Stella Maris (The Legendary Rosaries)

by Marita A. Hansen

Sister Cecile nodded as though she knew all about it. “The nun you saw was your great-great grandmother Mary—my mother. The priest was your great-great grandfather Cristoforo—my father. His rosary was tainted by a demon. It influenced him into doing wicked acts, such as what he did to my mother.”

  She closed her eyes and sucked in a deep breath, then reopened them. “My father brought my sister and I up with such love and care that I didn’t think was possible for a person controlled by the ruby’s power. Though, not long after my First Communion he disappeared. My sister and I were put into a Catholic orphanage as a result.”

  “It can’t be the same man from my dream,” I said, the woman definitely crazy. “He looked like a younger version of someone I saw last Sunday.”

  Her eyes widened, fear colouring her cloudy blue eyes. “Do you know this man’s name, Catherine?”

  I nodded. “It’s kind of hard to forget, because it’s a really weird one.”

  “What is it?”

  “Reprebus Rosario.”

  Her hand flew to her chest, clutching onto it, looking like she was having a heart attack.

  I rushed around the coffee table to her. “Are you okay, Sister?” I asked, terrified she was going to drop dead in front of me.

  “Where did you see this man?” she asked.

  “At my confirmation lesson. He’s the grandfather of a boy from my school. Do you want me to phone an ambulance?”

  She shook her head. “And what is his grandson’s name?”

  “I think I should call the—”

  “I’m fine.”

  “But—”

  “His name!”

  I jolted. “Christopher Laboure.”

  “I don’t know him,” she said, dropping her hand. “How old did his grandfather look?”

  “Early forties, even though he couldn’t be. He looked more like Christopher’s father than grandfather.”

  She shook her head. “No, he’s my father.”

  “That’s physically impossible. He’s far too young.” I looked around the room. “Where’s your phone? I’ll call a doctor for you.” I spotted it on the side table by the couch. I turned for it, stopping as she grabbed my arm.

  “I don’t need a doctor and that man is my father. Firstly, my surname is Rosario. Secondly, Reprebus was the name that Saint Christopher had before he worked for God, a derivative of my father’s name—Cristoforo. Lastly, I’ve had the same dream as you, and lately I’ve been having others that suggest my father’s still alive.”

  I pulled my arm free, her grip as weak as her mind. “He’s still too young to be your dad. Maybe he’s just another descendant.”

  “Many things are possible with the power of the beads.”

  I held up a hand. “Hold up, Sister. I realise you believe in all of this, just please leave me out of it.”

  “Your lack of faith doesn’t negate what I’ve said. The legendary rosaries help preserve the life of their owner. They can stop you from aging, mainly due to the tiger iron bead.”

  I lifted the rosary, which I was still clutching in my right hand. “There’s absolutely nothing magical about this rosary, other than it’s gorgeous to look at. It’s a piece of jewellery.”

  She scowled at me as though I’d blasphemed. “Rosaries aren’t jewellery.”

  “Okay, prayer beads then, but nothing more.”

  “You’re wrong. They’re everything. My mother died because of the one you’re holding, while the Seraphim rosary warped my father and killed my sister.”

  I held the beads out to her. “Then take them back.”

  “No, they’re yours,” she said, now looking panicked. “I understand that I sound crazy, but I’m not. I also understand that I’m telling you too much too fast, but I didn’t anticipate my father’s return. If I’d known he was returning, I would’ve contacted you sooner, but I thought he wouldn’t risk coming back to New Zealand, let alone Agnaru. It’s dangerous for him to be here. Something serious must’ve happened to force his return.”

  I took a step closer to her, still holding the rosary out. “I don’t mean to upset you, but please take it back. I’m not interested in fantasies.”

  She kept her hands by her side. “This isn’t a fantasy, it’s reality. Plus, you said you would hear me out.”

  “I don’t remember saying that.”

  “Just give me one more chance to convince you otherwise.”

  “I don’t think you can say anything that’ll change my mind.”

  “Then how did I know about your dreams if I’m spouting off nonsense?”

