CHAPTER 3

A/N 1 – Hello my dear readers!I hope you're all well and a big hug to all of you who have shown support to this story, it means a lot to me! A little clarification relating to characters' age in this story: Lovino is 26, Feli and Claire are 22, Antonio is about 37 and Francis will be around 30-31. Ludwig looks like he's in his late twenties, but his real age… who knows.

Rome – October 1544

Although I think my love divine,

And place my heart upon its shrine...

Outside, the wind howled and made the almost barren branches whip desolately against the wooden-framed windows, partially drowning Lovino's whisper. He was probably going to faint soon, because all strength had left his body and all he could do was stare numbly at the thin trail of blood running down his hanging arm, all the way to the tip of his middle finger, from where the crimson droplets would leave his skin and fall in solitude.

You bite and tear into my soul,

With claws so wicked and so foul…

Every letter of the accursed poem the bishop was writingon his back burned like fire, but Feliciano had run out of tears a long while before. Writing to Gerhardt Beilschmidt had been a mistake – even that altogether unfortunate reply had given him some unexpected hope, or at least some will to fight, and it had made him become much too present. He could no longer escape, pretend he was somewhere else, not lying bare and helpless in his small bed while his sibling straddled his waist and made him bleed.

"Fratello… were you jealous of Claire?"

The young priest drew a breath, as deep as his pressed-on torso would allow and released it quietly. "…I don't know." Sad. In pain.

Lovino paused and sighed, propping himself down one elbow next to his brother's turned head, thoughtfully twirling the miniscule stiletto knife between his fingers before pressing the bloodied blade against his own bottom lip.

"See, that's why you should have never read that old bastardo's letter! But you have learned your lesson now, yes Feli? You will not do it again, yes? And you will never write back."

"No, fratello." Feliciano closed his eyes and tried to shrug. "I-I think I'm going to be sick…"

"I'm almost done," the bishop replied and hauled himself up again, resuming his sinister work. "Think of Claire no more. She was nothing, I told you. She meant less to me than the courtesan I'm seeing these days… But then there's a notable difference between them, in both looks and skills." He snorted, reaching with his free hand and brushing his knuckles against Feliciano's cheek. "Maybe you would like to see a courtesan too? I wouldn't mind, you know?"

"…what would be the point?"She would smile at me and say she loves me. And she would lie, just like you do.

Lovino clicked his tongue, with a hint of amusement. "The point? Oh, I don't know, fratello, what do you think could be the point? The point is to get laid, what else?"

The younger Vargas drew a deep breath, trying to ignore the vague feeling of nausea rising in his empty stomach. "Then your courtesan and I serve the same purpose," he murmured, eyelids falling shut. It was a mistake, but right now he didn't care.

This love is cruel, and sharp in shape,

But so you know, there's no escape.

Sure enough, the blade was pressed into his skin a little deeper and he let out a moan, quickly muffled by a sudden coughing fit.

"Never say that again!" the bishop hissed, gripping his hair and pulling his head backwards. "I love you! No one loves you like I do, never forget that and never think to stray from my love, fratello. That path may turn out to be very dangerous for you!"

Feliciano wanted to apologise, gripped by a sudden dread, but as soon as he opened his mouth he started to cough again, even worse, and realised how cold he was. "P-Please-…" he breathed out, before a new coughing fit shook his whole body.

"I'm done. I'll clean you up a bit and bandage you, then you can rest."

Stop it! Stop touching me! Just stop already! His brother's fingers carefully applying ointment and wrapping clean strips of cloth on his wounds finally made Feliciano want to scream and thrash, anything to get away from it, but as usual his body wouldn't move and his mouth wouldn't open. Instead, he began to shake and sob spasmodically and continued to do so long after his brother had kissed his forehead and had tucked him in under the covers.

His sleep was short and fitful and the thought of the grimoire hidden under a stone at the base of the hearth eventually drove the young priest out of bed again before the break of dawn. Quietly, he went into his study and removed it from its spot. The leather covers felt like dead snake skin under his fingers, like something repulsive, still Feliciano laid it on his desk and opened it.

How is this supposed to give me any answers?

The book was mainly a comprehensive compendium of demonology, with elaborate drawings and long descriptions and Feliciano flipped the pages absently, with a tired scowl, eventually lifting his bare feet up to better curl up in his seat. It was so cold! He sighed, continuing to turn the pages and without really paying attention to what he was seeing, until a sudden muffled noise gave him the very vivid sensation that there was someone right behind him. It felt horribly real and familiar in the same time.

"L-Lovi?" he called out loud on impulse, gulping as he whipped his head around quickly.

