~ CHRISTOPHER ~
Saturday the 3rd of June, 1989
Shivering, I opened my eyes, wondering why I was so cold. I discovered the reason on my bedroom floor. All of my blankets were lying in a crumpled-up heap, only my boxers still covering me. I twisted my head to look at the alarm clock on my bedside table. Red digits flashed 9:02 a.m. Groaning, I swung my legs out of bed and stood up to stretch, but not for long, because my room was colder than the inside of a fridge. I grabbed a T-shirt out of a drawer, along with a black hoodie, pulling them on, then jumped into a pair of stone-washed jeans. Yawning, I zipped myself up and brushed my fingers through my dyed-black hair, my brown roots starting to show. Dark rings had formed under my eyes, caused by my restless tossing and turning during the night. I couldn’t get what had happened with Catherine and my grandfather out of my head—especially my grandfather, what went down surreal.
Not sure what I was going to face today, I headed for the kitchen, wondering who this Michael was that my grandfather had mentioned. I’d never heard of the name before, but if he was correct about Michael having killed the nun, I needed to tell Catherine so she didn’t come after my grandfather. Not for my grandfather’s sake, but for Catherine’s, because no matter how much he’d aged, she didn’t have a hope in hell of winning against him.
My thoughts were cut short as I entered the kitchen. My mother turned to look at me. She was standing in front of the stove with a spatula, again making my grandfather’s favourite breakfast. Pancakes. Just the smell made me want to throw up. Though, I understood why she was making them, especially after what had happened last night.
“How did you sleep?” she asked, also looking tired, probably not getting much herself.
“Terrible,” I grunted.
I lumbered over to the table and slumped into my chair, my gaze landing on my grandfather, who was reading a newspaper. In the morning light, he looked in his mid-sixties, not something he’d be happy with, my grandfather more than a touch vain. I wondered why my mother hadn’t completely reversed things to his preferred age of forty.
He looked up at me. “It’s rude to stare, Chris!”
I didn’t care. “Last night—”
“Is not up for discussion.”
“But you almost buried the rosary. The spirits of the rosary could’ve—”
He cut me off before I could say escaped. “You stopped me in time.” He reached over and patted my hand. “I’m very grateful, nipote. You saved me.”
“But what if you do it again?”
“I won’t. I’ll make sure that I keep the aging process at bay, to stop senility from setting in, because that’s what it was. Senility. Last night I was nothing but an old fool who’d lost his mind.”
“How did you get like that? Was it because you went after Catherine? I saw your car across the road from the church last night.”
“You obviously saw wrong, because I was home all night.”
“But I saw—”
“A similar car. BMWs aren’t exactly rare.”
“Then how come the bonnet of your car was hot?”
He frowned at me. “When was this?”
“Just after 7:30.”
He turned his attention to my father. “Did you use my car?”
My father looked up from the sports section, his expression unimpressed. “Maria forgot to buy the milk, so I got some for her. I went to the dairy and came straight back home, like a good little boy,” he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Though, if I thought I was going to be interrogated over it, I would’ve made sure to use her car.” He raised a brow at my grandfather, obviously being a smartass. “Any more questions, Inspector Poirot?”
“Watch your lip, Antonio, I don’t appreciate it.”
I cut my father’s reply off before he could start a fight, because he was definitely gearing up for one. “Did you hear about Sister Cecile burning to death yesterday?” I asked.
“What did you say?!” my mother yelled from the kitchen.
I glanced back at her. She was still on the other side of the counter, clutching onto the spatula like it was a lifeline, her expression shocked.
“Sister Cecile’s house was burnt down,” I answered. “With her in it.”
My mother rushed around the counter, stopping by my side. “When was this?”
“I don’t know. Sometime before confirmation.”
Her chocolate-brown eyes snapped to my grandfather. She started speaking in Latin, a language I partially knew, but not well enough to follow her rapid speech, other than she appeared to be blaming my grandfather for the nun’s death.
My grandfather slammed his hands down on the table. “I didn’t hurt that witch!” he yelled. “So keep your opinions to yourself, Maria!”
“Don’t you talk to her like that!” my father boomed.
My grandfather turned to him, a sneer playing across his lips. “I wouldn’t need to if you weren’t so dishonest, Antonio.” He pushed up and stalked out of the room, his expression thunderous.
My mother’s gaze snapped to my father. “What did Papà mean by that? What did you do?”
My father waved a dismissive hand at her. “Nothing for you to be concerned about.”
“After what happened last night to Papà, I think I have a right to be concerned. I told you both it was a terrible idea to come here, but did you lot listen to me? No!”
My father pushed up from his seat and headed around the table to her. “We were in more danger in Europe. We couldn’t turn without demons coming after us.”
