Legends of Astræa: Cupid's Arrow Book 1 (Legends of Astræa Series) Read online

  “Mother Clarisse is no longer with us, and her weakness has allowed the situation to become this dire. The girl’s soul is in terrible peril. The devil has infected her. It is our Christian duty to save the child’s soul. We must exorcise her,” Sister Agatha added. Exorcised like poor Sister Clementia? The idea made me shudder. Officially, the day had gone from terrible to worse.

  I’d been in trouble before, but this time, I couldn’t escape the fact that I had asked for it. I had lost control of my anger and time had stopped. Everything that Mother Clarisse had made me work so hard for, I had tossed away. I couldn’t bear affronting my own weakness, ashamed of it at that moment. And here I was.

  There was something wrong with me, we all knew it.

  “Sister, are you suggesting expelling her affliction through prayers of deliverance?” the new Mother Superior suggested. Those prayers were a kind name for exorcism.

  Maybe the Sisters were right. Maybe I had to reconsider the fact that I had been touched by evil. Ash had touched me, almost with dire consequences. However, deep down, I knew I wasn’t evil, even when everyone so far had seen several signs of possession: levitation, the unnatural moving of objects, dreams of demons, supernatural strength—this one wrongly assumed after the unexplainable death of Mother Clarisse—glowing in the dark, electrical disruptions, and last but not least, the loss of appetite. I had missed most of my meals since that dreadful day. If they needed confirmation of my evilness, I realized now they had it.

  “Unfortunately, that hasn’t been effective, Mother Superior. I studied other cases like these at seminary, where the victim must undergo fasting and shock treatments to bring the demon to surface. I believe this situation warrants similar measures.” What? Sister Agatha’s mirth was revolting.

  I had read something about the inquisition techniques that people in the dark ages believed would expel devils from people. They were nothing but torture devices to make the victims confess to being something they were not. I had discovered the details of such “compassionate exorcisms” a few years ago when I had thought that the secret to my odd gifts could be found in history books. Prayers were one thing, but torture? I had to leave before letting anyone torture me.

  Mr. Tarbelli reacted, turning his face to her too fast to be human. “Mother Superior, I mean to offer you no disrespect, but Mother Clarisse always found such practices to be, well…” Mr. Tarbelli seemed lost for words. I held my breath. “Too Draconian,” he concluded, a bit lamely.

  Mother Clarisse had been quite right to consider the practice Draconian. I had gone to her trembling and near in tears, books piled in my arms and frightened that I would be tortured in the same way because of my “gifts.” Mother Clarisse had held me until I stopped shaking and explained that just the ignorant would torture a person for being different from themselves, and that the dark ages were a shameful period in the history of our faith.

  She had made it seem like no one in modern times would consider such terrible, ignorant methods. But here were the Sisters calmly, not just considering, but planning my exorcism. I felt my stomach turn with pure dread. Stop it, you cannot go back there. Not now. Get a grip.

  “Mr. Tarbelli, the girl has shown clear signs of demonic possession. She needs our help.” Mother Superior sighed, resigned.

  Please no-oo. My hands regained movement as the lights inside the music room came back on.

  “We must pray that we are successful.” Mother Superior’s compassionate gaze was also very condemning.

  I froze. Sister Agatha’s face flashed a look of triumph. Her nasty smirk was full of her superiority complex and smugness. I took a firm grasp on the mental images threatening to drag me into a blind panic. The air was suffocating inside the music hall. My mouth went dry, and my heart felt like it had migrated to the back of my throat.

  I felt the panic of a caged creature.

  Mr. Tarbelli’s attention returned to me. “Would you like to sit?” he asked me.

  I nodded feeling somewhat grateful, as he helped me sit up on the floor. I felt shaky. Sheets of white partitas laid scattered all over. My body quivered relentlessly.

  “Mr. Tarbelli, we all heard Mother Clarisse clearly say that the devil himself was looking for this girl before she died. We shouldn’t further jeopardize this child. I will not turn my back on her,” Sister Magdalene argued.

