Isn’t it obvious? the Hand said. If I wanted to go back, I would have done it already, before you ever had a chance to join the Society. I’m not done with your world yet.
And you’ll let me see Perry, Sal said.
Yes.
Another wave crested over them and she blacked out again. Came to.
All right, she said. All right.
The Hand gave a small chuckle. Sal felt the rustling, the expanding, in her mind and this time pushed back less, gave it space to move. It seemed as though a dark mist swept over the courtyard. First the outer walls faded into blackness, then the grass around them. The faces of the men chanting at her sides blurred and disappeared. Balloon was swallowed in shadow. At her feet, Stretch was bringing down the crop for another blow, but he and his instrument vanished before the crop struck her, and she didn’t feel it. She felt, and saw, nothing. For a few more seconds, she could hear the chanting, the shaky voices trying to be brave. Then they faded into silence.
A pink sun streamed through a large window. Sal sat on a simple bed with yellow sheets under a thin blanket. She was in a small wooden room, a tiny cabin. There were no other furnishings. A man, too tall and too thin to be human, stood in the center of the room.
“Thank you,” the man said, in the Hand’s voice.
“What just happened?” Sal said. “It felt like dying.”
“In a sense it was,” the Hand said. “In the monastery, your body is likely going through a series of violent convulsions. Which is just what those sadists want to see. It makes them think the exorcism is working.”
“Funny to hear the word sadist coming from you,” Sal said.
“My dear,” the Hand said in mock offense, “that’s unfair. While I admit to a certain satisfaction in my work, I would not describe it as pleasurable.”
“Tell that to those demons you dismantled.”
It shrugged. “Pain serves a purpose. Which is more than I can say for Stretch’s riding crop.”
“So you’re saying the exorcism is bogus,” Sal said.
“Well, not entirely. True exorcisms—as opposed to the vast majority of supposed exorcisms—involve no physical punishments and are more like a very convoluted form of therapy. They do succeed in separating, shall we say, guest from host. The guest returns whence he came. But the host almost never survives the ordeal, and when he does, his mind is rarely intact.”
“So an exorcism is like a lobotomy,” Sal said.
“That’s right,” the Hand said.
“Like the state you put Perry in.”
“Ironic, isn’t it?”
“I’m not sure,” Sal said.
“I imagine Balloon and Stretch consider that result a success, in any case. And you would have been another one of their successes if you hadn’t allowed me this.” It spread its arms to indicate the cabin, the sky outside the window flooded with light.
“And what is this, exactly?” Sal said.
“A little something I built just now to ease the transition from your world to mine.”
Sal gave herself a few seconds to figure out how to respond to that.
“That sounds too much like dying,” she said.
“Can I say that you’re perhaps a little preoccupied with your own mortality just now? But you have a point. When you fully enter my world, your body in the monastery will lose whatever consciousness is left to it. You will still be breathing, but your brain will be essentially nonfunctioning.”
“So why don’t we just wait things out here?”
“The convulsive state you are in right now will not make them stop,” the Hand said. “It will only make them think they have more work to do. Only if they believe you to be dead, or nearly dead, will they take those straps off your limbs.”
“So your plan is for us to play dead?”
“Well,” said the Hand, “it’s not exactly playing if those two keep up the, ah, good work. But we don’t have to wait long.”
“How do we know when the straps are off?” Sal said.
The Hand gave her a questioning look. “You can’t still feel them?”
“No,” Sal said.
“That’s a small mercy. Concentrate and you’ll be able to.”
Sal did. She pulled into herself, and yes, it was just as the Hand said. There was the leather straining against her wrists, against her ankles. Straining hard against her chest. She heard a distant echo of her own voice, shrieking like she’d never heard it. There was bile and a little blood in her mouth. She must have bitten her tongue.
“Come back,” the Hand said. “Come back here.”
She did, gladly.
“When we fully enter my world and the screaming stops,” the Hand said, “it’ll only be a matter of time before they take the straps off.”
Sal nodded. “All right, then. Let’s go.”
The Hand looked toward the ceiling and closed its eyes. The floor opened beneath them, which was when Sal realized where the cabin was. There was no land at all. Just the sky, above and below and all around them, clouds flooded with pink light.
They began to drop.
2.
“I’m telling you,” Liam said. “I didn’t turn her in.”
“And why should we believe you?” Grace said.
Team Three was arguing in a room in the catacombs of the Society. The walls were lined with cypress, the floor a ceramic mosaic. A painting on the ceiling depicted the Archangel Michael fighting the dragon. But they were deep underground, and there were no windows, one heavy door, and a private in the Swiss Guard stationed with them. The room was made for protection, but it felt like a cell, too.
Asanti sat in a chair in the corner, shaking her head slowly. Menchú stood near her, his arms crossed. The old colleagues circling the wagons.
“We know how you feel about possession, Liam,” Menchú said in a gentle voice. “We understand if you did what you felt you had to do.”
“I don’t,” Grace said.
“Grace,” Asanti said, “that’s not helpful.”
