray lock of soft brown hair behind her ear. “What is it?”
I crook my head over to the two gentlemen, who’ve just switched sections of the paper. Sports for the crossword from the look of it. “Them.”
“I don’t think they’re here to play.”
“Watch and learn.” Yes, I’m off-kilter without my powers. This, however, is my element. Convincing people to do what I want is something I’ve always been especially gifted at.
Callie trails me with a doubtful furrow between her eyebrows. I want to smooth it away by hand, but I’ll have to do it by deed instead. “Follow me,” I say as breezily as Zephyr herself on a particularly westerly day.
“Gentlemen,” I hail them. “Might we have a word? We have a favor we’d like to ask.”
As we get closer, it’s clear they are indeed a couple. They consult each other before folding their newspapers at the same time. The synchronization of a life together. One wears a polo and a mustache, the other a button-down and a sun hat. Their wedding bands are simple and matching. They make a nice pair.
“Do you like games?” I ask when we don’t get a response.
“You’re not planning to punk us, are you?” the mustached man asks. “We’re just enjoying our Saturday.”
“Of course not. Your plan looks idyllic from where we’re standing. But we’d love to convince you to change it.”
Callie hovers at my side again. I wish she wasn’t so obviously anxious about my ability to pull this off.
“I like chess,” the sun hat man says, relaxing at my words. Wrinkles around his eyes hint at a surplus of smiles. But I get no hint of one. “You planning on asking us to play chess? Somehow I don’t think so.”
“Not exactly.” I gesture to Callie. “Explain.”
She launches into the whole Great Escape Good vs. Evil explanation. “It should be fun,” she finishes brightly. Too brightly.
“And why can’t you two do this simple, fun task?” the chess fan asks.
This is where I go in for the kill. I put my arm around Callie’s shoulder and spin a lie that’s close to the truth. “I had a big surprise date planned for this one—it’s our one-month anniversary—but I screwed up because I didn’t know about her work schedule.”
The two exchange another look and I’m certain they’ll say yes. Young love, who can resist?
“Sorry,” mustache says. “Good luck.”
“Are you sure?” I can’t believe it. No one ever says no to me, not about things like this. Even Callie eventually agreed to work together the night we met.
“Absolutely certain,” the chess fan adds.
I gape and watch as they fold up their newspaper sections, get up, and walk away.
Callie puts a sympathetic hand on my arm. “I’m sure it’s just the power thing.”
The power thing. Oh, so the one thing I know about myself—my infinite charm—is a demonic superpower.
“I’m still handsome, right?” I ask her. I don’t like the advance in my heartbeat. I feel so … so … human.
“You’re gorgeous and you know it,” she says. “And I like your idea. Let’s try again.”
She heads farther into the park. “There,” she says when we find the two skateboarders flipping their boards around in the air up and down a long set of steps. She approaches them.
Slowed by my failure and newfound crisis of confidence, I hang back. By the time I reach her, the boys are whipping off their T-shirts to don the ones from the shop. Callie’s explaining that she’ll be back later to pay them if they do a good job and stay off her mom’s radar. She waits for a sec and then reaches into her pocket and pulls out two twenties. “An advance,” she says.
Damn it all. I should’ve offered money. Except I don’t have any. She must have used my powers to make it. She’s learning fast.
“We’re the best at fooling moms,” the bone-skinny boy who’s the clear leader of the two says. “Don’t worry about anything.”
Callie looks at me. “I am,” she says under her breath. Then, “Don’t try to fool my mom. Please don’t screw this up.”
One of them makes a sign of the cross. I see Callie stiffen, but I could’ve told her that doesn’t hurt. Only going inside sacred spaces does.
She waves a good-bye to the teens. “We’ll be back.”
They smile at her as if she’s enchanted them. I guess that confirms some of my charm is a superpower. Although, her smiles enchant me easily enough … She turns and we’re leaving them behind.
“Where are we going now?” I hurry to keep up.
