Steps echoed down stone halls. They approached at a measured pace, and then came to a stop. There followed the turning of a latch, and then a slow, drawn-out creak.
In a gloomy office, deep under a certain basilica, two boys came face to face.
"I see my timing could not have been poorer," said the one for whom the office door had just swung open. "Do excuse the interruption. I'll return in ten minutes."
"Hold it," the other one replied. He silently beckoned the visitor in with one hand, while gulping down the last of the day's pills from the other. He finished off the series of supplements with a gulp of bitter wine from the dark bottle on his desk. As the dark-haired child stepped forward and stood by his desk, the sharp-eyed one shuddered, tensed, and finally sighed as the effects of the medicine ran through his body all at once. "Gonna pretend you just forgot to knock there. You'll want a glass," he said. "So sit the fuck down."
"Not my kind of drink, this one."
"Yeah, but your left hand's been twitching. There's cheese too. I'll break out the Taleggio." The visitor's eyes bored into the fair-haired child's back as he turned and pulled another glass and a plate and utensils from the cabinet behind the desk. His fingers brushed past an out-of-place knife and settled on a fork. "So?" he asked. "I'm still breathing, and you came in person instead of sending someone. Means questions. Of course, this lowly presbyter's only too happy to accommodate a higher up. Honored to see the Burial Agency's bloodsucker in the flesh. Really."
The plate clattered onto the largely bare surface of the old oak table as the office's owner took a seat. A rich, aged scent floated through the air. It did nothing to excite or calm either of the boys. Though the visitor did eventually place his left hand on the table, his eyes remained fixed on those of his opposite.
"When did she leave?" he asked.
"About a week ago. It was kept hush-hush. No leaks, especially not to any bloodsucker. Your timing couldn't have been worse if you'd tried," said the other boy. He searched for something in the visitor's unblinking eyes and found only more questions. That gaze was uncomfortably heavy. "Hey, save the ire for one of the old men upstairs; Laurentis didn't call that shot."
"I see. Which of the cardinals was it, if not him?"
The blond boy shrugged. "How should I know? It was a closed vote. A mere presbyter can't get an angle. Seeing as the fury of the whole Burial Agency's coming down on whoever gets outed as pulling the strings, we won't know any time soon. Now are you gonna eat or not? This stuff's expensive. Made traditionally. Not meant to sit there going stale."
"Is she still alive?" asked the visitor.
One pair of eyes stared right into the other. The silence intruded further. Eventually it was broken by the soft sound of small, sharp teeth chewing through cheese.
"Phew." The blond boy was the first to look away. He rolled his eyes, cursing silently as he stared into the ceiling. "Yeah," he said. "She's still alive. Should be at least. Last call was three days ago. Asked for more armaments. Girl knows she's not unbreakable anymore."
"Humans are never unbreakable," said the visitor. "This one is a fragile soul. Unfit to be sent out with her will still in tatters. The Director would not have approved this."
The cardinal shrugged. "You're preaching to the choir, but what's a kid to do? I'm praying for her, so you can quit imagining what my guts would like splattered across the wall."
The visitor's sharp gaze did not soften. He adjusted the rings on his fingers, one by one. The other boy huffed.
"This is rich. First time we meet and you act like you woke up on the wrong side of the coffin." He knew why the visitor had not sent his left hand alone; it lacked the power to impose the way the real deal did. That threat he'd perceived was in no way idle. Even a high-ranking clergyman was not exempt. "Come on, cool it already. Weren't you supposed to be one of the friendlier bloodsuckers? Keep up this cold act and they'll rewrite your file. Fake it at least. Otherwise they won't let you stick around. There's no point trying to put to the screws on me."
"Oh?" For the first time, the black-haired boy smiled. It didn't reach his eyes. "And why is that? I'm not so old as to no longer enjoy playing with toys."
"'Cus you still have a chance and we're that chance. Staying on good terms with the Church is your best move right now. No point in throwing a hissy-fit and getting the keys taken away just because one of your 'comrades' got the short end of the stick. The White Princess might be gone now, but-"
A string dug into the boy's throat. He choked on his words. His fingers would not move. His joints were bound. He was pulled in all directions at once and something within him threatened to tear. His small, frail body felt like it was in the grip of a great monster that could not be seen or heard, yet certainly without a doubt existed, born from his own nightmares.
The other boy regarded the blond child. In his eyes was something inhuman, restrained only by a plastic smile.