“What’s not helpful,” Liam said, “is the condescension from the two of you in the corner over there. At least Grace here has the bollocks to come out and say what she’s thinking.”
“Tempus fugit, Liam,” Grace said.
“Yeah, and my answer’s not changing.”
“It better soon.”
“You want me to lie?” Liam said. “You want me to make something up?”
None of them said a word to that.
“Look,” Liam said. “I know what I’ve said about possession. I wasn’t lying, either. But I didn’t sell Sal out. I almost did—I was scared, all right? Hell, I think I’m more than half a hypocrite for letting myself walk free, most days. Why you all believe in me, I’ll never know. But if you can believe in me, I can believe in Sal. I thought you three, of all the people in the world, would understand being afraid. Asanti, I always thought better of you, but now I’m not so sure. Do I have to remind you all how much magic has ruined my life? Or yours, Father? Or yours, Grace?”
He stared at them hard.
“That was unnecessary,” Menchú said.
“Piss off,” Liam snapped.
“This is unproductive,” Asanti said.
“Finally, one of you says something that makes some sense,” Liam said.
“All right,” Menchú said. He put his hands up, a conciliatory gesture. “If you didn’t give her up, then how did Team Two know about the Hand?”
“Hell if I know,” Liam said. “I hate those bastards almost as much as I hate what we’re locking away. Not sure how I feel about the whole Church most of the time these days. The only thing I do know how I feel about is you people. You’re driving me crazy right now, but I’ve got your back. Maybe that’s just how stupid I am, but it’s true. Against the rest of the Society. Against the Church. It’s us against the world right now, and I pick us. I don’t even care if you’ll have me. I pick us.”
Grace, Menchú, and Asanti looke
d at each other.
“Nice speech,” Grace said.
“Screw you,” Liam said.
“No, I mean it,” Grace said. “Well, yes, I was being a little sarcastic, but I mean it.” She turned to Asanti and Menchú. “Even if Liam did sell Sal out—”
“Which I didn’t,” Liam said.
“But even if he did,” Grace said, looking at him, then back to the other two, “he’s still not crossing lines Team Two crosses all the time.”
“Or at least, Team Two’s less savory members,” Asanti said.
“I think we know who we’re talking about here,” Grace said.
Menchú nodded.
“We don’t know how complicated this problem really is,” Grace continued. “But I think we know how to simplify it.”
Liam smiled.
“You’re a human Occam’s Razor,” he said.
“I don’t know what that is,” she said.
“We should protest Sal’s arrest with Cardinal Varano,” Asanti said.
“Of course,” Menchú said. “But if Team Two is conducting an exorcism, that won’t save Sal.”
“And besides, Cardinal Varano will be more interested in covering his own ass than getting to the bottom of things,” Grace said.
“You sound like Sal right now,” Liam said.
Grace shrugged.
“So,” Menchú said. “Asanti, you talk to Varano.”
“Done,” Asanti said. She got up to go. The Swiss Guard stepped in her way. He looked a little sheepish.
“I have orders,” he said, “to keep you in this room. For your protection. In light of recent events.”
“Orders from whom?” Asanti said.
The guard hesitated.
“Are they directly from Varano?” Asanti said.
“No.”
“So we’re clear, then?” Asanti said. She was polite, even kind. But there was an unmistakable edge to her voice.
“Yes,” the guard said. He stepped aside.
Menchú followed her out.
“He’s with me,” Asanti said to the guard.
“Grace,” Menchú said. “Watch—”
Liam glared.
“Wait here with Liam,” Menchú said. “Asanti, I’ll follow you out. Call me when you have news.”
“You too, Father,” Asanti said. And they were gone.
Grace looked around the room, then back at Liam.
“Just so you know,” she said, “I still don’t trust you.”
“You will,” Liam said. “I’ll make sure of it.”
“If we learn that you sold Sal out, I’m going to kill you.”
“Grace, if I learn that I sold Sal out, it’ll mean I’ve been possessed too. And if that’s happened, I’ll beat you to the punch.”
3.
Hilary Sansone lifted a glass of wine to her lips and drank.
She waited in her apartment in the center of the city, an older place with crown molding and panels on the walls, an intricate hardwood floor—the kinds of details not found in apartments anywhere anymore. She sat down on a plush couch, put her feet up on an ottoman, took in another mouthful of wine, swallowed it, and closed her eyes.
Someone knocked on the hallway door.
“Who is it?” she asked, in a nervous voice.
“Father Menchú.” She almost couldn’t hear his voice through the door. She got up and put her eye to the peephole.
“Let me in, please,” she saw him say.
She paused, looked at the floor for a moment, and then undid the chain on her door and opened it.
“You’re in a lot of trouble, Father,” she said.
“I know,” he said.
“It’s only because we’ve seemed to understand each other over the years, at least a little, that I opened the door. How did you even get into the building?”
Menchú pointed at his collar. “It’s good for some things.”
“I should call the police,” she said.
“Thank you for not doing so already.”
She went on as if he hadn’t spoken. “You know that the last few incidents at the Vatican have been labeled as terrorism. All of you on Team Three are foreigners. The narrative fits. It would be very easy to sell it to both the police and the newspapers.”