With the corner of his eye, the young priest thought he caught sight of something like a black shadow slipping just out of his view, but as he turned fully there was no one, just the bare wall and some bookshelves shadowed by obscurity. Letting out a loud sigh, Feliciano pressed a hand against his chest, gripping the silver cross pendant he wore around his neck all the time, and turned back to the book.

And saw that the page had been turned.

Several pages in fact, since the grimoire was now opened about a quarter ahead from where it had been. The discovery nearly made him jump from his seat and sent an icy shudder through his bones, yet he remained still, clutching the cross as his eyes fell on the title the book had been opened to – Daemones Nocturnum.

"What do you want me to see? What…?"

The younger Vargas hunched over the book, running a hand through his hair as he struggled to focus.

"Demons of the Night… children of Lilith, are called incubi and succubae. (…) Lilith is a dangerous demon of the night, who is debauched and wanton, and who steals babies in the darkness. (…) Adam's first wife… she refused to become subservient to him and then would not return to the Garden of Eden after she had coupled with the archangel Samael.

(…)

Incubi and succubae appear in dreams and take human form in order to seduce (…) Not all of Lilith's children were birthed, but some happened by repeated transgression of (…) which resulted in their eventual demonization."

Demonization? Is that even possible?!

Feliciano's eyes widened in horror. Could someone really become a demon, not just be possessed bodily by one, but actually cross on the other side and give themselves to ungodliness completely?! He pulled Gerhardt Beilschmidt's folded letter from the back of the book – where he'd hidden it – and read it again.

"…in the hope it will provide you with the answers you're seeking."

"But what answer? I don't understand, I don't-…" the young priest whispered, sniffing, his sentence broken by a coughing fit so violent that it left him wheezing.

"Incubi and succubae often indulge morbid habits and favour the taste of human blood. Repeated encounter with an incubus or succubus may result in the deterioration of health or mental state, or even death."

"I don't believe it! It's not true! It's not…" Without realizing, tears had begun running down his cheeks. "It can't be! If it were… he couldn't enter the church, or touch a cross,or… hold mass! It's impossible!"

But Claire de Marcier had lost her mind and the heavy smell of his own blood lingered in his nostrils.

"Feli, you should rest," Sister Anna pointed softly, coming to sit beside the younger Vargas sibling in the pews. In the morning the mass had to be held by another priest, because he was barely keeping himself up on his feet and his cough had gotten a lot worse. She reached up and felt his forehead with bony fingers. "You're burning, you should be in bed!"

"No, I-…"

It was like having strayed into a nightmare. Everything seemed distant and unreal, even the dull ache in his chest. The book… there was something wrong with it. Maybe Beilschmidt had cursed it. Maybe he was a heretic and a devil worshipper, just like Lovino had said. Maybe he'd hoped it would end up in Lovino's hands instead and he'd be cursed for what he'd done to the archbishop's family. Or maybe the curse was more insidious and had begun to work in ways Feliciano did not understand.

He had to burn both the book and the letter, then ask for the help of his confessor, but not before… not before asking Lovino.

"I'm sorry, there's something I must do first," the young priest murmured absently, standing up and walking away without another word.

"I suppose, mon ami, that I had to travel all this way to see and hear the tales of terror with my own eyes and ears," Cardinal Francis Bonnefoy stated, leaning back on the soft velvet cushions and taking a sip of his wine. "And yes, I've been told it could be a mistake and that I'd be better off away from direct scrutiny, but…" he shrugged. "I was intrigued."

Lovino sighed. He for one wasn't intrigued, only irritated but not yet worried. Not just yet. "He's growing more and more paranoid every day, or so they say. He sees heresy everywhere and sins and unwholesomeness and everybody have ended up walking on eggshells around him. Here's one story for you, Eminenza– one fine morning the Holy Father woke up and discovered with utter horror that a little red flower had sprung from a crack in his windowsill. A red flower!"

"And?"

The Italian lowered his gaze mysteriously to his own cup and shook his head slowly. "He declared that it was a sign… from the Devil!" he replied, eyes widening comically for emphasis as he spoke the last two words.

Bonnefoy burst into laughter and even the bishop allowed himself a chuckle before both men became serious once again.

"What of the Spaniard he keeps as his new lap dog?"

"The Chief Inquisitor? He's a fanatic, of the most dangerous kind," Lovino stated. "I'd say like Savonarola, but with a lot more power on his hands and we won't be rid of this one so easily. The Holy Father is very pleased with his work."