  “You probably talked to my mum, even my dad,” I said, intending on grilling them over this.

  “I already told you I didn’t speak to your mother, while I haven’t seen your father since your sister’s funeral. He stopped coming to church after that. Like you did. It’s why I was so surprised to hear you were getting confirmed.”

  I clenched my hands, knowing why I’d stopped. I’d lost my faith, what had happened to my sister stealing it away. “I’m only doing it for my mum.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. I understand the past couple of years must’ve been very hard for you and your family.”

  I looked away, what she was dredging up making my eyes sting. I blinked them rapidly, forcing myself not to cry.

  Sister Cecile touched my arm gently, her voice softening once more. “Please, Catherine. Sit down and hear me out. I just want to explain how the rosary works.”

  I remained where I was, still trying to get my emotions under control.

  “Even if you think I’m spouting crazy gibberish,” she continued, “just allow me to finish what I have to say. Once I’ve said everything I need to, then you don’t have to see me ever again.”

  I turned my head towards her, wanting that, the woman dredging up nothing but bad memories. “Fine. How do they work?”

  She exhaled, looking relieved that I hadn’t left. “Many ways, but foremost, they feed off your prayers. Not just the normal rosary prayers of Our Father or Hail Mary, but individual ones unique to yourself.” She took the rosary out of my hand, rubbing the beads between her fingers, her expression turning mournful. “They also work with your empathy. Empathy is your greatest power. It allows you to understand another person. Once you master empathy you can enter a person’s mind through the beads. Not in the sense of reading their mind, but drawing on their feelings, adding them to your own. These emotions fuel the rosary. The more you’re able to understand a person’s feelings, the more you can shape the raw energy and use it to your advantage. However—” she cleared her throat, “—less emphatic people can also use the beads, specifically if they’re able to control other people’s fear. They’ll intimidate a person enough to provoke fear within them, then feed off the emotion for their own benefit. Fear is such a raw and powerful force that, when combined with the energy within the beads, will create massive amounts of power.”

  I stared blankly at her, hearing nothing but mumbo jumbo.

  She barrelled onwards, “This is how my father killed my mother. He used her own fear against her. That’s the harsher side of the legendary rosaries. Nonetheless, they weren’t made for cruel intentions. They were created centuries ago to exorcise demons as well as to free people and their crops from disease and pestilence. They were meant to help, not harm.” She held the rosary out for me to take back. When I didn’t take it, she thrust it in front of my face, her expression determined.

  I exhaled and took it. “Well, how do I make them work?” I asked, now humouring her, hoping once she was done I could leave.

  “The beads will teach you how to use them through your dreams. And when you go out, wear them under your clothing or put them in a secure pocket. Don’t let anyone see them. Ever.”

  “Why?”

  “They will try to take them by force.”

  “Okay,” I said slowly, not believing her. “But I want to know what the rosary can do.”

  “Wear it and the power will come
.”

  I bit my bottom lip to stop from smirking, the woman definitely a looney tune. “No instructions other than to wear them?”

  “I realise you’re humouring me, Catherine. But I’m not lying or a crazy old woman. The rosary beads do have powers.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “Look, I don’t mean to be rude, but I really think I’ve heard enough.”

  “Just please put them on, because no matter what, I refuse to take them back.”

  “Fine,” I said, popping the rosary around my neck.

  She indicated with her finger. “Hide it under your top.”

  I slipped the rosary under my Guns N’ Roses shirt.

  She continued, “And when you discover I’m not spouting rubbish, come back to me so I can start on your lessons.”

  As if. “Sure.” Now, can I please go? “Is that all?”

  She nodded.

  I refrained from exhaling again and turned to grab the rosary’s box off the coffee table. I stuffed it into my bag. “If you change your mind and want the rosary back, just ring and I’ll return it,” I said, zipping my bag up.

  She started babbling, “No, I already said it’s yours. I don’t have what’s required to use the beads. I was never a good Merge,” she added, as if I knew what that meant.

  I nodded, hoping it would stop her continuing if she thought I agreed with her. “It was nice to see you again, Sister,” I lied. “But I really should go. I have to be somewhere soon.” Another lie. I had the whole afternoon free, my confirmation class not until seven.

