"Our share of night to bear,

Our share of morning,

Our blank in bliss to fill,

Our blank in scorning.

Here a star, and there a star,

Some lose their way.

Here a mist, and there a mist,

Afterwards-- day!"

The symbol of the fleur de lis.

The Holy Trinity. Father, Son and Holy Ghost.

So many meanings over so many centuries.

Light, protection...

It seemed strange to stand before the iron gate, the three-petaled flower blazing across the bars. It wasn't even three days ago that he would have shot someone wearing that symbol without question. And now, here he stood, staring up to it as if in a plea for sanctuary.

Perfection...

It was that last meaning that caused his hand to hover over the intercom's button. He had thought Opus Dei to be the symbol of perfection. Silas had tried to hold onto the last threads of faith that had once been his pillars of strength but as the night had worn on and he found himself standing before the familiar gate, doubt sliced through the last frayed thread.

His side throbbed in pain, a fitting reminder of what truly came from helping Opus Dei. Would a symbol that stood for the ultimate perfection even allow one who had been so tainted to pass its borders? Silas now knew that he couldn't be anything less than tainted, having been blatently betrayed by the very order he had once trusted beyond reason... The very order he had abandoned reason to follow, so eager he had been to start a new life as something other than a murderer.

And what did I become, he mused, but a murderer and a puppet?

The only thing that kept him from pressing the button was memories of the Bishop. It was the Bishop that had led Silas to God, to the power and wisdom of the Almighty. It had also been the Bishop that went with the Teacher and the Teacher that summoned Silas as the chosen weapon. It had only been a matter of hours since another bearing the title "Teacher" attempted the same.

The Bishop, leader of Opus Dei, had created Silas the Angel. The Bishop, follower of the Teacher, had created Silas the Assassin.

An image of the phone call, revealing the last layer of deception that Silas would withstand. Such a disgusting little Pandora's Box but the anger came from the knowledge that the woman who held that phone was right and the Teachers had been so very wrong... as was the Bishop.

The Bishop was the only one who had been kind to Silas, the only one who cared. Until now.

An image of Sophie flickered through Silas' mind, a memory of soothing words and an almost naive, innocent trust. Two emerald eyes that looked down the barrel of his gun... and saw him.

Those eyes had stripped away everything Silas thought he had known in mere seconds and along the dark, twisted path of his mind, Silas could see a faint light breaking over the horizon.

Everyone else had created an Angel of Death, spun from the anger and sorrow that clawed at the last shreds of Silas' sanity. With nothing but an empty, blood-stained shell to use, what would Sophie, Daughter of the Priory, create?

Hope, his mind murmured. Faith, trust... and... Shaking his head, Silas brought himself back into the present. Those thoughts would serve no good. He looked up from the intercom and looked at the shimmering flower. And yet...

Divinity, light, protection and perfection... So the fleur de lis represents. I cannot be perfect, Silas thought, turning his eyes towards the car. I am not Divine. But the least I can do, after all this, is protect her... the only torch of light I carry.

With a defeated sigh, he pressed the metal button and began to speak.

Sophie watched from the car but looked away when Silas glanced in her direction, absentmindedly rubbing her arm. Sophie hadn't cared so much about the fact that Silas had struck out at her in his sleep; the red mark upon her skin would fade eventually. It was the look in his eyes that had truly hurt Sophie's heart as he woke from what could only have been a nightmare.

The haunted glint in Silas' eyes told her that it had been such. Sophie had seen that look staring back at her in the mirror too many times as a child. How many times had her Grandfather gotten bruised when trying to rouse her from a hellish dream? She couldn't remember, nor could she remember the dreams themselves, but she had waken too many times to the sound of her own screams to make an effort. Some things were better left buried.

"But I do wonder," Sophie thought out loud, "What happened."

"Not much."

She nearly jumped out of her skin as the seemingly sudden reappearance of Silas in the seat beside her. "Wh...How... I didn't even know you were there!"

The slightly amused look on his face died. "Not many do," Silas said shortly.

Although she wanted to protest, to explain that she hadn't meant it like that, he had already turned away. As the iron gates before them swung open as is by magic, Sophie shifted the car into drive. "I'm sorry," she managed to murmur.

It was a few moments before he spoke. "I know," he replied, just as quietly. "You should hurry. That gate isn't going to stay open forever and I doubt our hostess would like to be disturbed again."

