A/N: Ascension Day, as it is portrayed here, is a hodgepodge of accounts seeing as how I have never celebrated a Saint Day. So let's just call it fiction and leave it at that, shall we?


VIII. Detachment & Anonymity

Lavi woke feeling rather itchy. For many reasons and in many regions. First, he had fallen asleep in the clothes he'd worn all day, and the dried sweat in them was making his sides prickle. Second, he typically took off his eyepatch when he slept, and the pressure of it against his face made the skin around the edges ache to be rubbed. And the third did not strike Lavi as particularly odd until he realized that he could attribute it only to the drying of mingled juices on his skin.

Lavi's eye shot open. He propped himself up on his elbow, saw his creased clothes, the rumpled bedspread, Lenalee asleep on her side to his left. The hem of her skirt was hitched particularly high over her hip, and Lavi knew that unless she had taken to going commando regularly, there was something terribly wrong with this setting.

"Uh-oh," was all he could manage before his stirring roused Lenalee.

She seemed to go through the same series of motions as Lavi had, and she came to the same conclusion as well. For a long, disbelieving moment, she locked eyes with Lavi, gapped at him, searched his face for an explanation because there had to be one and it had to be not the one she was thinking of. She turned red from her hairline to her collar, leapt up from the bed, and ran to the bathroom.

"Lenalee, wait!" Lavi called, jumping to his feet. He paused to adjust and button his pants before taking off after her, but the bathroom door had been slammed shut when he reached it. "Lenalee," he said to the door. He pressed his ear to it. He heard the shower curtain rings clink together, but the water did not run.

"Lenalee, can I come in?" Lavi asked.

"No!" she cried, her voice muffled by the door.

He opened his mouth to insist again but hesitated. Really, what was there to say if she had let him in? He could apologize, but he didn't imagine there was a girl alive who liked to hear that first thing in the morning. That did not change the fact that he felt like apologizing, like somehow this was more his fault than it was hers. Which was dumb. She had been a willing participant; he was damn sure of that. A terrifying thought then occurred to him.

"Lenalee," he hazarded.

"What?" she snapped from within.

"That wasn't... I mean... I, uh," he swallowed, "I didn't pop your cherry, did I?"

"No!" she barked immediately.

Lavi sighed in relief. But, wait, if he hadn't... "Then who the hell did?" he demanded. It was a knee-jerk reaction, and only after he was good and pissed about it did he realize that, honestly, he had no right to be.

"That's none of your business!" she yelled, and Lavi withdrew a little with a wince.

He knew he deserved that. It was time to back track and start over. Lavi squeezed his eye shut and thought. Images of the night before swam through his mind. They were a little blurry around the edges, but the colors were so vivid. It was like he was watching a movie, someone else's amateurish sex with a pretty girl. Where had he been the whole time? He certainly hadn't felt drunk; it was like the volume on his inhibitions had simply been turned down.

He realized then why this was his fault. He was the Bookman. He was the one with years of practiced self-control and self-denial. And Lenalee was a girl who was allowed to do whatever she wanted with whomever she wanted. Her regret, he assumed, was rooted in her embarrassment. His, however, was a translation of a responsibility he sincerely believed Lenalee would never be able to understand let alone fulfill.

Lavi sighed. His shoulders slumped. He knocked again. "Lenalee," he said once more, "Look." He hesitated. This was not a conversation he wanted to have through a door—granted, it was not a conversation he really wanted to have at all, but he would feel much less like an asshole if there weren't a partition between them. "Can I come in?"

There was a long pause on the opposite side of the door. "It's unlocked."

Lavi settled his hand on the doorknob and turned. In the claw-footed tub against the wall opposite the door, Lenalee sat, her legs stretched down the length of the tub. Her hands lay limp in her lap, her shoulders rolled forward a little. She turned to him, her face pink as a Mediterranean sunset, and for just a moment, her big, dark eyes looked at him. Lavi hesitated in the door.

