Marco chuckled bitterly again. “You’re not wrong,” he said. “I was caught, you know that. I was sent to jail, and in jail, I had nothing but time to think. I thought that before I married that whore, I was at least free. I was lonely, but I was free. I could see the sun rise over the Adriatic and set over the hills. I could breathe clean air and I could eat good food. It’s not much, but it’s better than nothing.”

  He looked up and saw the skepticism in Lauren’s eyes and chuckled again. “You don’t think that’s enough to stop me? Well, like I said, I don’t know what else to tell you. I can’t prove where I was. I can only say that I’m not the man you’re looking for, and if you leave me be, I’ll go back to ignoring everyone and enjoying what little of life there is for me to enjoy.”

  Lauren shared a glance with Father Emilio. Then she stood and said, “The National Police are aware of you. If you try to leave or try to hurt anyone again, they will find you.”

  “I know,” he said. “I meet with my parole officer every week.” His eyes widened. “I met with him on the seventeenth of May. It was during the day, but if it helps, he did see me here in Villa Celiera, not in Pescara. I didn’t see him on the eleventh of this month, but it’s the same person who killed both nuns, no? If I wasn’t there last month, I wasn’t there this month, right?”

  “We’ll follow up with your parole officer,” Lauren said. “In the meantime, keep what I said in mind. If you’re on the right path, stay on it. If you’re not, we’ll find you.”

  He nodded. “All right,” he replied. “I’ll be good. I’m being good now. I’m not angry anymore.”

  ***

  They confirmed with Paolini’s parole officer that the two had met the day of Sister Luisa’s death. It wasn’t a hard and fast confirmation that he wasn’t there when Sister Luisa was murdered, but combined with the lack of any evidence of sexual assault on either of the victims, Lauren was led to believe he was telling the truth. He fit the profile, but not well enough, and both she and Father Emilio believed he was being honest when they talked.

  On the drive back, Lauren asked Father Emilio about the display of strength she had seen earlier. “I know the Church didn’t teach you that,” she said. “Were you a soldier before you became a priest?”

  Father Emilio frowned and shook his head gruffly. “No,” he said. “Just a priest.”

  “A priest who knows judo?” she asked.

  “A priest who prepared himself for the dangers his calling would lead him to face,” he replied cryptically.

  “So, the Vatican trains their exorcists to fight now?” she asked.

  He sighed irritably, another emotion she didn’t expect from the normally calm priest. “I do not wish to discuss this now,” he said gruffly. He sighed and added, “It’s… a part of my life but I’m not proud of it. I recognize it’s a necessity, but I don’t wish to dwell on it.”

  “Very well,” Lauren said. She could understand the desire to avoid reliving parts of one’s life. “For what it’s worth, I was impressed. You might not see value in what you did today, but I do.”

  Father Emilio managed a tired smile. “Thank you, Lauren.”

  The sky had darkened to the purple of twilight when they reached Pescara again. Sergeant Forza had continued searching for suspects while they investigated Paolini but had no new leads for the two when they arrived back at the station.

  At Sergeant Forza’s suggestion, Lauren took the copy of the Key of Solomon found in Sister Luisa’s room, “Perhaps a fresh set of eyes will find evidence I have not.”

  She agreed to look through it the next day. There was nothing more to be done that day, so they decided to take time to rest. Unfortunately, this being the height of tourist season, there were no rooms available at any of the hotels. To make matters worse, Forza needed his car back and the transit to San Vito Chietino had shut down for the evening.

  “I am sure the sisters at the convent will be willing to put us up,” Father Emilio said. “I may have to content myself with a cot in the office, but I have put up with worse.”

  “I’d very much rather not sleep in the convent, Father,” Lauren said, her voice clipped and tight.

  He lifted an eyebrow. “Why not?”

  She took a breath. “I… just don’t want to relive that part of my life.”

  She regretted her words the moment she said them, but it was too late to take them back. Father Emilio’s eyes widened. “You were a nun,” he said softly.