"Do not make me think of her," he said. The string loosened the tiniest fraction, allowing the bound boy to breathe. "Try again, Bestino. The King enjoyed the tribute, so I won't break you."
"G-guh… I'm on your side…" Bestino choked out. "I prepared 'em… best I could. Told her everything we know about Rozay-en… so act your age, you fuckin' moron!"
The strings vanished. No, they had never been real. They had just become less imaginary for a moment. He was free. The boy felt around his throat with a trembling hand and felt nothing. He took a deep breath and it came in hot and rancid. Something warm and heavy was at his back. The lights flickered. A drop of drool fell onto the surface of the desk from above. He dared not look anywhere but ahead.
The visitor pushed back the now empty plate and steepled his fingers together.
"Let's assume you're not lying," he said in a conversational tone, as if discussing the weather. "I've heard of your exploits in Souya. You did indeed meet with both Ciel and her partner… what was her name again?" He paused, considered, and concluded. "Doesn't matter. You met with them individually, the last day they were sighted here. Offering aid and advice, no doubt. Very admirable. Driven by kindness? No, residual guilt perhaps. Well, I'm not one to judge. As they say at the Casa: with humans, it all returns to greed in the end."
Bestino tried to nod. It came out as more of a twitch.
"But now, something strange occurs to me. You knew about this, and you cared enough to prepare those two for an impossible mission to the extent of your abilities… but that was not the extent of your abilities, was it?"
The boy stood, now towering over the blond, and he leaned up and over the desk and was right there, close enough for the other boy to sense the lack of body heat and see blue eyes tinge red.
"If you truly cared, why did you not tell us that such a valuable piece was being handed off? I could have interfered on her behalf. Nor was any member of the Burial Agency informed. What should you care if another risked jeopardizing their political standing? The other cardinals may have been fool enough to discard her, but you are not. Half-measures don't suit you."
It felt like the world itself was closing in. The blond boy had never felt this alive, so close to death and completely unable to oppose it, like an insect staring up at a boot. He tightened his lips into a line and resolved himself for what was to come. One way or another, he would get through it.
"I can only conclude," said the other boy. "That you have made a deal… or a gamble. You'll tell me what was wagered, Bestino."
Bestino slowly, painfully, stretched his grin wide. So that was it, he realized. He'd been fooled, in his panic, into believing that a Dead Apostle could care about the life of a single human. That the monster before him felt camaraderie for a broken doll. The truth couldn't be more different. This guy had skin in the game too.
"It's a coinflip, Crown," he said. "I haven't called it yet."
One way or another, he'd come out on top.
Over a week prior, a girl had traveled the cold corridors beneath the Vatican. She endured suspicious stares and phantom pain where the empty sleeve of her nun's habit swayed. Her destination was at the end of a dingy hall. She stepped up to the door and knocked twice sharply.
"Come in," she heard, and entered Bestino's office, closing the door behind her and taking a seat as beckoned. She politely refused all offers of food or drink and waited silently for the boy to finish tuning the pair of metallic gloves on his desk. Carefully and precisely, he tightened a gear on the left hand's second middle finger joint with a pair of tweezers, until it provided just enough resistance. He finished by applying a light coating of oil with a cotton swab.
"Alright, that's enough for now," he said, finally looking up at her. His brows were furrowed, as if something weighed greatly on his shoulders. "Any more than that and I'll feel like a jerk for having you sit around like this. I take it you know what's going on, Executor Ciel?"
She nodded. "The joint is too tight," she said. "You should loosen it. And that oil is murky. It ought to be swapped out."
"Murky's just how I like it. This baby's gotta sing." Nonetheless, he set aside the bottle and made a mental note to revisit the tune-up. "I won't keep you long. God knows you haven't got much time left to waste sitting around talking. So let's get to the point: you planning on surviving this thing?"
"The mission?" Ciel tilted her head, blinking once. "Of course, Presbyter. Suicide is a sin. To not put in all possible effort would be the same as surrender."
"Do you think you can do it?"
"It won't be easy, but there should be a chance. The abilities of the Rose Princess are known to us and countermeasures have been prepared."
"Hmm. Guess so." Bestino scratched his head, looking almost uncomfortable in her presence. "Then uh, the hag. She up for it too?"
"I wish you wouldn't call that… sir. She is a proper Executor. Her answer will be no different."
