Hallowed
Page 23
“Which was all fine with Frey,” Jesse explained. “He considered Daniel Less as much of a threat as Sebastian and the girls, maybe even more. He had to have his name on their defeat. Any other outcome was unacceptable.”
“His way or the highway.”
“I prefer to think of it as the low road.”
“So ironic. Done in by the seven deadly sins,” she opined. “Vanity. Greed.”
“Envy too,” Jesse added for good measure.
“What a waste.”
“This may sound odd to you, but he was a true believer in his own cause. Proud of the whole shadow world he ruled. Turning on his own kind wasn’t an act of contrition; it was an act of retribution. Admitting to it wasn’t a statement of guilt but an act of defiance.”
“A little cowardly I always thought,” she added.
“It was a practical move by a practical man. He didn’t want anyone replacing him and he saw to it no one would.”
“Replacing him? You really believe there is a hierarchy in an actual war going on between good and evil, Mr. Arens?”
“Frey has already been replaced, along with the rest of the Ciphers,” Jesse said. “You can believe that.”
“I’m sure you know there is a lot of skepticism out there. I mean, Less and Frey and their colleagues might have been bad guys, but turning them into nefarious supervillains and leaders of some sort of global cult seems farfetched.”
“Yes, I know there is a lot of skepticism. In fact, Frey and his kind rely on it. It’s why I’ve dedicated my life and my business to uncovering it. Shining a light on it. Providing an alternative to it, fighting it whenever and wherever possible.”
“Pardon me, but it sounds a little archaic.”
“It is,” Jesse said simply. “A war as old as mankind.”
Jesse’s conviction was powerful, if not entirely contagious.
“I don’t imagine you shed any tears when Dr. Frey died demented and in prison?”
The question seemed strange to Jesse after all that had happened. He’d foresworn his feelings of revenge toward Frey long ago.
“I don’t take any pleasure in death,” Jesse explained. “He was a man of great intellect and ability who wasted it doing harm to those he might have helped. His soul died long before his body.”
Jesse’s assistant buzzed him.
“Mayor Murphy on line one for you, Jesse.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Fremont,” he said. “I’ll return it later.”
“A relative of Agnes Fremont?”
“Her mother. She’s been with me since Agnes died.”
“My impression was that she was very dubious back in the day.”
“We had that in common. We both learned different. And she has been so influential in helping me raise the children. Couldn’t have done it without her.”
“So no woman in your life? I would imagine you are quite the eligible bachelor?”
“My heart belongs to Lucy . . . Cecilia and Agnes. Always did. Always will.”
“Sounds like a love story.”
“Yes, it was all a love story.”
She could see that Jesse was spent. But she did have one more question. Perhaps her most important one.
“One last thing. Why do you think so many people follow them? What was their appeal, in your opinion? I mean, in the end they were just three girls from Brooklyn.”
“Yes, but they could have been three girls from anywhere. People are hungry for authenticity and honesty. For truth,” Jesse explained. “There are so many pundits and experts who want to tell us what to think, how to live, who to be, but precious few who show us. Who live it.”
“I take it you aren’t a big fan of the media then?”
“I’m not a big fan of filters. To the people who believe in them, Lucy, Cecilia, and Agnes represent vision, courage, and love. They lived for it and died for it. No further translation or explanation is necessary.”
The reporter closed her notepad, satisfied she’d gotten what she needed in her sessions with Jesse.
“So see clearly, speak fearlessly, and love completely. Is that it?”
“Works for me,” Jesse said. “The world is a little better place today because of them.”
“Only a little?”
“Slow is fast enough,” Jesse said hopefully. “We’re getting there.”
“Well, I don’t want to keep you from the mayor. Your foundation and the charities you fund have been a great boon to the kids of this city.”
“All I wanted to do was to make sure that everyone knew they had a choice about who they could be.”
“And who is that?”
“Themselves.”
“You’re very lucky then, Mr. Arens. People seem to have gotten the message.”
“Miracles do happen,” Jesse assured.
“I’m not a believer,” the writer confessed, “but you’ve nearly convinced me.”
“It’s up to you to convince yourself of what you choose to believe. Up to each of us, I think. Life is a sort of Rorschach test. You see what you want to see.”
“Or need to see?”
Jesse smiled with understanding. That I was once like you smile he used to resent but found great use for these days.
“Faith is to believe what you do not see; the reward of that faith is to see what you believe,” Jesse recited.
“Augustine?” the reporter asked.
“Yes.”
“Seeing is believing,” she murmured aloud, realizing that Lucy’s mantra and the answer to her question were the same.
Jesse nodded, the smile moving from his lips to his eyes as he prepared to say good-bye.
“If there’s anything else you need, just get in touch with Mrs. Fremont. She’ll be able to fill you in on any other details.”
“Yes, she’s been very helpful. Well, thank you for your time, Mr. Arens.”
“I’ll look forward to your book.” Jesse smiled.
They shook hands and Jesse grabbed the suit jacket from the back of his chair and put it on.
“Gone for the day?” Martha asked.
“No, just going for a walk.”
Martha didn’t need to ask where.
“I’ll have dinner ready at home for you.”
“Thank you.”
Jesse strolled the few blocks to Precious Blood, as he had each day, acknowledging the smiles, well wishes, and greetings from people on the street. Each time he approached the church it was like the first time, with a sense of anticipation for what he might find inside. But now there would be few surprises. He’d entered into a contract with the Diocese of Brooklyn to oversee and staff the chapel. To make sure it remained in pristine condition for as long as he and his children lived, and long after.