  “Like I said,” she replied, “I don’t want to relive that part of my life.”

  Father Emilio looked like he wanted to press further, but—perhaps considering that she had allowed him his own secret—in the end only nodded. “Well, I can ask Father Dominic if he has room for us at the cathedral. Oftentimes, we allow transients who have nowhere else to go to sleep in the sanctuary.”

  Lauren sighed. She didn’t want to put Father Emilio out because of her own discomfort. “No, that’s all right,” she said. “I’ll… we can talk to the sisters.”

  Mother Superior de Vecini was, of course, happy to offer them two of her spare rooms. When Father Emilio hesitated, she smiled and said, “I am sure the Lord will have no trouble with a servant of His accepting the generosity of our convent while he works tirelessly to find justice for one so cruelly taken by the Enemy.”

  He smiled gratefully. “I am in your debt, Mother Superior.”

  “No, Father,” she said, “We are in your debt.”

  Lauren was shown to her room. Her skin crawled when she entered the furnished room, but she relaxed slightly when Sister Victoria, the young nun who led her to the room reassured her that this was not Luisa’s former room.

  Lauren thought of the grimoire in her pack and wondered if she had made a mistake bringing it here. This place had seen more than its fair share of evil.

  She dismissed the thought as soon as it came. For heaven’s sake, did she now believe the same superstitions? It was a book. Fifteen dollars in paperback. Four-ninety-nine for a download. Those were her words. She’d dismissed it.

  It had to be like the phantom pain. Her leg was healed but nonetheless her brain still behaved as though it received signals from the nerve endings. And now, she was freed of her fruitless and pointless faith but still, sometimes, there was phantom pain, so to speak.

  She unpacked, leaving the book in her pack, and tried to sleep. Sleep didn’t come. To this point, she had managed to immerse herself in the case, but now that she was afforded a moment of silence, the solitude weighed heavily on her. Perhaps also, the location weighed heavily on her. The sentiment of that thought wasn’t lost on her. She wished it were.

  It was ironic. She was surrounded by people who, though possibly misguided, were the kindest and most caring people she could hope to have around her. If she needed anything, even simple companionship, all she had to do was walk to the nearest room and someone would be there for her.

  Yet she felt so alone. It hit her hard that she truly was a stranger in a strange land. She spoke Italian and had an Italian name, but she grew up in America and used the English version of her name. She was investigating a case, but she was no longer a member of the FBI. She was sleeping in a convent, but she was no longer a nun. Her partner was a priest, and she a nonbeliever.

  The loss of her father and Kevin hit her sharply. She squeezed her eyes shut against the tears but they fell anyway.

  She felt so cold. She recalled how Kevin would wrap his strong arms around her every time she so much as shivered.

  “This is what you get for never bringing a jacket with you anywhere you go,” he would scold.

  “I know,” she would say, “I just forget.”

  She never forgot. Not once in three years together had she ever forgotten a jacket. She just never needed one. She had Kevin to hold her and warm her. His embrace was warmer and more comforting than any jacket.

  She wept for several minutes, and when the pain became too unbearable, she steadied herself and took a deep, shuddering breath.

  She had a job to do. Maybe she was wrong to take this job, but she had taken it. Two dead nuns needed justice and, like it or not, she was the only one who could bring them that justice. She could grieve later. That was the point anyway, wasn’t it? Lose herself in the case and reapproach her grief later when it was at least a little smaller?

  So, she told herself anyway.

  She rolled out of bed. Sleep wasn’t coming tonight. She pulled her pack closer and opened the grimoire. She reviewed the notes in the margins, but there was nothing there that offered any sort of clue, just a bunch of disjointed ramblings about Lucifer and Hell. If hers had been the only death, Lauren might have suspected that Sister Luisa killed herself. Now… she wasn’t sure. Like Sister Katarina, Sister Luisa’s friends insisted she had been perfectly normal in the days leading up to her death. No sign of anything like this.