She beams at me like a self-satisfied sun. “I just thought to myself, where’s Sean Tattersall? and I got this image and the knowledge popped into my head.” She shakes her head at me in awe. “I am so jealous of you.”
Back at you.
“Where is he?” I ask.
“You’re not going to believe it.”
“Back in Hell already?”
She looks skyward at the blue, the clouds, and above them, well, Above. “We wish. Kind of the opposite.”
Not the actual opposite, surely. “You can’t mean it.”
“Oh, no. Not up there. He’s in Vatican City, though.”
I exhale in partial relief. “We’re going to Italy?”
“It’s not actually part of Italy. It’s the smallest country in the world, inside Italy.” She smiles. “I knew that one already.”
“You would,” I say.
“Where else would someone go from Hell but straight to the seat of the Vatican? Unbelievable. Can you travel again so soon?”
After failing with those dapper gents, I’m not about to disappoint her. I can’t bear the idea of her thinking I’m weak. I’ve had enough of that from Father to last a lifetime. “With pleasure.”
She grips my hands tightly and leans in to kiss me and her lips are something to savor as we disappear into the dark screaming journey.
We land on cobblestones again this time, smoother from age, and halfway around the world. They’re warm from the day’s sun, but not as hot as they would be at midday. I know because my fingertips touch them. I’m purposely in a crouch so I can regain my balance. This time the voyage hurt so badly I wasn’t sure I’d survive.
The distance, of course. I remember explaining the same to Callie once.
Callie, who bends in front of me, waiting, clearly afraid.
“One moment,” I grit out.
She does me the favor of standing and giving it to me.
Slowly, my fingers and the backs of my knees recede to tingles instead of thrashing pain and then I rise to take in our full surroundings. We’re in the midst of a flock of tourists who don’t seem to notice our arrival.
Callie says with pride, “I think I made them unable to notice us.”
Yeah, she’s definitely liking her new talents. Who could blame her? What happens when she loses them?
I take a slow spin to absorb this place I never expected to visit—the sprawling plaza of St. Peter’s Square. Callie does the same. The sky above us is a deep cloudless blue. We’re surrounded by tall monuments and grand stone buildings that look pale or golden in the light. It’s majestic and packed with spiritual symbolism. There are crosses and statues of the pious everywhere. I suppose it’s nice, if you like that sort of thing.
Callie does. She points at the ground below us. “These cobbles? They’re sampietrini! It means little Saint Peters.”
I raise a brow. “Little … Peters? I do like the dirty talk, but I can’t help with the ‘little’ part.”
“I bet.” She smacks me lightly on the arm, then lets her hand linger. “They’re named for the people who originally looked after the roads. Sometimes children. I didn’t know that.”
Her face is lit with energy and excitement, similar to how she gets after she has two of her favorite coffees—vanilla soy lattes, no one’s perfect—in a row. “My brain just … supplied it. And it’s six hours ahead here, so just after six o’clock. You can seriously just know all this stuff?” She puts her hand on her hip, incredulous.
“Only when I focus,” I explain.
“I would never get anything done. I would sit around and call up fact after fact. Like—wait, did you know that Vatican City has the highest per capita wine consumption in the world?”
“Hardly surprising given all the priests and secret societies. Speaking of … while I love learning random tidbits about this grand destination from such an enchanting tutor…”
She makes a face at me.
“You said he’s here? Tattersall?” I’m more determined by the minute to get this sordid task behind us. I want my charm and other abilities back, perhaps more than I want to save this man from eternal damnation. Not to mention, we need to find out what we’re truly up against.
Callie takes on that distracted expression Rofocale—and me, I guess—get when we’re using certain powers. “He was, and he’s still nearby. This way,” she says, and launches across the square toward St. Peter’s Basilica.
Curved, columned walls with statues—saints, I presume, and wonder which is Peter—flank our approach. The front of the church has a sparse line of people outside at this hour. The column theme continues along its front, only these are taller, grander. Two large robed male statues stand on either side of the entrance. Above them is yet another row of disapproving statues, the church’s massive dome behind them, a cross at its very top. The church.