“I’m hopeful that there is a reason you haven’t set this narrative in motion.”
Sansone gazed at Menchú in a way that a dumber man would have misread as a sexual invitation.
“Do you drink wine?”
“Not now, thanks,” he said.
“That’s smart. I shouldn’t have started in on this glass.”
“You seem completely sober to me.”
“It’s not working like I want it to,” she said. “Have a seat.”
He took a chair opposite the couch. She sat to face him.
“I couldn’t help but notice your teammate’s discomfort during the hearing after Oklahoma,” she said.
“You mean Sal,” Menchú said.
“Yes.”
“She accused us then of being more interested in preserving ourselves than getting at the truth,” Menchú said. “To her, that made a lie of the Society’s work.”
“How did you respond?” Sansone said.
“Professionally, I hope,” Menchú said.
“But you agree with her.”
“If I did, I would have no business being here,” Menchú said. He frowned. “But a small part of me—maybe not such a small part—sees what she sees.”
He looked away from Sansone. If she was going to make the leap to agreeing with him, he wanted her to make it herself.
She nodded.
“I see it, too, of course,” she said. “How could I not? It’s my job to prevaricate, to equivocate. To obfuscate. To tell you the truth, it’s distasteful, though that doesn’t stop me from being good at it. And I believe in the Society’s mission enough to exercise my talents on its behalf.”
“I feel the same way,” Menchú said. “But that belief isn’t absolute, is it?”
“No,” Sansone. “Only my belief in God is absolute.”
“Good answer,” Menchú said. “The textbook answer.”
“I write the textbooks,” Sansone said.
“Yes,” Menchú said, “you do.” He let a few moments pass, to provide a chance to turn the conversation. “I’m glad you mentioned that you find some of your work distasteful. It’s a relief to me when others in the Society feel that way.”
“How could they not?”
“Some enjoy themselves.”
“On your team?” Sansone said.
Menchú allowed himself a small chuckle. “My team? Sometimes I wonder how the Society lets me have them at all, with the things they think.”
“Because they do the job,” Sansone said.
“Yes, but so do all the soldiers on Team One, and I think they take a pride in their work that no one on my team does.”
“Team One has that privilege, doesn’t it?” Sansone said. “They’re superheroes, saving the world from magic and us from ourselves. Our work is a little more complicated.”
“True,” Menchú said. “That’s what gets us in trouble.” He was beginning to despair. Sansone was throwing up quite a smokescreen and seemed content to stay behind it. He couldn’t force anything out of her, couldn’t make her tell him what he’d come there to learn, and she knew it.
He shifted his legs in the chair, as if to start to get up.
“I think that’s better, though,” Sansone said, “than enjoying the work too much.”
Thank God, Menchú thought.
“How so?” he said.
She put her glass of wine on the coffee table in front of her and looked straight at Menchú.
“It’s one thing to feel distaste at your job in the service of a good cause. It’s quite another to feel that some of your colleagues are undermining that good cause,” she said.
“Are you talking about anyone in particular?” Menchú said.
&
nbsp; “Someone has to come out and say it,” she said. “Desmet and De Vos.”
“Ah,” Menchú said. “Yes. Did you know Sal has nicknames for the two of them? She told me once. She calls them Balloon and Stretch.”
“Ball . . . ooon?” She laughed, short, a little too hard. Took a deep breath and calmed back down. “That’s good,” she said.
“The names fit,” Menchú said.
“They do,” Sansone said. “I even knew which name went with which man.” She picked up her wine and took a sip. “I can’t help but think, sometimes, that the things that I most dislike about my work are the very things they love. I fear we’ve created—”
“A few bad apples?” Menchú said.
“Thank you,” Sansone said. “Yes. A couple of bad apples.”
She took another sip.
“I’m horrified and repulsed by what happened to Sal. What she has become. But not as repelled as I am at what I’ve learned Desmet and De Vos are up to.”
That’s as good an opening as I’m going to get, Menchú thought.
“Hilary,” he said, “do they still have her?”
“They haven’t called in yet. So as far as I know, yes.”
“Do you know where?”
“For what they’re planning, there can only be one place,” Sansone said. She told him, then, about the town, the monastery. “It’s a beautiful place, really,” she said. “Idyllic. Secluded. Far too nice for the horrible things they do there.”
She pursed her lips.
“I suppose I’m telling you all this,” she continued, “because I feel that, at last, they’ve gone too far. They’ve buried too many people in the monastery’s vineyard already. Exorcisms gone wrong, they’ve always said, though I’ve sometimes had the feeling their own zeal was as much to blame. And now they’ve turned against one of our own. Someone I believe they have a personal interest in making trouble for. Someone I respect enough to think she doesn’t deserve what they’re doing to her.”
“Thank you,” Menchú said.
“I hope you can do something with what I’ve told you,” Sansone said. “If the situation at the monastery got out of hand, and my team were to lose certain of its members, I can’t say I would be sorry. And this goes without saying, but: This conversation, this bottle of wine, your visit here—none of these things happened.”
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