The air was too thick, too still in the bathroom, and Lavi felt a sort of repellent gravity pushing him to stay out. "Good morning," Lavi said with a sigh.

Lenalee switched her eyes to her feet.

Lavi forced his way in, like he was working through a very large, thick jello mold. Lenalee continued to watch her socked feet as Lavi sat down on the floor facing her, his right arm resting on the edge of the tub. He watched her willfully not watching him.

"So, I guess Karmenu's stuff is the real deal," Lavi offered.

Lenalee let out a short, dry laugh.

"This changes things, you know," he said. Lenalee turned a rather frightened expression on him, and it took Lavi a moment to realize that she thought that this meant their sleeping together. "If these tinctures are legit," he went on quickly, "then we've got a very different case on our hands than we thought."

"I guess so," was all Lenalee had to say.

This was, Lavi then decided, the point to crank up the objectivity because, clearly, Lenalee was not going to help him out. "Okay, look," he said, angling himself to catch her eye. She looked up at him. "Lenalee... that shouldn't'a happened. For a lot of different reasons. I feel like an asshole." He shrugged his shoulders up while he waited for the next part to come to him. "And, I guess, I'm sorry?"

"Wow," Lenalee muttered. "That's exactly what a girl likes to be told."

Lavi laughed uncomfortably at his own intuition. He scratched the back of his head. "I know."

Lenalee looked back at her feet. "If you think you feel bad, you have no idea how I feel."

"Why?"

She peered up at him out of the side of her eye. "Who threw herself at whom?"

Lavi laughed again, a little less tension in his throat. "Yeah, you did start it."`

Lenalee frowned "You started it when you stole that bottle from Karmenu." She cast her eyes away again. "But I did... exacerbate things, I suppose."

Feeling much more at ease now, Lavi leaned more heavily on the tub. "I think the take-home lesson here," he said, "is next time I get a bright idea like hey, let's take shots of this mystery substance and see what happens, you're supposed to be the rational, prudent member of the duo who stops me."

Lenalee gaped at him, but Lavi could see the smile pulling at her lips. "How was I was suppose to know that was going to happen? I was expecting pet cats and hand holding, remember?"

"Also," Lavi went on as though he had not heard her, "As the duly appointed rational, prudent member of the team, you should really avoid throwing yourself at me." Lenalee swatted at him, but Lavi managed to roll out of reach. "I'm just saying." She looked like she was ready to lob a complimentary bar of soap at him, and Lavi ducked behind his forearms, grinning. When he didn't feel an impact, Lavi lowered his arms and hazarded a look at his partner. Her hand raised, poised to the throw, Lenalee was giving him a rather more serious look than the tone of their conversation warranted, and Lavi knew that Lenalee's generosity with him was about to end.

"Lavi," she began hesitantly as she lowered her arm. She looked like she was considering him very thoroughly. "Is that really not your name?"

So, he had remembered that part correctly, Lavi thought. He was rather hoping that she had not. "Nope," he answered, a sort of resignation in him voice. "It is one of many, many aliases."

"How many?" She was probing now, and feeling somehow beholden to her, he answered.

"As many as I need to maintain distance." Distance. What an odd conversation to be having with a girl he had woken up next to. Lenalee looked like she didn't entirely understand. "It's a Bookman thing. Objectivity requires detachment. And detachment requires a certain degree of anonymity."

She furrowed her brow at him, and Lavi could tell it was out of sympathy. "And isolation," she added.

There was something below her words, a sort of question, and Lavi knew a younger him would have told her that what they had done the night before had nothing to do with attachment. Before the conversation could take a turn down a path he was even less comfortable with, Lavi began to rise to his feet. "No one ever said being a Bookman was easy." He headed for the bedroom, intent on gathering up his things and going to get cleaned up in his own hotel room. Lenalee's voice made him pause in the bathroom doorway.