I hope our quarry is not inside.
“You’re all right out here, I take it?” I ask Callie as casually as possible.
This is a holy country, after all. I’d never worried about its possible effects on my kind since I had no inclination to visit.
“I guess so,” Callie says, moving quickly across the cobbles, employing some of my magic so that the clusters of people part for us. A little girl with sunburnt cheeks almost drops a cone of pink gelato and Callie pauses to make sure she has it secure before we pass her family.
We stop at the black barriers blocking off the basilica. Its shadow falls over us, large and ominous. Callie is silent, until, “You asked that because I can’t go inside here, can I? Not while I’m…”
Like me. Unholy. No. “Let’s not test it,” I say. “Is he in there? I can go in alone.” Not that I want to.
She closes her eyes and concentrates. “No … but it was the most direct route. We can…”
I hear the spike in anxiety in her tone. She’s thrown by the possibility she’s in some way not good and it’s slowing us down. Or maybe she’s grappling with the idea that I’m not, despite her best efforts and beliefs. I hold out my hand, “Zap us there.”
She hesitates. “You’re sure?”
“Please. Let’s do this.”
Callie sighs. I presume acknowledging what I’m up to and knowing there’s no better solution. She grips my hands in hers and we vanish.
The trip is far less painful and when we emerge this time we’re indoors, in a simple, spotlessly clean hallway. “That wasn’t so bad,” I say, reassuringly.
“Good,” Callie says, and lets go.
The tidy hallway is empty, aside from us. Regularly spaced doors dot the walls.
“Apartments,” she says, keeping her voice down. “Everyone who lives here works for the Vatican. Mostly priests.”
If that’s true, the occupants must feel like they’re engaged in a daily battle between good and evil. Not unlike the game we abandoned, and our task. That could prove troublesome. There’s a sinister thrum under all this beauty I recognize from home.
“He’s at the end of the hall,” she says, but then she hesitates. “Do you think your father sent him here?”
“I can’t imagine it. But who can say?”
“If he didn’t, there’s another reason this Sean might come here. Do you think he’s trying to ask for forgiveness? Maybe he knows a priest here.”
I consider. If this was going to be that easy, there’s no way the guy would’ve been in the great down Below to begin with. Demons were toting him. I don’t want to rain on Callie’s optimistic parade though. “Only one way to see.”
We slowly move forward past the line of doors until we reach a small welcome alcove paneled with dark wood and yet another door. Shrieks and moans leak out from behind it, chanting beneath them. The sinister thrum inside me gets louder too. Like a scream.
Hang on. That’s not inside my head. That was an actual scream. I have a sudden suspicion of what we’re about to discover inside.
I press Callie behind me and try the door. There’s no lock and the hinges are so well-oiled, it doesn’t make a sound as I open it.
Inside the room is a cleaned-up version of the broad-shouldered, dark-haired man Father so briefly introduced to us in Hell. He’s handsome enough I have to admit he’s in my league. Except now he’s wearing an off-putting clerical collar.
Sean the handsome priest hefts a bottle of what must be holy water in one hand and places his other palm on the forehead of a woman with long black hair hiding most of her face as he chants at her in Roman-accented Latin. I only understand a word here and there. Immediate language translation, another talent I’m missing.
The woman being administered to on a small bed screams and moans and thrashes. A gray-haired woman and a thirtysomething man stand nearby, in clear distress, but the older woman clutches the man’s arm to keep him back.
“What in the world?” Callie whispers to me.
“An exorcism,” I whisper back.
They don’t even notice us.
Thing is … if Sean Tattersall was possessed by a demon then saving him wouldn’t be difficult. We could exorcise it ourselves.
And I don’t detect the smells that I normally would if a demon were about. No sulfur. No excruciatingly barbaric body odor sweating out the possessed’s follicles. (Demons have contests to see who can cultivate the most disgusting eau de putrid.) Are these things not present or do I not sense them without my faculties? Callie’s nose isn’t wrinkling with a foul stench, so that must not be it.