  It seemed almost absurd, and yet, I was listening to the conversation with my own ears. I felt a hysterical laugh burbling from inside of me. Surely, I was imagining things, imagining the worst. Surely, in the twenty-first century, an exorcism would just be a simple ritual, not the medieval torture from the worst of the church’s history. Surely, I was being ridiculous.

  But the cold hard lump of fear and dread in my stomach told me I had good reason to be very afraid. I didn’t want to end up like Sister Clementia. Anything but that.

  “Mother Superior, with all due respect…” Mr. Tarbelli was infuriated. The Sisters’ relentless need to convince him must have made him speak louder than he intended, because his words, though with contempt, were clearly audible and just short of shouting. “Her mother has assigned me as her legal guardian. I am the only one with the capability to make such decisions,” Mr. Tarbelli said.

  Legal guardian? What the…

  He knew my mother. He knew where I came from, who I was. All this time. He closed his eyes for an extra moment, inhaling before looking straight at me, apologetically. I realized then, he had revealed something he should have told me the first moment he’d arrived at the academy, but he hadn’t. I gaped at him speechless, feeling betrayed.

  Tiffany gasped more theatrically than the rest of her clique. Glances moved back and forth between Mr. Tarbelli and me. Their mocking had turned into shock after the shocking set of news. I was not an orphan. Not that that made any difference. My life was so screwed up. I was too tired, too angry, too hurt, weak, and too put off.

  “Mr. Tarbelli, as long as this child’s afflictions are part of St. Mary’s, I am under obligation to minister what is best for both the academy and the child,” the new Mother Superior said as she kindly attempted to help me stand. It was an impossible task when in fact she was scared of touching me, as if I was profanely contagious. I couldn’t blame her, but despite that, I was grateful. Her eyes asked me an unspoken question. Something like: Can you handle this on your own? Nope.

  After an awkward silence, Mr. Tarbelli spoke. “Miss Ailie, go to your room, pack your belongings, and wait for me there. We are leaving,” Mr. Tarbelli ordered me but directed his impervious decision to the Sisters and Mother Superior.

  I inhaled sharply, and the breath hurt my lungs. They felt so tight and locked up.

  Mother Superior and the Sisters gasped at Mr. Tarbelli’s decision. I didn’t know if I should be going anywhere with him, even when he knew so much about my mother. Mr. Tarbelli offered his hand to help me instead, but I glared at him, shaking off his helping hand.

  Get up, Ailie, I told myself, claiming any fortitude I had but couldn’t find. My legs felt shaky, and my energy had been zapped. Get up and get the hell out of here. I was determined to avoid exorcism, Mr. Tarbelli, and evil. So I stood all by myself.

  I was shivering, but it was a thousand times better than the dark coldness I had experienced before. At least I had the choice to embrace or rub my arms to feel somewhat warmer. Everyone followed my steps with acute concentration, as I prompted myself to exit the music hall. I could barely walk on the stone floors of the convent, looking for the support of the walls on the way to keep me from falling.

  Apparently, exhaustion and emotional turmoil had combined to make me look as sturdy as a blown glass vase, like the one I had broken by accident many years ago in Mother Clarisse’s office with my cursed gifts that were more a detriment than help.

  I didn’t have it in me to climb steps all the way to my little room where I didn’t want to see any of the other girls, nor did I have the will or energy to do any packing as Mr. Tarbelli had
commanded. Although farther away than my room, the chapel offered me the peace and solitude I needed to recover.

  Gratefully, their attention deviated toward a very annoying and loud beating sound that vibrated intensely, making every window and tree shake. A helicopter was arriving outside the grounds of St. Mary’s, a larger one than usual. No doubt it was another rich and very important parent. However, I couldn’t care less. I had worse problems to worry about, like avoiding exorcism and Mr. Tarbelli.

  Keep going slowly until you make it to the chapel.

  I inhaled and somehow dragged myself inside the chapel, supporting myself on the backs of pews as I found my way into one closer to the front. I needed a moment to recover before leaving. I was leaving but not with Mr. Tarbelli. I was going to France. I didn’t know how, but it didn’t matter at that moment.