She pointed a painted nail at him. “And we know whose fault that is? If you weren’t so pig-headed we wouldn’t have been in danger. Chris wouldn’t have been attacked.”
He looked at her incredulously. “You’re blaming me for that foul Maris attacking my son?”
She shook her head. “I didn’t mean it that way.”
“You did! You blame me for what happened to Chris.”
“Why is Mamma blaming you?” I asked, confused, what had happened to me my friend’s fault.
“Stay out of this, Chris,” my father snapped, not even bothering to face me, his gaze locked onto my mother.
I pushed out of my chair. “No. You’re talking about my attack.”
My father turned to me. “Your attack has got nothing to do with me, your mother is just being stupid.”
“I am not!” my mother yelled.
He turned back to her. “You are. I didn’t even know that demon, never even met him, yet you’re blaming me just because I gave you a gift, a gift that saved Papà’s life. You should be grateful for what I did, what I risked, yet every time something goes wrong you throw it in my face.”
“Throw what in your face?” I asked.
“I told you to stay out of this!” he yelled at me.
I glared back at him. “No! I want to know why Mamma’s blaming you for my attack.”
“Because she’s being stupid, too caught up in her hysteria to see sense.”
“Mamma’s not stupid,” I snapped. “So don’t insult her again or I’ll—”
“Do what, Chris? What will you do to me?”
I turned to my mother, more interested in talking to her than stoking his temper. “Why do you blame Papà?”
“Because she’s a fool like you!” my father yelled before she could speak. “You didn’t get attacked because of me, you got attacked because you put your trust in that stupid Levy girl. You lose all sense around girls, like that one at your school. You’re stopping your grandfather from doing what needs to be done, and for what? Because she’s pretty? That’s pathetic, Chris, truly pathetic.”
I tensed. “Just because I don’t want Nonno killing an innocent girl doesn’t mean I’m being pathetic. He doesn’t have to kill her like he didn’t have to kill Levy.”
My father stared at me in disbelief. “Levy led you to a demon who tortured and tried to kill you.”
“She was bewitched! She wouldn’t have done that if she’d been in her right mind. You know demons can do that to humans.”
“And to Merges too,” my mother said.
My father spun around to face her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She dropped her gaze, looking like she was regretting opening her mouth.
He stepped closer to her. “What did you mean by that?” he growled low.
When she didn’t reply, he grabbed her chin and jerked it up, making her yelp.
“Don’t touch her!” I yelled, grabbing his arm, yanking it away from my mother.
My father pulled free and turned on me, shoving me hard, knocking me against the counter. Before I knew what I was doing, I swung a fist at him, no thought involved, just pure fury. He blocked the punch and raised his own fist.
My mother grabbed his arm, screaming, “No, Antonio!”
Taking advantage, I threw another punch, this time hitting him in the cheek. He roared and went for me. Grabbing me with both hands, he swung me around, lifting me off my feet, his strength inhuman. He threw me up against the wall, knocking the wind out of me, my head bouncing off the surface. I could hear my mother’s scream as I slid to the floor, but couldn’t concentrate, my head... I blanked out for a second, then jerked awake. My mother was on the floor in front of me, her expression panicked.
“Figlio, sweetheart, are you all right?”
I didn’t reply, my gaze going to my father. He looked shocked as well as something else I’d never seen on his face before.
Guilty.
Then he was rushing for the door, gone before I could blink.
My mother cupped my face. “Are you all right, figlio?”
I placed a hand behind my head, my hair damp with... I brought my hand around, seeing blood on it.
“Dio!” My mother jumped up and yanked open a drawer under the counter, grabbing a tea towel out of it. She dropped back down and placed the towel at the back of my head, lifting my hand to hold it there.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, tears misting her brown eyes, making them look like polished bronze.
“It’s not your fault.”
“It is. I shouldn’t have pushed your father.”
I stared at her in disbelief. “You’re blaming yourself for standing up to him?”
“I hurt him with what I said and because of that he took it out on you, the one person we’re meant to protect, not harm. I’m so sorry.”
“You shouldn’t be apologising,” I snapped, now angry with her. “Why do you always forgive him for what he does to me? For what he does to you?”
She bit her bottom lip, her expression so pained I almost wanted to comfort her. But I held back, needing to hear her reply.
“I don’t forgive him, bambino,” she finally said, “and he knows it.”
“Then why are you still with him? He knocked me out, Mamma. Threw me against the wall like I was his enemy.” I inhaled and exhaled slowly, trying not to get so worked up, but it didn’t help, what he’d done... I was so sick of taking his crap, of always being at the receiving end of his anger.
“Oh, sweetheart,” she said, brushing my hair aside. “Don’t cry.”
“I’m not crying!” I snapped. “I stopped crying a long time ago, when I realised he didn’t care about me.” I screwed my eyes shut, wishing he cared for me, having wished it all of my life.