  She nodded. “Thank you for coming, it’s great to see you again. I just wish it was under better circumstances.”

  “Yeah.” I turned to leave.

  “Oh, one more thing, Catherine.”

  I turned back. “Yes?”

  “Be wary of the boy you mentioned and especially his grandfather. He’s a very dangerous man. Whatever you do, keep away from him and don’t let him see the rosary,” she said, giving extra emphasis to her last words. “Promise me that.”

  I grimaced. “It’ll be a bit hard avoiding him if he turns up to my confirmation group again, not only that, his grandson’s in three of my classes.”

  “Why are you grimacing?”

  “Because I can’t stand the creep. He’s always bugging me.”

  “What is he doing?” she asked, looking even more concerned.

  “He seems to think annoying me is his job.”

  “Oh,” she replied, her expression relaxing a touch. “Tell a teacher.”

  “He’s not breaking any rules, just being annoying.”

  “Then, ignore him.”

  “Believe me, I’ve tried. At least he’s lightened up a bit over the week. Maybe he’ll get bored with me and find someone else to bug. Anyway, I have to go.” I walked over to the door and opened it.

  She hobbled after me. “Just be very careful around the boy and his grandfather.”

  I smiled at her. “I do karate, so if they bug me, I’ll karate chop them,” I said, trying my best to reassure her.

  “That’s good to know. Well, take care, dear, and remember, if anything happens that proves what I’ve told you, come back to me.”

  “Okay,” I replied, knowing I wouldn’t. I grabbed my bike, relieved to be finally leaving.

  Chapter 5

  ~ CHRISTOPHER ~

  Monday the 29th of May, 1989

  Not caring about being late for class, I strode down the school corridor, humming an old Latin song. My nonno Reb used to sing it to help me fall asleep when I was a bambino, something my father would never have done. I felt much closer to my grandfather than my own papà, probably because he didn’t constantly put me down. Though, my grandfather had been acting strange of late, going from nice to brusque without reason, like what had happened after last night’s confirmation class. When I’d gotten home, he’d welcomed me back as if he hadn’t seen me for years, then he’d asked me odd questions, wanting to know whether I had a girlfriend, how I’d been doing at school, what things I liked, as though he didn’t know a thing about me. After drilling me, he then gave me a bone-crushing hug before sending me to bed, even trying to tuck me in like I was a child. Then this morning, he’d snapped at me when all I did was say good morning. He’d basically told me to bugger off, treating me like I was the last person he wanted to see. Maybe he’d been drunk last night, ending up with a hangover this morning. I just don’t remember smelling alcohol on him. Either way, he was acting weird as hell, well, weirder than normal, because he wasn’t exactly your average grandfather.

  Thoughts of my grandfather instantly vanished at the sight of Catherine Lovich, the girl my favourite wet dream. She was standing at the other end of the corridor, sifting through her locker. She was wearing blue jeans and a Def Leppard T-Shirt, obviously having a thing for Metal, which I liked a lot. Not because of the bands, but because the shirts hugged her breasts perfecto.

  Imagining what I wanted to do to them, I headed for her, purposely being quiet. Totally oblivious to me, she continued sifting through her locker, singing softly to a Bon Jovi song. Her voice was gorgeous, the slight wobble reminding me of the way Belinda Carlisle sang. And she certainly was Heaven on Earth, just not sweet-looking like Belinda. She was much, much sexier, the girl an instant hard-on.

  Enjoying what I was hearing and seeing, I stopped behind Catherine. Her head was practically inside her locker as she continued to search for whatever she was after. I tapped her shoulder, causing her to let out a startled yell, banging her head on the locker in the process. I sniggered. I hadn’t intended on that happening, but it was still funny.

  She dropped her bag and spun around, her eyes going wider than the Sahara, not to mention a striking green, the gold and brown having faded away.

  “Sorry for scaring you,” I lied, her wide-eyed look making little Christopher stand to attention. Well, he wasn’t little. I unashamedly adjusted myself, causing her eyes to drop to my package. “It’s all for you, cara.”

