Allison Brennan - Original Sin

“Why was this kept secret? We needed this information. How can-”

“Philip, we weren’t certain until today.”

“Because of Anthony’s report about the Seven.”

Pietro nodded. “It confirms out deepest fears. We had no proof, but Anthony is not generally wrong about these things.”

“He’s not, but-”

Pietro held up his hand. “I know this is hard to believe, and I didn’t want to believe myself.”

The old man sat on a bench under a plane tree, one that had been planted more than four decades before, its gnarled trunk rising into countless branches. It was Father Lucca Zaccardi’s tree, planted after his death during a violent exorcism when Philip was still training under him. Philip often sat in this spot when he meditated, or when he doubted. Father Lucca had been a pillar of strength, much like Anthony. Philip felt weak between the two men, and was usually comforted here. Not today.

Pietro continued. “Father Salazar contacted me from the Santa Louisa Mission four months before the murders there. Poor Herve expressed a rather … paranoid, for lack of a better word … belief that the book was alive.”

“Alive?”

“His word, but fitting considering the origins of the book. The inner council didn’t want to accept it, but I believed him. So did the Cardinal.”

There were many cardinals in the Church, but only one cardinal publicly associated with the Order: Francis Cardinal DeLucca. He was their main benefactor, the one who ensured that St. Michael’s Order survived from his position high in the Vatican. Other high-ranking supporters did so with much discretion.

“The Cardinal sent Raphael to the mission at Santa Louisa to find the Conoscenza.”

Philip had to sit down at this revelation. He hadn’t known. How could he have not known? He looked up at the gray sky, through the leafless branches of the plane tree, and knew with certainty that he wouldn’t see spring blossom on the island.

Pietro continued. “It wasn’t until after the murders that the idea that the Conoscenza was at the mission took hold. The witch’s belief that her mother was searching for it meant we needed to-”

“The witch? You call Moira O’Donnell a witch?”

Pietro stopped for a moment, sat next to Philip, and said, “I’m sorry. I know you have affection for the girl.” He went on. “The Cardinal sent Raphael into the mission to assess the situation. You understand that we still don’t know his calling.”

By the age of twenty-one, the “calling” of all St. Michael’s children was clear. Whether they were to be priests, exorcists, empaths, demon hunters, demonologists, scholars, linguists, or one of many other specialties was discerned no later than twenty-one. Some, like Anthony, had been discerned at an early age. Others, like Raphael, were more elusive. He was in his thirties and still unsettled.

Pietro continued. “After Father Salazar’s cryptic messages, we sent Raphael to Santa Lousia, but we also began to discreetly investigate all the men at the mission. You know why they were there.”

“Because they’d been spiritually and emotionally damaged by evil.”

“And we have sympathy for our people. But-”

“You knew about the priest Jeremiah Hatch.”

Pietro paused long enough that Philip wondered if he was working on a fabrication, or if he simply didn’t want to comment. “We began to suspect Hatch was a practicing magician,” Pietro said. “It was in retracing his steps in Guatemala that we discovered some inconsistencies with his story, and in those inconsistencies accepted that he may have uncovered the Conoscenza.”

“By design.”

“We don’t know how the book came to be in Central America, or how Hatch learned it was there. But he was missing for three years, and everyone who was lost with him is still missing. They are likely dead. Hatch returned to America, and is the only priest who asked to be sent to Santa Louisa.”

“If you knew, why didn’t you stop him before the murders?”

“We didn’t know! We didn’t have all the information until after the massacre. If Anthony is right about the Seven, the only known spell to draw them from Hell is in the Conoscenza . You sent the wi-Moira-to track Fiona’s coven, and she lands in Santa Louisa. The same place that we were looking for proof that the Conoscenza survived all these years. Now that the Seven may well be on earth, we face an ancient evil we are ill prepared for.” He sighed wearily as the sky grew darker, as the sun slid farther down and the clouds grew heavy. The light breeze that had flitted through the courtyard all day strengthened, pushing at the men.

“There are times, Philip, when I want to close my eyes and leave it all for the End Times. There will be an end, and I am so tired.”

Philip refused to live his life in the belief that nothing he said or did mattered. Forgiveness was commanded by the Lord, even for those who had done unspeakable acts. And if Philip died because he obeyed, then he was ready to die.

“If we do not fight against evil, we are as those who celebrate it.”

Pietro didn’t comment, and Philip felt very alone. He was considered an idealist, known for his passion and compassion. But Pietro was a realist, and realists often looked only at the facts-that Judgment Day was inevitable, regardless of what they did or didn’t do. Arrogant, Philip believed. This arrogance- pride -was the fall of many in the Order. That they were pure and thus could turn their back on the masses of God’s children.

Philip had always been drawn to the parable of the lost sheep. That the Lord would sacrifice the pious to save the one who wandered. That the one mattered. Raphael … Anthony … Philip … Moira … even Peter, who had made wrong choices for the right reasons. That the Lord would forgive, would search for His lost sheep night and day, endlessly, and have mercy on them.

Lord, please be with your lost sheep today and forever .

“You, Philip,” Pietro said quietly, “are a rare soul.”

“I am who I am, nothing more than a servant for the Lord.” They sat in silence for many minutes, until the clouds opened and a solitary drop of rain fell on the ground.

Philip accepted his fate and rose, his bones cracking audibly. Despite the infirmities of old age, he no longer regretted his lost youth. “I should finish my preparations. It is a long journey.”

Pietro remained sitting and caught Philip’s eye. “As you know, the Conoscenza can only be destroyed by a very specific person.”

Philip’s stomach rose. “A witch.”

“Moira.”

“But you still call her Witch.”

“She will always be a witch.”

Philip shook his head, wiping raindrops from his brow. “You can’t believe that. We all can be forgiven.”

“’Tis true, but she is what she is. Forgiven or not, she is our one best hope. Only a mortal witch can destroy the book written in the blood of a union between demons and humans. She is a descendant of the fall of man.”

“We all are.”

“But you know what I speak of.”

Of course Philip understood what Pietro meant. After humans were banished from the Garden of Eden, after the first taste of knowledge from the forbidden fruit, a few in the following generations turned to magic, and demons roamed the earth with them. It was that first coven, the first magicians on earth, from which Fiona had come. And, thus, Moira.

“Are you certain?” Philip asked as the rain fell more steadily and they began the walk back to the building.

“I am,” Pietro said.

A chill ran down Philip’s spine. As if sensing his fear and hesitation, the wind whipped up around them, coming down into the fortress as if blown in from the heavens. Pietro pulled his handmade sweater tighter around him.