What is going on here, then?
Sean continues in Italian-accented English that’s missing the distinctly British flair he had Below. “Devil, leave this vessel,” he says. “It is not for you. Mariana is a holy woman who will have this man with her for life once you depart.” He turns to the other man. “You will marry this woman and protect her from such invasions? Offer her guidance?”
The woman—Mariana—twists with abandon on the bed.
The younger man—American, clearly—nods quickly. “Father Sean, I’ll do anything to make it stop. It’s all my fault.”
Callie and I look at each other. So he’s running the exorcism.
The woman moans as if she’s in pain but I catch a momentary flicker of a smile on her face. Not a demonic grin. A satisfied human one.
Callie closes the door behind us with a firm click, so the trio finally realize they’re not alone. “What do we have here?” she asks.
Sean looks over at us and rolls his eyes. “Bugger off. Busy.”
Ah, there it is, the clipped British accent from before.
“That answers that. I’m pretty sure you’re not a priest,” Callie says. “Though you could give Hot Priest a run for his money, Fleabag.”
Sean shrugs. Presumably he’s not caught up on the past few years of television. I know Callie has eyes, but the smallest hint of dismay pounds in my chest at the fact she noticed how attractive he is.
“You’re not a priest?” the American asks. “What’s going on here?”
Mariana stops feigning possession and gives a heavy sigh. “You said you were good at this,” she says, before sitting up and straightening her dress.
“What’s going on here?” the man demands.
Callie stays focused on our quarry. “We’ve been sent here for you. From your previous home. You need to come with us.”
“No thanks,” Sean says. “I’m fine right where I am.”
Maybe I’m not totally without use, even powerless. I’ve hatched enough devious plans to suss out the particulars when I happen upon one in action.
I examine the tableau in front of us. I find it obnoxiously clever.
“Let’s see if I can explain what you’re up to in one try,” I say and walk over to the supposedly possessed woman. “Sean here approached you somewhere,” I say to the man, who nods, “and he told you your girlfriend was possessed by a demon. Oh, and that he could cleanse her of this evil spirit. Said girlfriend—”
The girl nods, a disgruntled frown on her face.
“Mariana,” I say, “has been after you to put a ring on it. Sean must’ve approached her with the solution to her prayers. He then brought you here to some unwitting priest’s apartment and conducted this sham exorcism. How much did he charge you?” I ask the woman.
“A thousand euros.” She holds up her phone at Sean. “Venmo it back.”
“How can he have a Venmo account in the first place?” Callie asks, astonished.
That’s the last thing troubling me. He couldn’t have had that much of a head start on us, and this isn’t a beginner scheme. Who exactly is this guy? Why has Father hidden so much about him?
“He stole someone’s phone and created one. Am I right?” I ask him.
Sean shrugs those two ripped shoulders. Whoever was torturing him must’ve been into CrossFit—unfortunately, a lot of the types we get these days enjoy that.
“Pinched from a shop,” he says, all chill, as if he hasn’t been busted. “Couldn’t believe one of my old accounts was still active, if a little light. Fixed that.”
“You really should have known the Vatican doesn’t charge for exorcisms,” I tell the woman.
She shrugs.
“Where are you from?” Callie asks Sean, squinting hard. The most basic details about him must still be concealed from her. “Really?” she adds. I guess she caught the changing accents too.
“I’m a citizen of the world”—he smiles that slow smile and I swear the woman who must be Mariana’s mom and Mariana swoon—“and beyond.” He turns his attention to those three. “I must be going now, I’m afraid. I try never to overstay my welcome.”
He swings around, past us, and out the door. Callie and I hurry to follow him.
“Wait,” I say. “We need to talk. You don’t know what’s going on. We have a proposition for you.”
“I love a good proposition,” he says with a wink to Callie.
Callie’s hair is tucked behind her right ear and I watch as it flushes pink before my very eyes.
Metaphorical smoke emerges from my ears. Winking at Callie is my privilege.
I hate Sean Tattersall already. But not as much as I hate Father.