"Where's that from? Toshe, I mean."

Lavi thought, weighed his options, his losses. He looked over his shoulder at her but hesitated once more. What greater damage could answering her question do, he wondered. "It's Macedonian," was all he said. He then went back to the bedroom, stooped to pick up his coat and headband and scarf, and headed toward his room across the hall.

Being a Bookman meant having a honed attention to details. Lavi spent his days practicing noticing specifics. That morning, he noticed what time he got down to the dining hall. He noticed that there was a total of thirty-six people crammed into the space—nineteen women, twelve men, and five children. He noticed the cries of a flock of gulls outside the hotel; they were flying south. He noticed the glimpse of sky through the window by the stairs—high and topaz blue with three wisps of clouds like brush strokes—and the sun hanging low—bold and glaring off the storefronts—and Lenalee keeping at least six inches of air between them at all times.

They ate their breakfasts in silence, and Lavi knew something was absent. He swirled patterns in his porridge and tried to put his finger on what was missing. He felt Lenalee's toe tap his calf when she crossed her legs, and then he got it. The physical proximity he and Lenalee had always seemed to share—he noticed how her knee did not brush his, her elbow did not bump his side—was absent. Lavi looked over at her. She usually sat almost hip to hip with him. Now, though, he could fit at least three Bibles between them.

"We're meeting Bill and Giorgio outside of St. Matthias," she said as the bell over the hotel door jingled with their exit.

"Should we tell 'em about the elixir?" Lavi asked. He watched the way Lenalee measured her steps, kept her distance from him, and he knew that if he were a nicer guy, he wouldn't have brought it up. He felt compelled to attempt professionalism—an odd compulsion for him, certainly—perhaps in response to the gravity of his lapse the night before.

She stopped in her tracks and looked at him. "Tell them what?" she asked, her cheeks red.

Lavi frowned in concern. "Lenalee," he began. A troupe of mothers and children were coming down the road, and he snagged Lenalee by the elbow and pulled her under an awning outside a cobbler's shop. He felt incredibly aware of how close he was to her like that, sequestered off to the side. "You know, you could call the Order and get reassigned. If you want to do that, you could."

Her eyes narrowed in determination. "Absolutely not," Lenalee said, her hands fisting at her sides and her face pink. "We can finish up this case, no problem."

Lavi quirked a brow at her incredulously. "You sure you can handle it?"

She was glaring at him now, and Lavi had to restrain a laugh. "Yes, I'm sure I can handle it. Can you handle it?"

Lavi knew a challenge when he saw one. He scoffed. "Yeah," he taunted. "Bring it."

Lenalee turned her chin up just a notch and started off down the road toward the church. Lavi jogged a few paces to catch up to her, and when he drew up to her left, he watched her out of the side of his eye. She had that obstinate frown on her face. Lavi thrust his hands in his pockets and batted her with his elbow. Lenalee stumbled, but when she glared over at him, Lavi was looking at the sky and whistling. She snorted angrily and shoved him hard.

That was a little more forceful than Lavi had anticipated, and he almost spilled himself in the road. "Jeez, Lenalee," he laughed as he righted himself, "Aggressive much?"

She crossed her arms over her chest, and Lavi felt her shoulder bump his arm as they walked. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. "I think we should tell Bill and Giorgio that we did a little investigating, and we found that the tinctures really do have some effect."

"Uh, some effect?" Lavi asked.

Despite her frown, Lenalee's cheeks pinked again. "I'm not prepared to make a conclusive statement on these feelings elixirs until I've gotten more straight answers. It's possible we experienced some kind of placebo effect."

Lavi had experienced placebo effect before, and it had never gotten him laid before. He thought it best not to argue this one too hard with her, though, and instead screwed up his mouth in thought. "Feelixirs," he offered.

"What?" Lenalee asked.

The lane they were walking down opened as it met two others in the wide, cobbled courtyard before the church. "Feelixirs," Lavi repeated. "That's what I'm going to call them."

