Page 47 of Prayer of the Damned
“Thank you, my lord—” I start to say, but he waves a hand to dismiss me.
I don’t think twice and practically run out of the hall, still covering my neck with one hand. I can recognize Michelangelo’s work anywhere, and the ceilings stir up a powerful feeling of nausea in me.
Blatantly spitting at sanctity. Bastards. I’ll make them pay for debasing the Almighty. I grind my teeth and pass by the woman, not bothering to say goodbye. Once I reach my car, I cross myself and drive away from the accursed castle, my tires squealing as I go.
It isn’t until I’ve reached my new office that I realize I got the job suspiciously easily. We don’t know a thing about Libretto’sabilities, and I wonder just what he saw in my eyes when he examined them. And of course, what was the role of the strange man, and why did he take my blood? I decide to let it go for now, but I need to stay on my toes as long as I’m behind enemy lines.
When I’m finally done arranging my office as I like it, I feel a demonic presence unlike anything I’ve ever sensed before, not even the presence of Libretto, the most powerful demon we know.
I turn my head and find a lanky girl standing there. She doesn’t even look fourteen. Hair as black as night, wearing a summer dress, and looking exactly as lost as her expression radiates. And yet her eyes and the aura her slim body is broadcasting leave no doubt in my mind. This is the girl the Pope was talking about in his revelation.
“Can I help you?”
She seems surprised, scanning me with a look, and I grow angry when she practically strips me naked with her eyes.
“Are you Prof. Sapienti’s assistant? I’m looking for him.” She clears her throat and tries to seem indifferent. It doesn’t help.
“No.” I put the most fake smile on my face that I can manage, but it seems to only stir her excitement further. “I hate to be the one to tell you, but Prof. Sapienti has returned to our creator, and I’ve taken his place.” I reach out a hand to shake hers, and her nose wrinkles in confusion.
“Prof. Sapienti’s dead?” She seems broken by this, which surprises me. Does she not know the ways of their world?
“Technically, he was already dead… were you close with him?” I ask.
“No, he was doing research for my father.” She peeks past my shoulder. “Is there anything left of his research?” Her face falls as she surveys my organized office.
“I’m sorry, a Council representative came and collected all his belongings.”
“Ugh…” she exhales like a five-year-old would do when they don’t get what they want. Did the Pope misidentify the target? This girl looks nothing like what I imagined she would. It’s practically a joke.
She gives me a lustful look and I don’t like it. Even if she weren’t the demon I’d dedicated my life to destroying, I wouldn’t give her the same look. She’s no more than a child. Honestly.
“Sorry, your eyes…” she starts to say, and I feel hysteria welling up in me. I force myself to smile and disguise the distress I’m feeling. Has the effect started wearing off, and she’s noticed? I decide to follow my instincts and fake my response.
“I could say the same thing about yours. I know the change is a bit volatile for first-years, but I’ve never come across pigmentation like yours.”
“Yeah, it’s a long story.” She’s trying to be evasive, but there’s no way I’ll let her get away with that.
“I’ve got time.” I gesture to the chair by my desk with one hand, inviting her to sit, but she hesitates. She looks back, considers, and just as I’m sure she’ll run for her life away from here, she approaches the chair.
I gently close the door, but the sound of the click still makes her jump up. As I circle the desk and take my seat, I feel her eyes fixed on me, and the sense of discomfort increases. Her presence is just driving me out of my mind.
“How old are you anyway? You don’t look old enough to be a lecturer, let alone a history lecturer,” she blurts out. This girl doesn’t have even the slightest bit of manners.
“Didn’t your father teach you anything about us? Appearances never reveal our true age.”
“Alfredo needs to receive criticism from time to time, I don’t think it goes well with your position.”
I laugh in response. I have to lie to keep her from getting suspicious.
“I’ll pass that along the next time we see each other. So what exactly is this research Prof. Sapienti was asked to do for your father? Does it have something to do with your special eyes?”
“Are you a demonologist too?” She ignores my question, and I barely keep myself from exploding at her. I should be pumping her for information, not the other way around.
“Among other things,” I say, and start drumming my pen on the wooden desk. I note that it greatly irritates her, and wonder if she’ll show her true face if I annoy her enough. It’s clear how much I’m affecting her, even if she’s nowhere near my league. It’s pretty amusing, actually.
“And what about… theology?”
Is she onto me? First my eyes, now she’s asking about God?