The cardinal waved his hand. "But you know, mon ami, we could be rid of the Holy Father himself and then all this madness would be over. I may have come to amuse myself in Rome, as I tell people who purposely ask me… but I'm also interested in actively supporting someone." He paused and tilted his head, expressly gauging the younger's reaction. "La sua eminenza Giovanni Maria Ciocchi del Monte. I was told that he is the most likely successor…"

Lovino stuck out his bottom lip thoughtfully, refraining to express a direct opinion. "Eminenza, I think it might be too early to speak of a successor just yet," he said cautiously. What if the Frenchman was testing him? He couldn't risk the wrong approach.

"Oh, but why? There's no such thing as 'too early' in this business, mon cher! The Pope is old, as are Popes usually, so one can never know… and besides, peut être one would not have to wait that long altogether, if you know what I mean, and-"

Right then a servant walked in and bowed deeply. "Eccelenza, your brother is here to see you," he informed.

A quizzical scowl instantly appeared on the bishop's face, because Feliciano never came to visit him in his residence, his innocent little brother being best kept away from fancy places such as this one, and the younger Vargas had never dared to show up anywhere uninvited. Yet before he could tell the servant to send his brother away, Bonnefoy decided to meddle.

"Just my luck, mon cher, I really wanted to see your brother," the blond chuckled, two fingers pressed against his lips. "I am curious if he's as handsome as you, Lovi…"

Lovino fought back a grimace but waved his hand dismissively while nodding to the servant. "He is, Eminenza, but I'm afraid he's much too unsophisticated for your tastes."

Feliciano was a mess.

For some unfathomable reason he wasn't wearing a cloak, despite the chilly weather, his hair was tousled and the profuse black of his simple, austere cassock brought out the dark circles around his eyes and the unhealthy whiteness of his lips. His steps were slow, as if each one was a terrible struggle and when he was met with the hollow gaze of those chocolaty-brown eyes which were usually bright and lively, the older Vargas sibling was suddenly afraid of the reason for this unwanted visit. He could only hope that his brother would have the decency not to utter God-knew-what stupidity in front of the French cardinal.

But Bonnefoy saw none of this, springing from his seat in one fluid motion and floating towards the younger Italian in a whirl of red robes, wine cup still in hand.

"Mon Dieu, but he is exquisite!" he exclaimed, shamelessly caressing Feliciano's cheek and neck and ignoring the other's repulsed flinch.

"Why are you here, fratello? Did something happen?" Lovino asked dryly, irritated by the liberties the Frenchman was taking with his brother.

Feliciano inhaled sharply, clutching the cross pendant hanging around his neck with nervous fingers. "Lovi, I want to ask-… I-I want to know if-…"he stuttered, trying hard not to let himself be deterred by his sibling's cold gaze. "Are you an incubus?!"

The bishop blinked a couple of times, gaze narrowing suspiciously and his lips twitched, his previous scowl melting into a perplexed awe before he burst into laughter, unable to restrain himself. Francis laughed too, wrapping his arms around the younger Italian from behind and kissing his neck and cheek.

"Fratello, why would you ask me something so absurd? What the hell happened to you?!" Lovino inquired, still amused.

"Mais he's so deliciously innocent!" the cardinal observed. "Unlike you, mon ami, unlike you," he added, wiggling his finger. "No wonder he asks you that, I've heard you have quite the reputation with the ladies, n'est ce pas?"

The older Vargas sibling stood up and walked to where his brother was, shaking his head. "Indeed, but it seems I must be careful as to what books he's reading, especially in these troubled times," he said, watching Feliciano intently and reaching out to brush some unruly strands away from the younger's forehead. "No, fratello, I'm not an incubus, don't worry. Go home and rest, you look tired."

The young priest left his brother's house with no more unholy suspicions but with his heart none the less heavy. Maybe Gerhardt Beilschmidt had been made to think something so extreme because what Lovino did was more demonic than human. He stepped out into the street just as the sun was beginning to set, almost instantly beginning to shiver and cough and feeling more and more fatigued.

A few by passers' odd stares followed Feliciano as he nearly stumbled on his feet, heading for the next piazza. He had to see his confessor, even if it was late. The man would receive him.

It was almost dark when he made it to the piazza, which was almost empty save for a group of young noble men playing an animated game with a leather ball. They were running around, shouting and laughing loudly as they tossed it back and forth, but the priest passed through their midst barely noticing anything.

"Dio, non posso più..." he whispered, eventually stopping to catch his breath next to the large fountain in the middle of the square. He rested his palms flat on the cold, rough stone railing and was staring absently at his own trembling reflection in the shallow water when a large, black shadow suddenly loomed behind him.

To be continued

Dio, non posso più – God, I can't anymore

(A/N – quick historical fact: Giovanni Maria Ciocchi del Monte, cardinal-bishop of Palestrina, became Pope Julius III in 1550, following the death of Pope Paul III)

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