  Still, there was no mistaking the words in the margin were in Sister Luisa’s handwriting. She decided she would need to see the other book left in Sister Katarina’s room. If the nuns weren’t possessed or insane, and Lauren was certain they were neither, then maybe some clue to the killer’s identity would be hidden in these forged notes in the margin.

  Or maybe both nuns had simply gone insane and their deaths were unrelated to their superstitions.

  Out of morbid curiosity, she skimmed a few pages of the grimoire. The writing was barely drivel. It was like a teenager had written a spell book to be featured in a cheap fantasy show on a cable science fiction network.

  “How can people actually believe this?” she said out loud.

  She shook her head, closed the book, and tossed it onto her pack. She returned to her cot and closed her eyes and this time was able to sleep.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Sister Fiona gasped and sat bolt upright, clutching her chest. Her heart pounded rapidly and her ears hummed from the force of the blood rushing to her head. She got out of her cot, shaking, her breath coming in shallow gasps.

  She tried to recall the nightmare she’d had immediately before waking. Something about judgment and hellfire, God casting the unbelievers, sinners, and idolaters into everlasting torment. Father Vincenzo’s sermon had been on the book of Revelations this past mass. She must have been dreaming of that.

  Why couldn’t she catch her breath?

  A sharp pain seized her chest. She gasped again and doubled over. Two drops of blood fell from her mouth and stained the floor underneath her. She stared at them, eyes widening.

  “Oh no,” she whispered. “No, no, no.”

  Everyone had heard of the demon attacking convents in Abruzzo. The Vatican had dispatched Father Emilio Carbone, the famous exorcist, to banish the devil, but he had only just arrived. He must not have banished the demon yet.

  “Oh no, no, no!” she cried, stumbling out of her room into the cloister. “Help!” she cried, her voice choking.

  The demon had come for her. It was coming to kill her. It was coming to drag her soul to hell!

  She clutched at the rosary around her neck, but the moment her hands touched the beads, another stab of pain shot through her. She gasped and fell to her knees.

  Her eyes swam with blood. Why was the demon coming for her? What had she done? She had done nothing! She was a sinner like all others, a sinner saved by the merciful grace of the Lord but she had committed no great sin, no reason for this! How had she sinned that God would abandon her to—

  Then she realized. She had allowed certain thoughts to enter her mind. She’d allowed curiosity to become stronger than that. She’d allowed curiosity to become desire and this past year, the reality that she had agreed to spend her life celibate, never feeling the love of another, never feeling the warmth of a man’s body next to hers, never knowing the joy of bearing children… She’d considered leaving the convent.

  But she hadn’t!

  She had thought of leaving, but she hadn’t left! Not yet!

  But I was, she thought with terrible certainty. I hadn’t yet, but I was going to. I was going to leave as surely as I was going to ask the handsome baker out to coffee when I left. Not yet. Yet. The word was terrible. Yet.

  “Oh God, no!” she cried, “Please, Lord! I am sorry! Forgive me!”

  She tried to regain her feet, but another stab of pain caused her to collapse to the floor of the cloister. She fell forward flat but she exerted a great deal of effort to lift her upper body off the floor. Her vision swam, but she could make out the shapes of her sisters, her faithful sisters, rushing to her side. She couldn’t see the alarm in their faces, and she couldn’t hear the cries of their voices, but she could imagine them.

  She had sinned. She had sinned, and God had removed his hand of protection from her, and the demon was taking her.

  “Please,” she whispered again, “Lord, please spare me!”

  She felt cold suddenly, ice cold, as though all the heat had gone from her. She frowned, her thoughts growing dark and muddled. If she were being taken to hell, it would be hot, no?

  A final stab of pain shot through her. She rolled onto her back and gasped.

  “Bless me, Father,” she whispered hoarsely. “For I have…”

  She never finished the prayer. She heard the sound of a great rushing wind, and then the world went dark.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Lauren woke to the sound of her phone ringing. She was alert instantly, a gift from her years with the Bureau when a break in a case could come at a moment’s notice and she needed to be prepared to move.