He snorted. "'Proper Executor' my ass. She's a ticking time bomb. Should've stuck her in a convent months ago. Shame the old men upstairs thought different. You don't really think she's got another mission left in her, do you? Let alone this one? Not my business to pry into the personal lives of foot soldiers, but the latest psych evals on you two paint an ugly picture." The boy's eyes filled with scorn and pity. "How you put up with her is beyond me. We talk big about taking Christ's lessons to heart, but there's a point where 'turn the other cheek' goes from saintly to stupid and you've soared way past it."
"Indeed," Ciel agreed. "It's not your business. Did you call me here to disparage my partner and I, presbyter? If so, I have a mission to prepare for. One you are not involved in."
"Hold it. I'm getting to the point."
Bestino stood and opened the cabinet behind him. Of all the old-fashioned furniture in the room, this was the only one reinforced with modern locks and hinges. Within were several items and utensils. He passed his finger over a pair of thick-rimmed spectacles and settled on a fold-out knife clearly not meant to slice steak.
"Here." He pushed the switchblade across the table. "Finally got this out of evidence."
Trembling fingertips settled on the blade's hardwood hilt. Lips pursed and jaw tightened.
"Presbyter… why?" she whispered.
"What, I'm not allowed to have a heart? I was at Souya too. Go on, no strings attached."
"With you, that hardly seems likely." Ciel closed her eye and pushed the knife back across the desk. "Thank you, but I have no need of this. It won't help. Seven will suffice."
"Figured as much." He took back the knife and placed it back in the cabinet. "In that case, take some advice, will you? I've looked into Rozay-en. That clan is one ugly bunch."
Rita Rozay-en, who leaned against the corner wall of the office, scoffed at the remark. "Hypocrisy still runs deeply at the Church, it seems." The office seemed to shake and distort as she spoke.
Ciel did not react. "I'm listening," she said, with great effort.
"They like to play with their food," Bestino continued, his expression momentarily murky and indistinct. "The princess especially. Becoming vampires didn't change them much; they were sickos even as humans. It's come back to bite them more than once, literally. Last time was when she inherited the title of Ancestor from her old man. I'm sure you'll aim to finish it in one blow, but if that's not in the cards, I want you to just promise me one thing: don't give up. No matter what. Just hold on as long as you can. Who knows? A miracle might happen."
The girl in the ill-fitting habit showed no particular reaction to his words, beyond, eventually, a small nod.
"Good. That's all. Get outta here. I'm awful at this pep talk stuff and you're the worst person to try it on. Just pretend you don't have a death wish when you're finally out there, otherwise that partner of yours won't let you hear the end of it." Bestino was even less comfortable with the topic of conversation than Ciel herself, and it was clear as day on his expression.
Rita tittered at the sight.
"A miracle might happen? Oh, what a horrid human. You understand now, yes?" She referred to Ciel, who still offered no acknowledgment. "That miracle, should it exist at all, is meant only for him. You've been duped, dear, by a most petulant child."
As Ciel made to leave, the boy called out once more.
"One more thing," he said. "Send the hag in after you. Got something for her too. Not that it'll do any good."
Rita followed Ciel out the door and into the dim hall, where Noel nervously waited, pacing to and fro. She started and then stared wordlessly as her partner emerged. Ciel merely nodded to her and jerked her chin towards the office.
"M-me?" Noel said. "You didn't – you didn't say anything about me, did you?"
"He has a gift for you, I believe."
"That better not be some kind of sick joke." With those parting words, Noel vanished into the office, leaving Ciel and Rita alone in the hall.
"Hm," Rita remarked. "Not a particularly useful or evocative memory. Shall we go back earlier? There are so many places to see and pieces to tease out that one night might not suffice. We've eight hundred years to choose from. Any suggestions?"
Ciel pursed her lips and said nothing.
"Ah well, in that case…"
Rita snapped her fingers. A breeze blew apart the world in a shower of rose petals. When the storm cleared, they were no longer in the Vatican. They now stood in murky, watery corridors that smelled of ash and blood.
"Yes, this will do," she said. "I'd like to see the Souya Incident first-hand. This was where he broke, wasn't it? There is a wonderful work here. Baroque, perhaps."
Ciel silently trembled. Rita ran a dainty finger down her cheek and it came away with a single tear. She smiled and whispered into the Executor's ear.
"Do as the child said, girl. Hold on as long as you can. We have all the time in the world."