Without another word, Sophie removed her foot from the brake and drove down the pathway. The sound of the gate closing behind them with a clang sent chills down her spine and yet a sense of peace began to fill her heart the closer they got to their destination. If she could have seen Silas' expression, Sophie would have seen that the man beside her felt the same way. Whether it was the nearly fortress-like effect provided by the thick forest lining the path or the knowledge that safety may be close at hand, she didn't know, but by the time the pathway opened into a circular gravel drive, she felt almost serene.

"Where... Oh my god, it's beautiful!" Sophie exclaimed, stopping the car to peer out her window at the three-story mansion.

"It is," Silas replied, the corners of his mouth tilting up into a small smile. "Do you like it?"

"I... I... How did you... I mean, you know who lives here?"

He tried not to laugh but a tiny snort escaped. "I have a very old friend. Ah, there's where you can park."

Sophie, still stunned at the red brick monster of a house, glanced where Silas pointed. A small ramp appeared to descend into the ground; she bit her lip and drove down. The ramp led down a few feet before opening into an underground garage. As she drove inside, a solid steel grate slammed down behind the car, causing Sophie to jump in her seat for what felt like the tenth time that night. At first there was only the glimmer of the car's headlights, but soon, an overhead light clicked on and Sophie could see where she had been led.

Inside the cement structure, there was plenty of space for at least five cars. Only one other car besides hers was in the garage, however... a gleaming, cherry red Rolls Royce. Sophie parked a few spaces away, feeling almost ashamed to park her beat-up automobile next to the metal deity.

"You have quite the friend," she commented, turning off her car. Sophie kept her hands on the wheel, hesitant to let go just yet. What kind of people did Silas know that they could afford such luxurious things? She would have considered someone of Opus Dei, but the fleur de lis at the gates had stomped on that idea.

Silas allowed himself to look in her direction, though he tried to keep his gaze just over Sophie's shoulder. "She was my friend long before Opus Dei. I had hoped that she wouldn't have forgotten me."

She turned her head, scanning his face. "It would be difficult to forget you."

His eyes wandered to meet her own but by the time Silas caught himself, it was too late. Those green depths held him like a vice, drawing him down into an abyss, and he found himself falling once again. Little did he know, Sophie found herself in the same predicament; his crimson orbs would have held her in suspension for an eternity. What seemed like an hour was only a single heartbeat, and as Silas raised his hand to gently brush back a lock of amber hair from her face, the moment was shattered by a sudden jab in his shoulder.

"Stop acting like a couple of teenagers and get out of there. Silas, I thought you had more manners than that. Back when I was your age..."

Sophie's eyes widened at the cane that poked through the window and even more so at the gruff voice which came from outside the car. She giggled nervously as Silas rolled his crimson eyes, letting out a stifled moan and turning the course of his hand to open the door. Taking a cue from his grumpy expression, Sophie swallowed the urge to burst out laughing as she opened her own door, sliding out from the car to view their hostess.

Dressed in a pink, fuzzy bathrobe and bunny slippers, the elderly woman leaned on her polka dot cane with one hand and held a giant white cat over her shoulder with the other. The tiny old lady was looking Silas up and down, shaking her head in what could have only been described as disgust. Silas looked like he wanted to crawl into the nearest corner.

"Men used to open doors for ladies! Poor thing, I can only imagine what the woman's been through tonight. Look at the car! Did you almost get her shot? You better not have almost gotten her shot..."

Silas glanced at Sophie with a look of pure helplessness. "I didn't almost get her shot," he muttered. "Quite the opposite."

Following Silas' gaze, the old woman peered at Sophie through a pair of large pink glasses outlined in rhinestones. "Ohhh... This must be the special lady!" she squealed, shuffling over and poking at Sophie's leg with her cane. "Well, hello there sweetheart. Might I get a name?"

Smiling, Sophie reached out to scratch behind the cat's ears. "Sophie Neveu, Madame," she said, feeling satisfied when the giant fluffball began to purr. "And you two are...?"

"This would be Prince Charles," the old lady smiled back, a fae humor glinting in her eyes as she bowed slightly, revealing a shimmering pentacle necklace at her throat. "And I am Maxine Beatrice LeFebvre, owner of this fine property... and Silas' grandmother."