The courtyard ahead of them was a very different courtyard than it had been the day before. It had been downright festooned. Garlands of blood-red hibiscus blooms, strung so that they nested together in thick, ruffled ropes, hung over the door of the church, connected the decorative stonework on the facade to the lamp post, swayed like swollen clothes lines between storefronts. Brightly-colored paper chains stretched overhead as well, making rustling sounds as the links rubbed together in the breeze. An almost life-sized paper mache woman—her eyes downcast, her arms spread, a serene smile on her pink mouth—sat in a larger wood and paper niche at the head of the courtyard before the steps leading to the church entrance. She was painted in Mediterranean teal and fuchsia, her skin eggshell, her long, rippled hair driftwood brown. Streamers attached to the niche fluttered in the sea breeze. Around the woman—presumably the Virgin—long, wooden picnic tables had been set up. There were perhaps thirty or so tables, crammed so tightly into the courtyard that Lavi and Lenalee had to turn sideways and shuffle through.

There was a perimeter of about ten feet of open space around the image of the Virgin. Fallen petals scuttled across the ground in the wind, swirled around their feet as they approached. Under the niche were two long, parallel poles, both ends extending far beyond the base of the statue. Once they were close enough, they could see the flakes of mica and small seashells that had been stuck in the paper mache when it was still wet. Sheets of crisp taffeta and white linen were draped around Her shoulders, leaving only the long curve of Her pale throat exposed. What looked like powdered iron had been dusted just lightly over Her cheeks, and She looked healthy, demure and welcoming with Her arms open. Palm fronds fanned out across the back of niche, their grey-green making Her blues and reds even bolder.

"Dang," Lavi said when they came to stop directly before the statue.

Lenalee lifted her hand and gently set it in the Virgin's. They were almost the same color. "She's beautiful."

It was so quiet there, so still, and Lavi didn't realize that he had rested a hand on Lenalee's lower back until she looked up at him.

"Can I tell you a secret?" she asked.

Lavi felt his heart jump up into his throat. He swallowed it down, scrubbed from his mind the memory of the look on her face when she had made him meet her eyes the night before. It seemed that as time passed, the images became clearer. He thought maybe now, alone with her in the sun and the stillness before this colorful storm broke, he could remember what made him kiss her back. He could maybe, just a little bit, empathize with himself.

The doors to the church burst open with a wave of children, and Lavi and Lenalee jumped apart. The quiet of the courtyard shattered into the shrieks of the children as they flooded outward. The kids were all perhaps ten or so, all dressed in their Sunday best except one girl who, in addition to her little powder-pink dress and white mary-janes, had cardboard wings strapped to her arms, which she flapped enthusiastically. The rush of children charged down the stairs in a pack and parted around the image of the Virgin. Lavi stepped a little closer to Lenalee so that he was safely in the eddy the statue created. Together, they watched the children disperse into the sea of tables, letting out peals of Maltese as they climbed and chased and clustered.

"Hold me," Lavi whispered to Lenalee in a high, frightened voice.

Lenalee laughed and gave him a gentle shove. "They don't bite."

After the wave of children from the church came the adults, all chatting and laughing. They flooded down the stairs as well, none of them paying much attention to the two, young Exorcists quietly observing. From the direction of the inn, the breakfast crowd came down the street, making a similar ruckus, the children charging ahead.

Soon the courtyard was packed with people sitting at the tables, loitering around the image of the Virgin, chatting on the steps. The noise was spectacular, the voices all crashing together into one roar of sounds neither Lavi nor Lenalee could interpret. Lavi had to put his mouth practically to Lenalee's ear when he told her that they should step off to the side. She nodded and headed in the direction he had pointed.

