Chapter Twenty-Six

"Wonders never cease; from the deluge is born a new world, while the Pharisees whine about their miserable pennies! The Liberation of humanity from the curse of gold stands before us! But for that our collapse, but for that our Golgotha!" – Dietrich Eckart

Jasper knelt on the floor, forehead nearly touching the cold stone beneath him. His knees ached from remaining so long in one position, but he didn't dare move—not when his fate hung in the balance. He could hear Alice murmuring in their master's ear but couldn't make out what she was saying—not that he wanted to know. After all, the brat had hated him since the moment they met. No doubt she was encouraging the cardinal to deliver the harshest punishment imaginable…

Damn it! The regenerator clenched his teeth so hard he could feel them grind together. This is all that filthy apostate's fault! If she'd just obeyed my orders like a good dog—

"Jasper."

He flinched, the smooth baritone of his master's voice filling him with an inescapable dread. "Yes, Your Eminence?" At least his voice remained steady.

"I must admit that I am quite disappointed. Not only did you fail to recruit the Wolf to our cause, you allowed her to acquire a precious relic. Do you know how long it took me to obtain such a sacred object?"

Alice giggled. "Naughty."

"Forgive me, Master." Jasper choked out, body trembling with the effort of maintaining his composure. After all, there was nothing the cardinal despised more than excessive displays of emotion. "I have failed you. I don't deserve to live." While he had no desire to die, the regenerator knew better than to admit this aloud.

"That may be true," the other man mused, "but fortunately for you I am inclined to be merciful. Why sacrifice a valuable asset over such a trivial matter?"

Jasper sagged in relief, heart pounding from his brush with death. "Thank you, Master. I swear, your faith in me will not be in vain."

Alice was silent, but when he finally dared to lift his head, Jasper noted that she was less than enthusiastic at the news of his reprieve. Still, she didn't protest. Although the cardinal had (for some unfathomable reason) a soft spot for the girl, even Alice knew her place.

"Don't thank me just yet." The other man's smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "You still must atone for your transgressions."

Alice's scowl morphed into a grin. "You're going to punish him after all?"

The cardinal man ruffled her hair, which she (grudgingly) allowed. (Anyone else would have had their arm torn from its socket.) "Of course, my dear. Saint Paul said it best when he wrote that there is no forgiveness of sins without the shedding of blood. Don't you agree?"

She beamed, the force of her nod causing her pigtails to bounce. "I couldn't have said it better myself."

Heinkel spent the rest of the day feeling as though she'd somehow been transported back in time. She had never been one for nostalgia, but there was something soothing about the simplicity of the orphanage—it provided a much-welcome respite from the usual chaos of her life. As Heinkel examined the crayon portraits covering the refrigerator, the shouts of the children playing in the backyard sparked a longing for her own childhood, imperfect though it had been. Things had been so simple in those days…

The cat dozing on the windowsill blinked sleepily at her; and Heinkel scratched it behind the ear, pleased when the animal began to purr. With a pang, she thought of Greta. Oliver better remember to feed her, or I'll use him for target practice.

"His name is Klaus." Ana informed her. The cat's ears twitched at the sound of his name and he rolled over, presenting Heinkel with his belly (which she dutifully rubbed). "He showed up on our doorstep one day and made himself right at home." The older woman chuckled. "Klaus loves the children—doesn't even mind when the little ones pull his tail."

Anyone else wouldn't have noticed the tightness around her eyes, the way the corners of her mouth turned down slightly, but Heinkel knew her foster mother too well.

"Why did you leave Berlin?"

She tried not to sound accusatory, but the question came out more harshly than she'd intended; Heinkel was more of an interrogator than a conversationalist. She stifled a sigh, already regretting the conversation even though she was the one who'd brought it up.

This is why I don't do feelings.

Ana tried to smile but couldn't quite manage it. "Do you remember Sister Margaret?"

Heinkel scowled. "How could I forget?" All these years later, she still hated the old hag with a passion.

A heavyset woman with a perpetual frown, Sister Margaret had done her best to make the children's lives miserable. She'd assign extra chores for the slightest infraction and constantly berated Heinkel for her 'unladylike' behavior, prophesying darkly that she would grow up to be 'nothing but trouble'. No doubt she would be horrified to see what had become of her former charge.

Ana raised her eyebrows at Heinkel's response but wisely chose not to comment. "Six months ago, Sister Margaret became director of the orphanage and asked me to leave, saying I wasn't strict enough with the children. It broke my heart to leave them behind, but I had no choice but to obey my superior. After I left Berlin, I came here, intending to join a convent and spend the rest of my days in prayer."

"Of course, God had other plans. The day I arrived, I found Francesco and his sister sleeping on the streets. I tried to find a home for them, but no one was willing to take in a pair of orphans. One thing led to another and before I knew it, there were twelve children under my care." She sighed. "Still, as much as I love them, I can't help worrying about my former charges. Sister Margaret thinks it best that I don't visit them, so I have no idea how they're doing."

That bitch. Heinkel wanted nothing more than to heap abuse on the orphanage director, but that would only make Ana feel worse. Still, she couldn't resist saying, "At least you don't have to see her ugly face anymore."

"Heinkel." Ana scolded, but it was clear her heart wasn't in it. She squeezed Heinkel's hand, her smile genuine this time. "Never mind that—you didn't come here to listen to me complain. Tell me how you've been, Liebchen—it's so good to see you again. You have no idea how much I've missed you."

There it was: the guilt Heinkel had been ignoring. She swallowed hard, suddenly unable to meet her foster mother's gaze. "I missed you, too."

But the emotions threatening to overwhelm her were caused by more than mere homesickness. Until now, Heinkel hadn't realized just how lonely she was. Without Iscariot to anchor her, she was adrift in the world with nothing and no one to depend on—except for Ana. Ana would always be there for her; and that was why Heinkel had to tell her the truth. She'd avoided this conversation for years, but she couldn't postpone it any longer.

She squared her shoulders, forcing herself to meet the older woman's gaze. Here goes nothing.