She ran a finger under my eyes, my words nothing but lies, my tears wetting my cheeks. I didn’t want to cry over my father. He didn’t deserve my tears. He didn’t deserve my mother either.
I opened my eyes. “Leave him. Please.”
She shook her head. “You know we can’t split up. We have to stay together for our safety. If we don’t, the demons could hurt you again.”
I stared back at her in disbelief. “But what about Papà? He’s hurting me, while you’re letting him get away with it.” I paused for a moment, my next question scaring me. “Is it because you love him more than me?”
Her expression dropped. “No, bambino.”
“It feels like it.”
“But it’s not. You have to believe me that I love you with all my heart and soul.”
I pushed to my feet, my mother helping me up. “But you love Papà more.”
“That’s not true. Please—”
I turned away from her. “I’ve got football,” I said, going for the door, my heart breaking.
She followed me into the passageway. “You know I love you, just your father is—”
I turned to her. “A demon?”
Her eyes widened. “No!”
“Then how did he lift me like that? Only Terras are supposed to have that kind of strength—or demons.”
She shook her head, still wide-eyed and panicked. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“I do. Is that why you’re blaming him for the demon coming after me? Because I have demon blood? From Papà? Everyone hates half-casts. The angels want us dead, while the demons want us to convert or die.”
She didn’t reply.
“And that’s why you can’t leave him. He bewitched you like that Maris demon bewitched Levy.”
She shook her head more vigorously. “It’s not like that.”
“You’re not a good liar, Mamma, you never have been. Your right eye always twitches when you’re keeping something from me.”
She didn’t reply, her guilt clear as day.
I continued, “And Nonno called him a demon last night. Is that why you’re hiding it? You’re worried I’ll tell the council? You know I wouldn’t do that, right? No matter what he is, he’s still my father, and despite myself, I still love him,” I said, my voice cracking on love.
“Oh, figlio,” she said, brushing my cheek. “He didn’t want you to know, was ashamed of who he is. He does try to be good, but it’s so hard for him.”
“How much demon blood does he have?”
She grimaced. “His mother’s a demon, but—”
“I’m a quarter demon!” I blurted out. I didn’t know why I was so shocked, because I knew something was wrong with me, but to have her confirm it... Dio! I had demon in me!
“No,” she said, firmly. “You’re an angel, through and through.”
I ran a hand over my face, knowing she was only saying that because she was my mother. “Why do you blame Papà for my attack?” I asked, feeling sicker by the second. “He wasn’t even in the city at the time. You were both in Rome.”
She grimaced. “He stole something he shouldn’t have, something incredibly precious.”
“What?”
“The Halo rosary.”
“The Maris demon never mentioned anything about the rosary. If it was to do with that, he would’ve at least mentioned it.”
“Your father stole the rosary from a Halo demon, one that put a bounty on our famiglia.”
“The demon still didn’t mention the rosary—” I cut myself off, realising he had. “No. He did. He said something about me probably wishing I had the Halo rosary instead of my Seraphim one. I was in too much pain to care about the meaning. Then Nonno came, distracting the demon. I blanked out, finding myself in Nonno’s car with him speeding away frantically.”
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I didn’t think they would go after you, I thought they would come after me and your father. It’s why we went to Rome. I thought you’d be safe with your grandfather.”
“Why didn’t you give the rosary back, then?”
“Your father wouldn’t let me.”
“He wouldn’t let you? You don’t need his permission.”
“I can’t go against him. I vowed to obey him.”
I stared at her in disbelief. “It’s just a word.”
She grimaced. “Not for demons. When you say you’ll obey one, you can’t break it without severe consequences.”
“Why would you even say that then, let alone marry him?”
“It wasn’t my choice.”
“What do you mean by that?” I held up my hand before she could reply, quickly realising why. “He bewitched you.”
She nodded. “He saw me, wanted me, didn’t even give me a chance to choose him, just went ahead and cast a spell over me, an unbreakable one that’s for life. He guaranteed my undying love no matter what he does.”
My mind went to Catherine, to what she’d said about me doing something similar to her. But I hadn’t, because angelic Merges couldn’t do that...
But demon ones could.
My heart slammed against my chest, the fact I was a quarter demon changing everything. It now meant that I could’ve done what she’d said. Though ... I hadn’t cast any spell on her, hadn’t done anything but be me.
“How do demons bewitch people?” I asked, hoping I hadn’t inadvertently done something to Catherine. She had fought so hard to stay away from me, but, despite all of that, I kept reeling her back in.
“A demon sees someone and, unless they belong to another, one look is all is needed. Your father cast all of his desires and wants onto me, his emotions merging with mine. Once they merged, I was tethered to him for life, the commitment much stronger than any marriage vows. Even if he falls out of love with me, I’ll always love him, reflecting that first moment he decided I was his.”