  Chapter 13

  I had been there at the chapel longer than I could recall, my senses aware of echoes from distant pasts and ghostly shadows that moved inside by the light of my flickering candle that was down to its last remnant wax. In the quiet of the chapel, I sought desperately for some peace. There on my knees, alone, I prayed that evil would stay far away from me.

  A part of me cried out in rage inside, but I shoved it mercilessly into a corner of my mind and locked it away. Rage was a capital sin. One I couldn’t afford, I realized, as I felt a chill shuddering from within my core. It reminded me of what had taken over me not a few moments before.

  My glance caught the play of light and shadows of Our Lady of The Stars, the beautiful marble life-size virgin inside a stone niche that had one hand reaching the heavens and the other over her heart. She was a tangible vision of serene beauty that drew me inexorably forth into a world where I could stretch to see more, feel more, live more, experience more. She was hope—hope I didn’t seem to grasp at that moment.

  I immersed myself in the majesty of the mystery that drew me ever forward and pulled me harder as I caressed the inscription with my hand. Like a thousand times before, I was drawn to the carved ancient inscription of the virgin’s pedestal with an Occitan cross regarded as a Cathar symbol that had always felt somewhat familiar to me.

  Cathar from the Greek Katharoi: “the pure ones.”

  I wished I were pure of heart right then. In a way, she represented my deep desires. To be good, to know the world, to know who I was, and perhaps to know true love. But all those things seemed absurd at that moment. The minutes ticked by sitting next to Our Lady of The Stars, recovering from everything that had happened.

  Why had she let this happen to me? I posed the question to Our Lady of The Stars. The latent silence filled the chapel. Silly me. She was just a piece of beautiful art created by man. A cold marble statue that had no answers for me.

  Privately, I broke into sarcastic snorts between sobs at my idiotic delusions, as if Our Lady of The Stars ever existed.

  Will I ever stop being so naïve!

  I felt so forsaken, and my faith felt shaken.

  I sobbed, resting my elbows over the bench’s back in front of me. I wiped my nose with my white sleeve cuff, and then I heard another pleasant voice near me. Very near.

  “Here,” he said.

  The alarm bell inside my head sobered me from my sob-fest. What was a man doing there? I had been so wrapped up in my misery that I hadn’t paid attention. There was someone else inside the chapel besides me. I sighed. At least he wasn’t Mr. Tarbelli looking for me.

  My blurry eyes caught him sitting in the same long pew as I was. In my mind, I searched for the school calendar. I realized today wasn’t a parent day or any other special day to have family at St. Mary’s. Although his voice sounded a tad young to be a parent, I assumed he was one of them or family to one of the girls.

  With trembling hands, I took the silk handkerchief he was offering and froze as I had a good look at him. The black knight sans armor. No. He isn’t real, and this isn’t happening, I chanted silently. Desperately.

  “Impossible…” Again, the connection from my mouth to my brain was direct, and apparently at that moment, I couldn’t think before speaking. I wondered if he was here because of my dream. He grinned gently as if knowing I was going to have this kind of reaction.

  I didn’t know I was gaping at him until I felt the need to use the handkerchief. Who uses silk handkerchiefs anymore?

  “Thank you.” I blew my nose, hoping he wouldn’t ask for the silk handkerchief back full of my snot. A little too late, I realized what I’d done right after did it. Apparently, my brain had decided that I should not think before acting too. This was so embarrassing. Why was he making me so self-conscious?

  The man exuded confidence and irradiated power. His tailored clothing style, more elegant than any of those fathers that came to visit St. Mary’s regularly, had an unusual dark side that screamed European aristocrat, someone above classes or money. Couldn’t he have a horrible mole on his face to compensate for the fact that he had it all?

  How I envied him at that moment. He didn’t have to be labeled “possessed by the devil” or be exorcised, banished, shunned, or stalked by evil. Most importantly, he evidently had all the freedoms to travel at any given moment. I, on the other hand, would walk out without documents, money, or any plan, which was the only plan for now.

  “So you found me.” I accused him. I had no more energy to keep running from everything that was unnatural or difficult to understand.