He felt like an interloper here. He didn't know these people or their language, and the closest he'd come to celebrating a Saint Day in the last decade had been exchanging Christmas gifts with the other Exorcists. And they all looked so happy, these joyful believers, all coming together to celebrate their faith. Lavi couldn't remember the last time he'd felt that way. Lenalee's hand curled around his elbow. He looked down at her. She was watching the revelers with a bright, unabashed smile on her face, her eyes dancing from person to person.

Platters of food began pouring out of the church like it was a race. Women in grey and dun-colored dresses hurried about, laying out bowls of punch and big, wooden plates of sliced fruit. A small band gathered on the steps of the church, a guitar and a trombone and a washboard.

"Good morning!" a voice cried from their left. Lavi looked over and saw Bill and Giorgio strolling toward them, Bill giving a small wave.

"Where you been?" Lavi called, a hand cupped around his mouth. They couldn't quite make out Giorgio's reply, but judging from the shape his mouth made, Lavi figured he was either saying the past or mass.

The two finders came up to them, looking much more laid back than they had since Lavi had met them. They looked, in fact, as though the cheer of the believers in the courtyard had infected them. Lavi could not recall seeing Bill smile like that.

"Are we still planning to interrogate the priest?" Lavi asked as he, Lenalee, and the finders huddled together to hear one another.

"I doubt you could get near him today," Giorgio said. "Perhaps you should enjoy the festivities and try again tomorrow?"

Lavi rolled his eye and sighed. "If he's off being priestly with all these folks here, I don't imagine we have much of a choice." He pushed his hands into his pockets. "We learned something interesting last night," he said.

Lenalee's hand landed on his elbow, but they stood so close that he didn't think Bill or Giorgio noticed. He felt her fingers dig into his arm. He glanced down at her. She did a poor job hiding the beseeching look on her face.

"What is it?" Bill asked, switching his eyes between the two Exorcists.

"Just that there might be some truth to these feelixirs," Lavi evaded, grinning as disarmingly as he could.

"To what?" Giorgio asked.

"Feelixirs," Lavi repeated. "That's what I've decided to call them."

Someone in the crowd cried something that got Giorgio's attention. A young girl, perhaps eight or nine, was calling to him with her hands around her mouth. He called something back and waved at her. He then turned to his colleagues and said, "You must excuse me," he said. "I understand that this is, perhaps, unprofessional..."

Lavi laughed. Unprofessional seemed to be the theme of this investigation. "You wanna go party with the other Virgin-worshipers?" He felt Lenalee's fingers dig even harder into his arm.

Giorgio gave a rather unfriendly laugh. "Keep in mind, Exorcist, you are one as well. If only by association." He turned to Lenalee. "I am one of the carriers," he said, "I must go assist." With that, he nodded to his colleagues and returned to the crowd in the courtyard.

"Carrier of what?" Lavi asked, still bristling a little.

"Of the Image," Bill said. "They pick up the statue of the Virgin and carry it through the streets before bringing it back to the church."

Lavi screwed up his mouth in confusion. "Why not just take up into the church now?"

Lenalee laughed a warbling, musical laugh, like tumbling water. It was so effulgent and light that Lavi was a little startled. She held her fingers before her open mouth, her face tilted sunward, and laughed and laughed. It was directed at him, and abstractly, he knew he should take offense. But her throat was a long, pale curve, and he remembered how it had felt against his face.

Lavi swallowed hard.

"The Feast of the Ascension into Heaven celebrates the Blessed Virgin's divine birthday," Bill explained. "It is the day the angels came for Her and brought the Virgin's sinless soul and uncorrupt body to Heaven." Lavi blew out a sigh that ruffled his bangs—he could think of a lot of things that could corrupt a body a lot worse than getting knocked up the old fashioned way. Bill furrowed his brow, dismayed. "Did they not make you attend a class or a seminar of some kind when you joined the Order, Lavi?"

Lenalee laughed even harder. Lavi dug his finger into his ear distractedly. "Yeah, they tried. Turns out I'm a visual-learner, and my Bible didn't have any pictures in it."