  This was no different. She answered and Father Emilio’s voice greeted her on the other end. “There’s been another death,” he said. “In Scerne.”

  Lauren’s eyes widened. “The convent where Marco assaulted the sister five years ago?”

  “Yes,” he said, “The Mother Superior has already checked the grounds for sign of intrusion. There are none.”

  “Got it,” she said, dressing quickly. “I’ll meet you out front in five minutes.”

  She made it in three, and Father Emilio was already dressed. He stood next to the Mother Superior. De Vecini’s face was ashen, and there was a slight tremble in her hands. Father Emilio nodded to Lauren, his face grim. “The Mother Superior has offered us the use of the convent’s truck,” he said.

  “Thank you, Mother Superior,” Lauren said.

  “The truck is parked in the garage,” De Vecini said. “I’ll show you the way.”

  As they followed her, Lauren dropped back a bit and said softly to Father Emilio. “When did this death occur?”

  “Earlier this evening,” he responded. “The Mother Superior of that convent called de Vecini, who woke me.”

  “And no sign of intrusion at the convent?”

  “None,” he repeated. “The circumstances of this death appear similar to the previous deaths.”

  They reached the garage and the Mother Superior said, “The keys are in the ignition. Go with haste and God be with you. Keep the truck as long as you need.”

  She looked beseechingly at Father Emilio and asked softly. “You don’t… feel anything here, Father?”

  Father Emilio shook his head. “There are no devils here, Mother Superior,” he said.

  De Vecini sighed with relief and smiled up at him. “Please be safe, Father,” she said.

  “I go with the grace and protection of Christ,” he replied with a benevolent smile. “I’ll be all right.”

  Lauren turned so the other two wouldn’t see her expression, but she couldn’t stifle an impatient cough. Father Emilio nodded and climbed into the passenger seat of the truck. Lauren climbed into the driver’s seat, finding the key in the ignition as promised, and started the engine.

  The truck was a twenty-year-old Ford F250. The diesel engine coughed and sputtered, sending a plume of black smoke into the air before grumbling its way to life. It needed servicing, but it ran well enough that Lauren trusted it to navigate the thirty-minute drive to Scerne without breaking down on them.

  Navigating the narrow Italian streets in the three-quarter-ton truck took patience, but it was faster than waiting for the transit to open three hours from now, so Lauren kept calm as she worked her way through the winding streets onto the highway.

  The sky lightened to the soft gray of predawn as they drove. Lauren asked Father Emilio for details, but he had none to give her, so she fell silent and focused on driving. She looked out the window at the soft gray haze outside. The road appeared ethereal and haunting in the glow of the old truck’s fog lights, and though the heater worked just fine, Lauren shivered.

  Looking out at this landscape, it was all too easy to believe that a demon was responsible for the suffering they were now investigating.

  Father Emilio was silent on the drive. After ten minutes or so, Lauren glanced over and saw a familiar expression of frustration mixed with guilt on his face.

  “Hey,” she said, “this isn’t your fault.”

  He smiled wryly. “Of course not. That doesn’t make me feel any better about the situation, though.”

  “No,” Lauren agreed. “No, it doesn’t.”

  ***

  There were no policemen to greet them here. Lauren looked at the expressions of the nuns and the Mother Superior. As one, they beseeched Father Emilio silently to find and banish the demon in their midst. It seemed the possibility that a human could be responsible for these deaths no longer even occurred to the nuns. She wondered if they had even bothered to check the grounds for intrusion or if they simply assumed it must be the demon that struck again.

  “Father Emilio,” the Mother Superior, an elderly, white-haired woman named Theresa spoke, “the Adversary has not stayed his hand from the sisters of Scerne. He has taken from us a lovely and beautiful soul in Sister Fiona. Please put an end to this madness before he takes another innocent servant of Christ.”

 

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