20/8/1100
I remember when I found out that Lem was adopted. I was four years old, and we were looking at old pictures from when I was a newborn baby. In the picture, I still looked like a little raisin with wings, not even a halo yet. My exhausted mother was smiling, still in her hospital gown. But it was Lem who was grinning excitedly as she held little baby me. She was nine at the time.
“Where are Lem’s baby pictures?” I asked my dad, who I was sitting with on the sofa in our living room while mom cooked dinner. Lem was doing her homework on the coffee table, and looked up at me even as my dad went quiet.
“They don’t have my baby pictures,” she said matter-of-factly. It was some complicated, advanced math course they taught at the grammaticus. I probably took it myself later, but I was still learning to count at that point.
“Why not? Did you forget the camera, Dad?” I demanded.
“Must have,” he said, and mussed my hair.
“No, you just weren’t there. That was with my old mom and dad,” Lem corrected.
I cocked my head to one side, not understanding. I could sense the complicated emotions from my father, and even some worry drifting in from the kitchen, but Lem seemed fine. “What do you mean?”
“My old parents died,” Lem said with a shrug. “Then mom and dad came. I used to call them Uncle Tobiel and Aunt Lemina. They knew my birth parents, Aurelio and Seraphina, so I knew them already.”
“Well, Aurelio was my best friend growing up!” dad had laughed, looking a bit pained, but trying to hide it despite the Empathy that told me how much this hurt him. “And Lemina and Seraphina became so close, that when Seraphina asked to make your mom and I to become your godparents, we said yes. Then, when the accident happened…”
I was feeling confused and hurt, but I tried to laugh it all off. Of course, you can’t really hide your emotions when you have Empathy, so my parents distracted me with tickles and took me and my sister out for ice cream. It was fun.
But, late that night, I was crying in my room, and Lem silently crept in from her own separate bedroom.
“Why are you sad?” she asked, hugging me tightly.
I, being a dumb little kid, blubbered something about us not being sisters and that she wouldn’t love me anymore, or some other little kid misunderstanding of the situation.
“Do you want to still be my sister?” Lemuel asked me quietly.
I nodded fiercely. “Forever! Always! You’re my big sister!”
“Yes. And mom and dad are my parents now.” Lemuel was quiet as I hugged her, and I realized she was sad as well through our Empathy.
“Sis? Why are you sad? Do…do you not love me?” I asked worriedly.
“No. I’m sad because…” she shook away a tear, then laughed. “I can’t remember Aurelio and Seraphina. When I remember my parents, even when I was a baby…I remember Tobiel and Lemina. Mom and Dad. I…I know it’s not right, but…they’re my parents, now. I feel…well, I’m a little sad that I can’t remember my birth parents. Not really. I was really little when they died. So…I guess I really am your sister.”
I nodded fiercely. “We’ll be sisters forever! Like…like apple pie and char sui!”
She grinned at that. Even then, I had a reputation for loving sweets, especially apple pie, while her favorite dish was char sui. “Of course. Forever.”
Little did I know that a short time later, my own parents would pass away. And, well, while Lem was still my big sister…she became more of my mom. She was only a teenager, but close to graduating herself. Her bestie Mostima sort of became my big sister slash fun auntie. Uh, that may be why I gained a reputation for being ‘an exceptionally exuberant child.’
I think my teachers allowed me to graduate early on the principle that if they passed me, I would then become someone else’s problem.
But, then…Then I lost my sister. And Mostima. I still don’t fully know what happened then. James has said some stuff. Mostima told me a bit more. But I still. Don’t. Know! I’m being hauled away in handcuffs by my sister, and she’s strutting along in HEELS. HEELS. Lemuen never wore HEELS. She wore sensible, soft-soled shoes! That’s why she was Lemuen the Silent! Now she’s going click-clack like me when I’m going clubbing!
Uh, I mean, not actually hitting people with clubs. That’s when I’m working! I mean like, going partying with Croissant.
Even worse, I couldn’t see her patron, Tactica, anywhere! Lemuen NEVER went anywhere without Tactica! It would be like me going somewhere without Victor! She’s had Tactica since before I was born! Tactica is a Lateran gunsmith crafted Victorian Polar Warfare bolt action rifle that fires 7.62×51mm standard Lateran rounds, and Lem won the Laurea Praecisa EVERY SINGLE YEAR she was in school AND she won the Corona Ictus for her class when she graduated as a Legatus!