"Well," Lenalee managed through her waning laughter, "This won't be a total loss. With everyone in one place like this, we'll have a much easier time questioning people."

"Not without Giorgio, you won't," Bill reminded them. "You might find a couple people who can understand you, but I wouldn't be too hopeful."

"Oh, right," Lenalee said. Her lips tightened as she thought for a moment, and then she shrugged. "Well, it's worth a shot." With that, she started toward the courtyard, her arms swaying loosely at her sides. Lavi and Bill exchanged a look and a shrug and took off after Lenalee. They rather had to queue up as they worked through the crowd, Lenalee at the head, Lavi behind her, and Bill trailing behind. Bodies tried to wedge past them, and soon, Bill got separated from the tail of their line. Lavi hung close to Lenalee, set his hands on her shoulders, and stayed at her back.

"Skuzi," Lenalee said warmly to anyone who would make eye contact with her, "Titkellem bl-Ingliz?" she would ask as cheerfully as she could while shouting over the crowd.

Most people replied, "Ie," and waved her aside. Some looked apologetic and said, "Skuzani,"before hurrying away.

After the fifth person shot them down, Lenalee looked over her shoulder at Lavi, who was practically pressed to her back where they stood between two picnic tables in a sea of bodies. She was not expecting him to be so close, and for one oddly still moment, she was almost nose to nose with him.

Lavi drew back a little, his hands still on her shoulders. "No luck, huh?" he said, close enough that he didn't have to shout.

She craned her neck and leaned her mouth toward his ear, which he offered her accordingly. "I think Bill was right," she said.

Lavi grinned and gave her shoulders a squeeze. "You just gotta flash 'em a little leg, Lenalee."

She jabbed her elbow back into Lavi's solar plexus, and he let out an oof. "Why don't you?" she retorted.

"If you think it would work," Lavi said, holding his sore middle. "I gotta warn you, though, I don't think we're gonna get much response at a Catholic party."

Lenalee rolled her eyes, took Lavi by the wrist, and led him farther in. She could see the church looming ahead of them, the image of the Virgin still waiting at the foot of the steps. As she and Lavi worked their ways through, Lenalee began to see that the crowd around the image was a lot less rowdy than the revelers at the picnic tables. More people stood still with their heads bowed. Quite a few people had their palms pressed together before their chests, their lips touching the last knuckles of their index fingers.

Something in the face of the Virgin made Lenalee pause. She looked so calm and so happy, offering and welcoming and succoring with her arms wide like that. Lenalee felt Lavi edge up to her back, so close that she could discern the angles of his Black Order insignia pressing into her shoulder blade. She shuddered involuntarily.

"You cold?" he asked.

Lenalee's cheeks warmed a little. "No, no," she assured him. She couldn't think of what else to tell him—certainly not the truth, certainly not that some part of her thought that all these little casual touches of his were just a few degrees of fervor away from the remembered touches that seemed to be playing on repeat through her mind—and instead, she looked down at the base of the image. People had tossed coins and folded slips of paper at the Virgin's feet. Lenalee couldn't help but wonder what would happen to all those prayers once the Virgin was brought into the church. Did the priests read them? Did they scoop them up and throw them away? Where do prayers go anyway?

"We should keep asking," Lenalee said over her shoulder. If Lavi agreed at all, Lenalee did not look back to see. She headed, instead, toward the band, striking a between-song tableau on the steps to the right of the statue. There were five men with their instruments across their knees or resting from their straps, and Lenalee beamed her brightest beam when she said, "Skuzi, titkellem bl-Ingliz?"

Four men gave her various versions of no—some more friendly than others—but a man with a trombone in his lap looked up and grinned. "You buy beer. I speak English!"

x

x

x

"Last year," the trombonist, an older man named Tonio, explained, "We close Main Street!" He gestured with his free hand toward the window of the pub, which looked over the vacant Main Street. "Not walk because marching band. I play with fifteen men." He pointed the neck of his bottle at Lenalee for emphasis.

