Nothing.
I was all alone.
Bold flames burst from my hands, no thought involved, only hurt and rage. I didn’t care about the terror flashing across Cristoforo’s eyes, because he didn’t care about me. No one cared about me. Not the mother who’d abandoned me to Cristoforo’s family or my worthless father who’d abandoned her, preferring to jump from one woman to the next, his spawn littering New Zealand. My auntie and uncle also didn’t care about me. They’d only taken me in because they were forced to by the courts. And now Cristoforo, the one person who I’d thought cared, was showing he was just as bad as all the others, if not worse, because he was the only person I’d allowed myself to love. I would’ve died for him. But not now. Not after he’d shown his true colours.
I threw my hands out, flinging fireballs at the walls. The flames raced towards the ceiling like demons scampering out of Hell. My cousin rammed into me, sending the both of us flying over the desk. I yelled out as I came down hard on the chair, my body exploding with pain. But I couldn’t give into it, because Cristoforo was already grabbing my arms, trying to pin me down. I slipped a hand free and struck him in the face. He yelled out, momentarily distracted. Taking advantage, I shoved him off me, anger and adrenalin giving me the strength. Before he could stop me, I scrambled over the desk and went for the door, wanting to light everything on fire. The room was already aflame, the heat making me laugh. For a moment, all the harm that had rained down on me fell away, joy taking its place, the flames not only lighting up the room, but my soul, freeing me from my agonising life. It infused me, making me come alive for the first time. I was like a phoenix being reborn through the fire. I danced in a circle, revelling in it, the heat not even making me sweat. The flames were a part of me, an extension of my soul.
A loud roar snapped me out of my joyful dance. My gaze snapped around as Cristoforo launched himself over the desk at me. He crashed into me even harder than before, the force sending me flying into the wall. My head bounced off the hard surface. I blanked out on impact, coming to on the floor. My cousin was hovering over me, removing the rosary from around my neck. I screamed, “No!” and grabbed for it, but he was already bounding to his feet. He pulled it over his own head. Instantly, his pained expression disappeared, the heat coming off the burning walls no longer affecting him. Whereas for me...
The feeling of ecstasy disappeared, replaced by terror and intense heat. I screamed as fire caught hold of my nightshirt sleeve, licking my flesh. I rolled around on the floor, the rosary no longer protecting me from the flames. My cousin took a step back, suddenly looking unsure of what to do, then he bent down to grab my arm to help me up. But I didn’t need his help.
I needed the rosary.
I swiped at it, desperate to get it back. He let go of me and backed up, then bolted for the door as I pushed to my feet. I chased him into the corridor, screaming, “Give it back!” But he continued forward, too fast for me to catch. As he ran, he hollered, “Fire!” at the top of his lungs, continuing until students emerged from their dormitories. Pandemonium broke out, the students panicking as the flames spread rapidly.
I raced down the staircase after my cousin, yelling out as someone shoved me from behind. I tumbled down the remaining steps, crashing to the floor at the bottom. Other students ran over me, trampling me, stamping me on the head. I blanked out, then came to, finding Cristoforo dragging me across the atrium, screaming for help. But no one came to his aid, my aid, fire and smoke surrounding us. Cristoforo continued to drag me across the floor, his expression strained, his strength waning. I wanted to push up, to get out myself, but I felt disorientated, weak.
A loud crack above us made me look towards the glass ceiling. My eyes widened as shards of glass and a burning beam came crashing down towards me. I covered my face as the glass bit into me, screamed as the beam crushed my legs. The scream grew louder as the flames took to my clothes, to my flesh. Frantic, I called out for my cousin. But he was already running for the exit.
Leaving me to burn.
Leaving me to die.
~ CATHERINE ~
I thrashed about in my bed, red flashes stirring beneath my eyelids, my mind in Michael’s body. The fire was consuming him, the agony he was feeling... I was feeling, was unbearable. Then greater pain hit us, tearing into our very being. It grew a thousand times worse than the flames eating away at his dead body. It felt like my soul, no, Michael’s soul was being ripped out, sucked into another fiery abyss.
Into a living hell.
Chapter 21
~ 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 ov
er 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.
Stella Maris (The Legendary Rosaries) Page 17