Jesse took the steps downstairs, a little more gingerly than in his younger days, and approached the chapel. He paused to run his finger along the inscription.
OMNES SANCTI
And entered. He never ceased to be amazed at the sense of peace he felt within the chamber. Of holiness. The scent of incense and roses never got old. Eternal flames flickered, reflecting from bleached-bone fixtures, polished wood, metal, and hanging chandeliers, throwing both light and shadows as they always did. The room was alive. Lucy’s video played with Cecilia’s music as the soundtrack on a never-ending loop, over and over. Even after all this time, he thought, it did not look or sound dated. Agnes’s last words burnt into the planter walls still inspired.
There were Lucy, Cecilia, and Agnes, surrounding Sebastian’s reliquary, as uncorrupt as the day they’d each been laid to rest. And so very beautiful. The chaplets and milagros that served now as the namesake for his company hung still from their ivory wrists. The girls were there for everyone who wanted them. Needed them. Believed in them. And they would always be.
He brought his lips to each casket and kissed it gently.
“We’ve done good,” he said simply.
He took a seat in the pew and looked at them for a lon
g while, reflecting on his life’s journey. Jesse kneeled before his friends, his heart and mind full of thoughts from the past and hope for the future, reflecting on the journalist’s observation.
“I wasn’t lucky,” Jesse whispered. “I was blessed.”
Call me crazy in the head.
I’ve been called far worse.
But I can’t help Whom I love,
Evil eyes a curse.
You will not keep me
From him,
His heart is my heart.
You think this is the end,
But it’s only the start.
So lock me up,
Throw them away.
All your hopes And dreams.
Mine, they belong to,
He will burn through me.
Let this New Life Be a reminder,
When I decided
To be free.
You cannot choose Whom you love.
It is love that Will choose thee.
Agnes, pray for us.
SPECIAL thanks to the people in my life who’ve made this book possible: Michael Pagnotta, Isabelle Rose Pagnotta, Oscar Martin, Tracy Hurley Martin, Vince Clarke, Tamara Pajic Lang, Kacie Anderson, Erica Saunders, Colin Dickey, Joanna Ebenstein, Jill Grinberg, Clemmie Morton, Mary Nemchik, Laetitia Barbier, Ellen Goldsmith-Vein, Angelique Mark, Heidi Holmes Hudson, Natalie Shau, Andy McNichol, Dania Mejia, Laura Bonner, Abbey Watkins, Cecilia Barragan, Elizabeth Rosales, Valerie Van Galder, Nancy Cambino, Deborah Bilitski, Lauren Nemchik, Tom Hurley, and Parker Posey.
A huge thank you to all at Simon & Schuster—Zareen Jaffrey, Jon Anderson, Justin Chanda, Anne Zafian, Mekisha Telfer, Siena Koncsol, Katy Hershberger, Lizzy Bromley, Chrissy Noh, Lucille Rettino, Mary Marotta, Christina Pecorale, Jim Conlin, Mary Faria, and Teresa Brumm.
Heartfelt thanks to my faithful readers around the world. It’s because of your support and enthusiasm that I get to continue writing books. You inspire me every day.
This book is dedicated to the memory of my grandparents Martha and Anthony Kolencik, father Thomas Hurley, cousin Denise DeCarlo, Mary Pagnotta, and dear friend Lenore Blumer.
Fides credere quod nondum vides; cuius fidei merces est videre quod credis.
—Augustine of Hippo
(Faith is to believe what you do not see; the reward of this faith is to see what you believe.)
TONYA HURLEY
is the author of the New York Times bestselling ghostgirl series. She has worked in nearly every aspect of teen entertainment: creating, writing, and producing two hit TV series, and writing and directing several acclaimed independent films. Tonya lives in Brooklyn, New York, with her husband and daughter. Precious Blood and Passionaries are the first in the Blessed trilogy. Visit Tonya at theblessed.com.
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An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division • 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, New York 10020 • www.SimonandSchuster.com • This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. • Text copyright © 2015 by Tonya Hurley • Illustrations copyright © 2014 and 2015 by Abbey Watkins • All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. • is a trademark of Simon & Schuster, Inc. • For information about special discounts for bulk purchases, please contact Simon & Schuster Special Sales at 1-866-506-1949 or business@simonandschuster.com. • The Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau can bring authors to your live event. For more information or to book an event, contact the Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau at 1-866-248-3049 or visit our website at www.simonspeakers.com. • Book design by Lizzy Bromley • The text for this book is set in Goudy Old Style. • Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data • Hurley, Tonya. • Hallowed / Tonya Hurley.—First edition. • pages cm.—(A Blessed novel ; [3]) • Summary: “Three lost girls, one mysterious boy. They battle for his heart while he struggles for their souls. Lucy, Cecilia, and Agnes have tried to reconcile with their destinies as saints and martyrs. Now, as the world turns against them, will they be able to hold steadfast? Will they survive the final test?”—Provided by publisher. • ISBN 978-1-4424-2957-4 (hardback) • ISBN 978-1-4424-2959-8 (eBook) • [1. Good and evil—Fiction. 2. Conduct of life—Fiction. 3. Saints—Fiction. 4. Catholic Church—Fiction. 5. Brooklyn (New York, N.Y.)—Fiction.] I. Title. • PZ7.H95667Hal 2015 • [Fic]—dc23 • 2014049987
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