Which is to say, Lem would sooner walk around butt naked through the Basilica square than go ANYWHERE without Tactica. And she especially never wears heels.
Actually, she did go streaking once, but not in the Basilica, but through her old Schola as a senior with Fia and Mostima. BUT SHE HAD TACTICA WITH HER AND WASN’T WEARING HEELS!
And I knew who to blame. It was that bitch Priestess and the stupid Law!
Unfortunately, right at that moment, I was being hauled around in handcuffs by two big Cohores in armor. My mind was racing, and I was trying to find a way out of this whole problem. But they had taken my gun and all my fun toys. Lem knew all my hiding places it seemed, and they’d stripped me right out of my underwear and searched ALL the places, then stuffed me in a rough robe, and shoved a gag in my mouth that tasted like armpits and ass.
Currently, I was being hauled towards a black van. Fia had been given first aid, but she was still unconscious with a bad head injury. I was thrown in the back of the van rather unceremoniously along with the unconscious Fia. My Cohores buddies made to get in the van with us after chaining me hand and foot, but Lem stopped them.
“I will ride with the Fallen and interrogate her. Chain her well, but remove the gag,” Lemuen ordered, standing by the door of the van. The interior had a few bare metal benches, which grommets for looping chains through to restrain prisoners.
“But, your Eminence, she is a Fallen. A dangerous one. And you are unarmed,” a Cohores Legatus protested.
“I will be fine. This one will not harm me. Put Sir Fiametta in restraints as well. The Holy Mother wants information on Rhodes Islanders, and this one in particular. I must deliver her my report immediately,” Lemuen stated.
Her tone was cool and calm, like always, but it was just so…empty. She has a reputation as a cold fish yes, and, well, she can be pretty crafty, but she has a wicked sense of humor and was nearly as infamous as I was for the pranks she pulled. The streaking incident wasn’t even the best one! That was when she and Mostima SOMEHOW (with my help) caught 50 originium slugs and released them during a choral performance to honor Saint Jesiphina. The screams and laughter from that one were amazing!
I was only seven at the time, but I did get started young!
I was tempted to try to say something, or, well, make a few rude gestures, but I bit my lip and kept my mouth shut and hands quiet. That seemed to be the right thing, as Lemuen looked at me and smiled, a bit of her old humor there. “Besides. She’s my little sister. I think I can get more out of her in private than any interrogator. She could never keep any secrets from me.”
“As you say, your Excellency. I’ll be up front with the driver if you need anything,” the Legatus said, then barked a few orders. My gag was removed, Lemuen stepped inside and took a seat on the bench opposite mine, avoiding the stretcher Fia was strapped down onto.
The doors of the van shut, and I swallowed. I tried to jerk forward, but the chains restrained me. Tears filled my eyes, and I choked out a sob. “What have you done to my sister?!”
The eyes flickered purple again, but it was Lem’s voice, not Priestess’ that answered. “It’s been years, El. I was in a coma for five of them, but then there were four more when I was awake, but never heard from you. You don’t think that, just perhaps, I might have changed in so much time?”
I tried to choke something out, but my throat was closing up, and I was shaking with pent up rage, horror, and sorrow.
My sister took out a handkerchief, and reached across, gently dabbing away the tears in my eyes. “And look what’s happened to you. Fallen. I have most of the story from what Mostima has told me. But not from you. I’ve heard stories of a sankta claiming to be Sarkaz. Of you ranting at an Iberian monastery. And, of your consorting with the Rhodes Islander criminals.”
There was so much to say. So much hurt. But…I couldn’t share it with Lem. I was Fallen. For the first time…I wanted to kill myself. I was cut off from the person I loved the most in the world. Yes, even more than Odda, or Texas, or anyone else. This was my sister. I used to share everything with her. She raised me. And there was now an impassable barrier between us.
I hung my head, and sobbed. Ugly, wracking sobs, with snot, tears, the works.
And to my surprise…I found a pair of warm arms encircling me. Lem had got up, and came to sit beside me, and was hugging me, just like she had on that night when I’d found out she was adopted. I tried to hug her back…but the handcuffs made it hard. I mostly just succeeded in gripping her hand tightly in mine.
“She…she doesn’t have you, does she? You…you’re still my sister, right?” I begged, looking into Lem’s eyes for a sign of more of those purple rectangles.
I didn’t see them, but Lemuen shook her head. “El…I understand you believe the Rhodes Islander lies. That the Holy Mother wishes to destroy us. She doesn’t El. She wishes to save us. Not just us, but all the world. Look.”