  Her eyes shot back up to me, anger now turning them brown. I blinked in surprise, thinking it was the coolest thing I’d ever seen, the green disappearing before my eyes.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” she spat.

  “You are.” I smirked. “You gave me hard-on-itis.”

  She grimaced at me. “Firstly, who says things like that? And secondly, I have no interest in your Italian salami”—she indicted to my groin—“so back off.”

  I started laughing. “My Italian salami?”

  “Yeah, deflate it and get lost.”

  “It’s not a blow-up toy.” I ran my tongue over my lip ring. “Actually, it can be for you.”

  “Go away!”

  I placed a finger to her lips. “Shh, you don’t want to get in trouble for being out of class.”

  She smacked my hand away. “I’ve got a free period, dickhead, so faff off.”

  I bit my lip to stop from laughing again, the girl hilarious. “What’s a faff and how can I get off on it?”

  Her unusual eyes narrowed. “It means f-off.”

  I cocked my head to the side. “What does f-off mean?” I asked, exaggerating my accent.

  “I’m not swearing if that’s what you’re trying to do, so get lost. I’ve had enough of you.”

  I smirked. “You can never get enough of me.”

  She let out a frustrated growl and swiped up her bag. “If you’re not gone before I lock up, I swear I’ll smack that arrogant smirk right off your face.”

  “Ooh, I’m shaking in my boots,” I said, layering on the sarcasm, the girl having no idea who she was dealing with.

  She glared at me. “You should be, because I know karate.” She turned back to her locker.

  Unable to stop from smiling, I placed my hand in my pocket, touching my rosary beads. Whispering the shielding incantation to protect us from prying eyes, I latched onto the waves of anger coming off her, smiling wider at the sexual excitement mixed in with it. I knew she was attracted to me
, especially with the way she stared, but to feel her attraction through her emotions... It sent a wave of arousal through me, so intense that I wanted to spin her around and shove her up against the lockers, kissing the hell out of her. But I willed myself to stay where I was, afraid I would scare her.

  Once she’d finished setting the dial, I placed my other hand on the locker next to her head, forcing my breathing under control, because I was practically panting for her. Catherine spun around, looking like she was going to shove me away. I quickly pressed up against her, trapping her arms. She froze like a deer caught in headlights, all her defiance drying up in a second.

  Not having expected her scared reaction, nor liking it, I went to pull away, but stopped as she grabbed my hip. An excited flush lit up her cheeks, her breathing coming out raspy, confusing me, her emotions flipping faster than I could process. Her hand moved up to my chest. For a second I thought she was going to push me away, but it wasn’t her hand that almost knocked me back, but the sudden onslaught of emotions hitting me.

  And it was coming from her.

  She wanted me, even more than I’d realised.

  I could feel the lust in her growing, my ability to sense emotions through my rosary a part of being a Merge.

  “You’re so beautiful,” she said, making me blink in surprise. Because it wasn’t me who was beautiful.

  It was her.

  She had the most perfect face I’d ever seen. High cheekbones and dark lashes. While her long white hair gave her the aura of an angel, only her pouty lips negating her innocence. They looked like they were made for kissing, not to mention other, dirtier things. But it was her eyes that struck me the most. They were now a mix of green and gold, the brown gone. I let go of my rosary, no longer needing it to tell me how she was feeling, her eyes like mood stones, showcasing her emotions.

  “You’re the beautiful one,” I finally said, almost stumbling over the words. The chemistry between us was so strong, letting go of the rosary not having lessened the impact. It didn’t feel right, something off about it, but I pushed it to the back of my mind, too caught up with Catherine to care.

  Her pupils dilated, swallowing up a portion of her unusual irises. I knew mine were dilating too, probably blackening, the lust and infinite pull to her making it hard to breathe. I’d felt it the first time I saw her at the confirmation class, felt something draw my eyes to her. Had known she’d felt it too. She hadn’t been able to look away, struck by me, as I was struck by her. I’d never experienced that before. Not with any girl, no matter how beautiful they were.