  “I did,” he admitted, showing me a cute dimple on his left cheek and kneeling next to me.

  Well, if I had any doubts that took care of it. He was indeed the black knight from my nightmare. I swallowed hard. His thumb wiped my tears gently. I closed my eyes at his kind, whisper-light touch that shifted over my lower lip.

  “I won’t even ask how, but why were you looking for me?” I had to ask. My life was getting crazier and crazier by the minute.

  “Ah, good question, Miss Pearson. It happens that you are at the wrong place at the wrong time, and I want to help you correct that.” His voice vibrated with slight rich Italian notes. He was charming. His clear eyes felt familiar as they examined my face, just like they had in my dream. His words felt so true. Yet my reasoning fought this. It was not logical.

  Wait. He called me Miss Pearson. Maybe he got the wrong girl; I had no last name. However, there was no one else with that name at the academy. Was that my name? The dam broke again, and my weight fell onto his chest as I sobbed onto his coat lapel. The heavy weight in my chest felt suddenly lighter as he held me and eased his hand onto my back. I was relieved and angry and sad to finally know I had a last name. A real name.

  “I… I cannot stay here in the academy. I have to go now,” I blabbered, feeling so misunderstood, so frightened. For some unknown reason, I felt like telling him everything at that moment—about Ash. “Th-they want to exorcise me and—”

  He gently placed his fingers over my lips. “Shush. I promise you, no one will ever touch you,” he said. His hands held my shoulders tenderly, and he kissed my head as I began to calm.

  I sighed and once again slowly lifted myself away from him, suddenly aware that he was a stranger and that I had cried on him. I closed my eyes, hoping I wouldn’t embarrass myself further. I definitely needed a one-on-one chat with my brain.

  Suddenly, I felt a soft touching on my lips. So soft, so gentle and voluptuous, I opened my eyes. The warmth of his lips sent a rush of dizzying pleasure all the way to my toes, taking me by surprise. At the same time, my entire body weight leaned over his—again. Out the door went my inner warnings and anything else resembling rational judgement.

  He pressed closer to me. It was the most fantastic sensation in the world. After what seemed a lifetime too short lived, he nipped gently at my lower lip. As he broke the sweet connection, we remained forehead to forehead. Our breaths were ragged, my wits rattled. I realized something deep inside me felt like I had known him forever. He sighed and nuzzled me.

  So this was a kiss.

 
; My cheeks felt hot at the thought of that kiss, unable to say more. He was just a beautiful stranger, whose kiss had left me breathless and lightheaded. Was this really happening?

  Wow, my first kiss. Then I remembered where we were, kneeling as a matter of fact. I had forgotten we were inside the chapel for the duration of the kiss. Mother Clarisse would not have approved. Sister Magdalene and Sister Agatha would have to add scandalous to my long list of sins.

  Then I realized that a complete stranger had stolen this kiss, and I was pretty sure that meeting him in dreams didn’t qualify as knowing a thing about him.

  Suddenly, everything that had happened in the last days felt like an injustice. Unfairness. He had taken something from me without my permission. I felt a hot ball of temper racing through my bloodstream and unceremoniously erupting in a low grumble. My hand raised and slapped him. His eyes opened wide as though he was startled, perhaps even amused. I had just challenged him.

  Gods be dammed, do not tempt me, Miss Pearson. I may use my power to keep you with me, his mind said, while his lips were dangerously close to mine. He must have been contemplating going back for more, as he held my hands and pressed me closer to him, daringly.

  Great. Now, I was listening to voices in my head. I couldn’t wait until this day was over, but something told me this was just the beginning. Ugh. Why couldn’t I be just a regular girl? I struggled to free myself, but it was useless—at least without using my blithering gifts. But today was not a good day to do that. In fact, no day was good for that.

  “You shouldn’t be here with me. I am supposed to be possessed—evil,” I kindly informed him with a repressed sob. Apparently, my effort to scare him off had made him smile broader.

  “I don’t believe in rumors of such nature.” He didn’t believe I was evil. Thank God. I sighed with relief, realizing not everyone would think the way the Sisters did.