She pointed at Fia, and my stomach did a flip flop. “She…she wasn’t supposed to be Sankta…”
“But look at her, El. She’s completed now. No longer an outcast, Fiametta can become one of the Holy Mother’s greatest knights. Yes, she will need to be Sanctified.”
“She was already Sankta-fied,” I grumbled, and Lem chuckled softly.
“She has been given the First Sacrament. I have taken both the Second, Baptism, and the Third, Communion. I am, after all, one of the Holy Mother’s chosen Cardinals, Head of the Seventh Tribunal. It is my work that shall spread the Holy Mother’s blessing to all nations. That all shall become One People and One Nation under the Law.”
I shook my head. “Second Sacrament? Baptism? What are you talking about? You received your Second Sacrament when you were given your Patron Firearm! The first was the halo you were born with!”
Lemuen sighed regretfully. “Patron firearms are an antiquated tradition that is being phased out. Sankta should not form such bonds with weapons of violence. Instead, we are immersed in Holy Waters, and cleansed of our sins and impure thoughts, that we might be devoted to the Holy Mother and her purpose.”
Oh. So, like, literal brainwashing. You take a dip in the water, and you’re completely programmed to serve Priestess. I felt like I was going to throw up, but I made myself ask, “...and the Third?”
Lemuen rolled up her sleeve, and I sucked in an involuntary gasp of horror. She had visible lesions in a geometric pattern, up and down her arm. “We take the Sacrament of the Stone into our bodies through Holy Communion. Through the Stone, we will one day be reborn into Heaven, to dwell with the Holy Mother and the Saints of Old in paradise.”
Dread filled me, and I recoiled from Lemuen. “You…you’re not going to make everyone do this, are you?!”
She nodded. “Already, we are working to baptize the Sankta. That is, those who were born as Sankta. The Haloed will come next. Already we have prepared the baptismals. Then, the Communion Wafers will be sent out for all to partake in. This will assure us a place in Paradise. Where there is no more war, no more pain, no more fear. Only Empathy and order. As the Holy Mother has ordained.”
“She already brainwashed you!” I snarled, jerking at my restraints. Lem slid smoothly away, and I panted in impotent rage as she took her seat across from me. “Oripathy!? You gave yourself Oripathy!? Are you insane!? You don’t have the Savior’s Miracle! You can’t burn it off! You can’t help cure it! You’re going to turn to dust and stone and die!”
“Oripathy has long been falsely feared and regarded as a curse. It is not. It is a blessing of the Holy Mother. I see you have already been given the Blessing of Stone. That is good. Now, even should you die a Fallen, you can be reborn in Heaven as a proper Sankta,” Lemuen said. “I have told Mostima the same thing. We have tried to help her, but it seems that, once rejected by the Law, you cannot partake of the sacraments. A shame. Her execution is already scheduled. I’m afraid you’ll have to join her.”
It was like she reached into my chest and ripped my heart out. “You…you’d kill me? Your own sister?”
“It is sadly necessary,” Lem, or rather, the thing that was wearing Lem’s skin said sadly with a shake of her head. “You have Sinned in this life, and as such, must be killed. You will, of course, first be baptized, and given the sacrament of stone. That way, you may be cleansed of Sin, then reborn.”
“You know what?” I said, rage replacing sorrow and even heartache. “Fuck this. Fuck this false city, fuck these false sankta! I am a Sarkaz! AND YOU SHOULD BE ONE TOO! MON3TR!”
My sister’s eyes went wide, even as a black demon appeared.
Ok, well, actually, an adorable and cute feline girl. Who was…ugh, naked. We really have to fix that.
Well, OK, an adorable and cute feline girl who was naked, and ALSO a murder blender with four pincher arms. She shrieked in a warbling battlecry that I did remember from her days as a demon, and Lemuen actually screamed.
Mon3tr shredded my restraints and Fia’s like they were tissue paper, as well as the side of the armored car. She picked up Fia into her Pinchers and sprang out even as it screeched and slid to a stop.
I brushed past my sister, and pulled her into a hug. “I love you. I’ll find a way to free you.”
Then, I don’t know why, but I stabbed her. Not with much. Just a little, actually. A thin sliver of originium that I slid into her shoulder. Then, I jumped out with Mon3tr, pausing only to grab Victor from where Mon3tr had helpfully ripped open the evidence locker on the back of the Van, along with a double handful of rounds.