Tonio was fifty or so with brown, leathery skin from the Mediterranean sun. His mop of hair was black and thick, shocks of grey at his temples. His black eyes smiled when he spoke of the past, and Lenalee felt herself trusting his man, trusting his sweet, sad nostalgia. She looked over at Lavi, who was clearly not trusting Tonio just yet.

"You marched in the street?" Lenalee asked.

Tonio took a draw from his beer and nodded. "Yes. After mass. Again behind Santa Marija. Again with fireworks." He shook his head and looked down at the table.

Lenalee stole another glance at Lavi. He had his arms folded across his chest and was leaned back in his chair. That didn't seem like him. Lavi certainly had thicker walls than most men, but he was rarely unabashedly rude. Something about Tonio was putting Lavi on his guard, and Lenalee was not certain what.

She looked back at Tonio. "Why don't you march anymore?" she asked.

Tonio sighed.

"Does it have anything to do with Nawguralek Fejqan ta' Malajr and Karmenu?" she prompted.

Tonio sighed again and thinned his lips. He looked down the neck of his beer for a moment and then met Lenalee's eyes. "Most men," he began, a sort of resignation in his voice, "are very sad. And," he paused, cast his eyes over Lenalee's head as he thought, "they do not know..." he began to make a small wheeling gesture before his sternum, "ways to happiness."

"Have you ever tried Karmenu's... um..." Lenalee did not think Tonio would know the word elixir.

"Medicina?" Tonio offered. Lenalee nodded. "Yes, one time."

Lenalee sat forward. "And it worked?"

Tonio nodded. "Yes," he answered somewhat noncommittally. There was a catch to Tonio's yes. Lenalee could sense it.

"But?"

Tonio looked away once more. When he met Lenalee's eyes again, he was smiling, shaking his head a little. "I try joy. And I feel joy from medicina. But," he worked with the words, sought the right one, "But it bring memory of joy. Not now joy. Not new joy." His smile deepened. "Not joy I feel from music." He put his hand over the crucifix dangling from a chain around his neck. "Not joy from Alla."

Lenalee understood. She thought back to the night before. While the elixir had caused her to behave affectionately, it had started with the memory of arms around her. She wondered then what she would have experienced if Lavi hadn't been then. When she glanced at her partner, she got the distinct impression that he was wondering the same.

"You do not know," Tonio interrupted Lenalee's train of thought. She looked over to see him leaning forward and glancing to the right and left. "You do not know from me, but," he glanced around once more. "Karmenu. In spring. Father Karmenu."

Lavi bolted forward. "What?"

"Sshsshssh!" Tonio hissed, waving his hands at Lavi. He glanced around once more. "Before," he hissed. "Before Nawguralek Fejqan ta' Malajr. Before medicina. Karmenu is qassis. Father Karmenu."

Lenalee turned to Lavi, saw his matching expression of confusion and incredulity. She opened her mouth to ask what that could mean, but she did not have the opportunity to finish.

Someone outside screamed. It was distant, perhaps down the street, but it was loud enough and close enough to make the few pub goers look up.

"What the hell was that?" Lavi asked.

A moment of silence lapsed from outside the pub. Then began the shrill chorus of many screams, a wall of sound. Lenalee jumped to her feet and rushed for the door, Lavi at her heels. She threw the door open, skidded to a halt in the center of the street.

Outside, the noise was clearer, more terrible. People were shrieking, bodies colliding as revelers fled the church courtyard as fast as they could. Picnic table legs screeched across the stones as they were shoved and flipped. At the end of the street, where the storefronts opened to the wide court, people were clawing over each other, scrabbling to get away from the church and the huge, gray masses hovering in the air over the steeples.

"Oh, shit," Lavi breathed. "It's Akuma!"