“Could I do that?”
She blinked at me, her expression stunned. “You’re not to do that to any person, Christopher Antonio Laboure! You’ll allow them to decide whether they want to be with you, not make that decision for them. You don’t understand how much loving a demon hurts!”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” I said, upset by her words. Even after she’d insisted I wasn’t a demon, she was still treating me like one. “I was worried I did it to Catherine without knowing.”
She shook her head. “Your father definitely knew what he was doing, knew damn well what it would mean for me. He never cares about consequences, just does what he wants. Though, regardless, I still don’t regret what followed.”
“Because you love him?”
“No, because of you. If I hadn’t been bewitched by your father, I wouldn’t have had you, while he wouldn’t have met his father.”
“Who’s his father?”
Her face dropped. “No one.”
I snorted out a pained laugh. “Well, he can’t not have a father. Who is it?”
She didn’t reply, her expression sending shivers up my spine, the worries that had plagued me for so long coming to the fore.
“No,” I said, hoping like hell I was wrong. Hoping like hell that wasn’t the reason my father resembled her father. I had always known there was some sort of blood connection between them, just not this close.
“Please don’t tell me you’re siblings,” I said.
She grimaced. “I didn’t know who your father was when I met him.”
“How could you not?!” I yelled, her excuse confirming it. “He looks so similar to Nonno.” I screwed up my face, disgust quickly taking over from shock. “You went for some guy who looks like your own father? That’s sick!”
Her eyes widened. “They don’t look that much alike. Your father has finer, more refined features, while your grandfather has a much stronger, intensely masculine face. He’s also much bigger.”
“They still look similar.”
“I don’t agree! They look worlds apart to me. And it wasn’t like your father and I grew up together. We didn’t even know we were half-siblings when we met. If anything, we’re not actually siblings, we’re cousins.”
“That doesn’t make sense. If Nonno’s both your father, you’re siblings, which by the way is freaking me the hell out.”
“It makes sense with your grandfather’s history.”
“Then explain it so it makes sense to me.”
“I come from your grandfather in his current form, while your father was conceived in your grandfather’s previous form.”
“What are you on about?” I asked, not understanding a word she was saying.
“Think about it, Chris, truly think about it. What are we? What can we do after we die?”
My eyebrows shot up. “Nonno died?”
She nodded.
A chill ran through me. “He merged,” I said, finally understanding, what she was saying now making sense.
She nodded again.
“With who?”
“His cousin. That’s why you think he looks similar to your father.”
I stared at her, shocked to my core. Shocked that the man I looked at every day, the man who’d helped raise me, hadn’t been born into the body he now walked in. He’d stolen someone else’s, his soul taking possession of his cousin’s body. He’d basically imprisoned his own cousin behind a thick mental wall, locking him away ... until last night.
“Accidenti!” I exclaimed, everything that had happened now making sense. “That wasn’t Nonno last night, was it?”
She nodded. “His cousin’s consciousness got out due to your grandfather’s rapid aging. It’s why I had to reverse things to a safe age, but it won’t hold forever. I need to take him out of the country for a while, so he can rejuvenate.”
“Why don’t you just use the Halo rosary again?”
“I can’t, it’ll drain all its power. We need to keep the rosary for dire situations, like death. I’ll take him away until he heals enough to return. Then he can finish what he came here for. Just... You can’t tell any other Merge about him possessing his cousin, because if the council found out, he’ll be exorcised. Doomed to an eternity in Hell.”
“Why would they exorcise him? He can only merge with someone who killed him. It’s justice.”
“It’s not as clear cut as that.”
“It can’t get any clearer than his so-called cousin murdering him.”
“His cousin didn’t murder him.”
I frowned. “But he would have to for Nonno to merge with him.”
She shook her head. “That’s not how it works. You didn’t study properly.”
“But the texts said that a Merge can only be fully possessed if they’re responsible for another Merge’s death.”
“Responsible is the key word. Your grandfather died because his cousin stole his Seraphim rosary, which left your grandfather vulnerable to the flames that ultimately killed him. But his cousin, or someone else, buried your grandfather’s rosary—”
“—which set his soul free from the main rosary bead.”
She nodded. “Leaving his cousin open for possession. Your grandfather took over and has walked in his cousin’s shoes ever since.”
“Who was his cousin?”
“A Cristoforo Rosario.”
“So, Nonno took over his cousin’s persona, pretending to be him?” I asked, the name Cristoforo Rosario on my grandfather’s passport. Reprebus was just a nickname, one that everyone had taken to calling him, since it was Saint Christopher’s birth name.
She nodded.
“So, what’s Nonno’s real name?”
“Michael Laboure.”