Then, we were up on the rooftops and running for our lives, gunfire peppering the area behind us. They didn’t have very good aim, so I could only assume most of them weren’t used to using firearms. Now that I thought about it, the Cohores guns were all the same. Factory made, stamped out, mass-produced crap! Not like the handcrafted patrons that are bonded with a sankta’s very soul.
So I half turned, and Victor blasted a couple of those guns to itty bitty pieces! I might not be able to feel him anymore like I did before, but he still has a soul, I know it! And he’s still my patron. Those hunks of junk don’t even deserve the name!
“Was that your sister?!” Mons3tr shouted at me as we leaped across the rooftops. She was scampering on all fours and had Fia gripped tightly in her pinchers, holding her steady despite the parkour stunts we were having to pull.
Even the roofs weren’t right anymore! Everything was in perfect repair, and there weren’t any bird nests, spent shell casings, or old fireworks ANYWHERE. It was just neat and clean! Like a stupid computer game or something instead of a living, breathing city!
“It sure looked like her, but I’m not sure,” I said, feeling that hitch in my heart again. I scrubbed at my face, trying to banish the dark thoughts. It wasn’t easy. So, I did what any proper Sarkaz would do.
I embraced the fire in my belly, the anger in my soul, and vowed VENGEANCE on the bitch who had taken Lemuen6 captive.
“This way!” I said. We ran across rooftops for several long minutes, Mon3tr occasionally having to sling me across the rooftops. We made our way to the South Eastern section of the city, and things began to feel more familiar. The roofs weren’t in picture-perfect repair. There were a few signs of graffiti that had been painted over, and even some scorch marks from fireworks, and fresh shell casings.Apparently, even Priestess wasn’t able to fully suppress good old San Bartolo.
I wasn’t really sure where I was going at first, but once I headed in the direction of home, I knew. I dropped down to an old, familiar shop. To my horror, it had a “CLOSED” sign on the window, which was boarded up. I hurried up to the door and ripped off a notice, which read, “BY ORDER OF THE HOLY OFFICE OF THE FIFTH TRIBUNAL, THIS ESTABLISHMENT IS CLOSED UNDER CANTO CCXXIX: FORBIDDING THE CREATION OF PATRON FIREARMS. SIGNED AND SEALED UNDER THE AUTHORITY OF THE HOLY MOTHER.”
My hands trembled with rage, and I ripped the note to shreds, snarling and stomping on it on the cracked cobblestones. “They can’t do this! This is what it means to be Sankta! This is WRONG!”
“Um…h-hello…are you…? D-do you remember me?”
I looked up in astonishment as Mon3tr growled softly, still cradling Fiametta in her arms, though she’d withdrawn her pincher things. There was a violet eye peeking out from a crack in the door, and the soft glow of a halo. I didn’t recognize the voice, though with the color of the eye and the location, I had a guess.
“Vannini?” I gasped, and stepped forward, pushing the door open. The girl inside shrank back, looking nervous, biting her lip as she looked up at me.
It was Vannini: the same shy, quiet Sankta girl I knew from my childhood. Older now, of course. She’s lost the baby fat, and she’s wearing a leather apron over coveralls, suitable for a gun smith. Her hair is still a mess of blonde tangles that haven’t been combed, and her hands have the calluses of a gunsmith, despite her long delicate fingers.
I dart forward and give her a hug. “You can talk!”
“Um, y-yes. Um…t-the Holy Mother…she blessed me…” Vannini admitted. She gave me a gentle squeeze, and I hastily stepped back.
“Oh shit, you’re, um, you’re like Texas, right? I mean, uh…the autism stuff,” I said. Texas wasn’t real big on hugs.
Vannini gave a small shrug, looking down at the worn old hardwood floor. “I-I don’t know what that is. Only…um…well…I did learn…to talk. W-when the Holy Mother came…she um…she fixed me. Mostly. It’s still hard…b-but I’m able to speak, now. Not so afraid…”
“And…you’re not afraid of me?” I asked, feeling an echo of the pain I had when I saw my sister and couldn’t share Empathy with her. I felt that same impulse to take out Victor and eat his barrel, but I shoved it down with fire and fury.
Vannini glanced up at me for a moment, then back down. “N-no. Um…they said…they said the Fallen are evil…b-but I know Mostima…a-and she was nice to me. Um, a-and you…you were always kind…even though…um…I couldn’t talk…and you didn’t make me talk…you just…you still listened…to me.”
“Well, my sister seems to have forgotten all that. She wanted to execute me, and she’s going to execute Mostima,” I growled.
Vannini shivered, then shook her head. “I-I know, but…it’s wrong. Um…your friend…T-that’s Sir Fiametta, right? Um…she’s a knight. How…?”
“Oh shit!” I gasped, and turned to see Mon3tr was laying Fiametta out on an empty workbench. The whole shop looked empty. There were tools, but very few parts, and the normal mess and clutter of Paganini’s Gunsmithery was replaced with the hollow cleanliness and sterility of this parody of my home.
I rushed over, but Mon3tr had out an arts wand and was examining Fiametta.
“Unlike my mother, I can use Mr. Bone’s arts,” Mon3tr informed me. “She made sure I was properly Terran, so I have the permissions. I have plenty of Originium, so I’m going to try healing Fiametta. However, there’s a problem: The originium in her remembers her being a liberi.”
“It does!?” I gasp, and my shock is echoed by Vanini, who covers her mouth with her hands in shock.
Mon3tr nods seriously. “Yes. Amiya touched that originium. Whatever Priestess has done, it’s transformed her into a Sankta. But her soul, she’s properly Liberi, and the originium remembers, as it’s connected to the Realm of Souls, not just the Simulated Universe.”
“Uh, OK, pretend I understood that,” I said, furrowing my brow.Mon3tr shrugged and nodded, so I continued, “Can you heal her?”
“I can try. I just…remaking her entire body would put me out of commission. So I need to be very careful. We’re going to need to be able to move and fight, in case your sister finds us again. Or more of Priestess’ minions.”
“You…you don’t serve the Holy Mother?” Vannini gasped, her eyes going wide.
I turned to her, my expression grim. “No. Have you…been baptised? Or been infected by that blasphemy they call communion?”
Vannini hastily shook her head. “No! Um…they think…they think I’m…I’m just a nobody. Only…only important people are allowed to be blessed by the Holy Mother so far. And…and my dad…well…”
“Where is Mr. Paganini?” I asked, looking around.
“Um…h-he went to…argue. For the shop,” Vannini explained. She scrunched in on herself. “Could you…could you make him…my dad again? Not…not a…”
“A haloed,” I growled, feeling my anger roaring towards a bonfire. Vannini winced and hugged herself, and I hastily draped an arm over her. She flinched at first, then leaned into me.
“I…I love my dad, he just…he shouldn’t! He…he’s a Liberi! N-not…they said it was a blessing…b-but he’s been so mad! He tries to say that Priestess is wrong, b-but when he does…something happens. He forgets. He’s angry and confused now. I…I want to help him…b-but I don’t know how!” Vannini sniffled.
I nodded. “And you’re almost completely free of oripathy, aren’t you? And you never did have much Empathy.”
Vannini winced, but nodded. When I’d known her as a girl, she’d never said a single word. She’d point and gesture, and she was a genius with a wrench or screwdriver, able to make beautiful guns even as an apprentice of only 12 or 13, or take apart a microwave and turn it into a moving carousel with little birds that twittered as they went up and down. I’d sat with her at school every lunch, chattering away, or just sitting in silence and watching and waiting while she tried to show me something she’d drawn or made.
I…I didn’t have a lot of friends in school. I mean, not close ones. I was friendly with everyone, but…but I was scared, especially after…after Lemuen was shot and went into a coma. But…but Vannini…she was easy to sit with. She was good company.
“I don’t know if I can help your father,” Mon3tr said, looking up from her examination of Fiametta. “But, we are trying to stop Priestess. This was a good choice for a hideout, Exusiai. Alright. I’ll try the healing now. Just normal arts, for now.”
Mon3tr began to chant a healing spell, and soon, Fiametta was able to groan and stir. Vannini ran off with a squeak. A part of me was afraid she was going to call the Legatus, but instead, she came back with some water, pain medication, and a couple bananas and crackers.
She gave the supplies to Mon3tr, who dribbled water into Fiametta’s mouth. After a moment, Fia coughed, then cracked open her eyelids with a groan. “El? That you? And…Vannini?”
“Um, here, Sir Fiametta.” Vannini appeared with the gun I’d retrieved from the evidence lockup with Victor. It was similar to Fia’s old grenade launcher, but now a proper custom rife with an underslung launcher. “I…I got Holy Debt Collector. He…he’s still in good condition…”
Gratefully, Fia accepted the gun, holding it close. “Thanks, Nini. You…uh…you’re not?”
Vannini shrank in on herself. “Um…I-I can hear the Holy Mother. She…she’s telling me…telling me to turn you in…but I won’t. I promise.”
“Good,” Fiametta growled, and sat up. She looked down at herself and grimaced. “Those assholes bushwacked me good. Damn it all. First week on the job as I knight… and I screw it all up.”
“Hey, at least you’re still a Knight of Truth and Justice. Not like all the other brain washed jerks,” I said, shaking my head.
Fiametta chuckled. “Yeah…wait, shit, how long was I out!? Mostima! She’s-”
“Scheduled to be executed, yes. But you were only out for an hour or so. She’s alive, I hope,” I said.
“Thank the Law. Or, well no thanks to Him, I guess,” Fiametta grumbled, and levered herself off the workbench.She tested her weight experimentally, then sighed and stood up straight, and nodded at Mon3tr. “Right. So. Where are the others?”“Not sure. Gramps just told us to make a distraction, link up with you, and get inside,” Mon3tr admitted. “There has to be more of a plan than that, right?”
“We can’t make contact with Leader,” I said, and looked around. “It’s just the four of us. But we have to find a way to save Mostima. Which is why I came here.”
“Four?” Vannini said, looking around wildly. “M-me? But I, I’m just an apprentice! Only…n-no…I’m not even that. There’s…there’s…there’s no more gunsmiths…”
“You’re on our team, Nini,” I said, putting a hand on her shoulder. She straightened, and nodded. “Which is why I need you. Do you…do you know where Tactica is?”
She immediately knew who I was talking about, and nodded. “Um…we…we were ordered…to collect and destroy…the Patrons. Um…your sister…b-before her Baptism…”
Stopping midsentence, Vanini scurried off, then returned, carrying a carefully wrapped package with the reverence you reserve for a patron. “I…that is, my dad…Mr. Paganini…most of the Gunsmiths, really…they couldn’t do it. It…it hasn’t been enforced. Not yet. B-but Lemuel…she gave my dad this.”
With great care, I took the package, and unwrapped Tactica. I closed my eyes, putting my hand on her. This was my sister’s soul. An inseparable part of her. Priestess had taken that away. Well. No more.
“We take her back. Reunite Tactica with my sister,” I said, looking up. “Hopefully…that will be enough. We…we have to try to break her free. I can’t…I can’t not try. She…she’s my sister.”
Fiametta puts a hand on my shoulder. “We’ll try, El. We’ll try.”
“I, um… I’ll come too! I don’t…I don’t know what I can do…but I want to try!” Vannini vows. She puts another package down. This one is old: a beautifully crafted M1LA carbine, with walnut wood stock, and blue steel that has been etched with intricate designs. I suck in a breath.
“That’s…that’s Sword of Infinite Justice,” I whisper. “Old Man Pozzo’s gun. He…he gave it up?”
“He…he still has the M61 Hephaestus cannons m-my dad made for him. But…but he…he gave this back. Said…said there was no room…for…for it! In the new Laterano,” Vannini said, more tears in her eyes.
Gently, Fiametta took up the gun, holding it up in the light that leaked through one of the boarded up windows. “Yeah. I know. I’ll hold on to it. He…he still took me here. Right before you were shut down for good. So I…I could get a real Paganini as my patron…”
“Yes. Holy Debt Collector…he was the last gun my dad m-made,” Vannini said, bowing her head. She sniffled. “He…he hasn’t come back. F-for three days.”
Fiametta made a face. “He was arrested and scheduled for baptism after he got into a fight with my own old man. He…doesn’t fit into the new Laterano.” She slung both her own patron and her grandfathers on her back. “Right. Anything else we need?”
Shyly, Vannin revealed a third package. An ivory handled revolver, made with shining Lateran steel that looked like rippling waves. “I…I made…um, in the three days…I made my own…um…T-this is…Cincinnatus. I…he’s my patron. I made him.”
“He’s beautiful,” I said, and Vannini blushed before hiding him in the pocket of her coveralls.
“Right. Let me just slip back in,” Mon3tr said, and slithered up my back and disguised my wings and halo again. Vannini’s eyes went wide, but she didn’t say anything.
“Well. Let’s try this one more time. And go say knock knock to the Seventh Tribunal,” I said, cradling Victor in my arms.
Together, we walked out of the shop, which Vannini carefully locked behind us. It was San Bartolo, after all. And we set off across the city.
Laterano was about to become a lot like I remembered. Lots of noise, bullets, and fun.
And hopefully, I wouldn’t have to shoot my sister to manage it.