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  I nod, turning my back on her. As the door shuts, I’m already pulling a fresh penitent’s garb out of the wardrobe. Dark gray and made of scratchy wool, the dress covers me from the top of my throat to below my knees, leaving only my back bared. All the nuns in the convent wear the penitent’s garb to the evening prayer.

  I quickly change, smoothing the dress down in the front. Then I head out to meet Ama, walking behind her on the way to the chapel. I try not to stare, but Ama’s back in a mess of scars from seven years of lashings. The latest set is still red and angry, maybe showing signs of infection. I touch her elbow.

  “Remind me to get some willow bark and witch hazel to put on your back later,” I whisper.

  Ama shoots me a look, whispering back. “I’m fine. If I don’t suffer a little, the Lord doesn’t hear my prayers. You know that.”

  I clamp my mouth shut. I don’t disagree, but this would be the third time that Ama fell ill from not taking care of her penitent’s wounds this year. I soak mine in witch hazel and willow bark every single time, but Ama is either too lazy or too stubborn.

  As we’re walking down the hallway, Sister Anne comes around the corner. “Rue, you’re wanted in Sister Marguerite’s office.”

  I slow. “Now? I was just on my way to prayer…”

  “You’ve been given leave to skip evening prayer tonight,” Sister Anne says kindly. She’s one of the younger nuns here, only a few years ahead of me. Amabel and I have been here for way longer than her four years. “Amabel, you go on ahead.”

  Amabel nods and wanders toward the chapel. I turn and follow Sister Anne. “Why am I missing prayer?”

  Sister Anne smiles, leading me around a corner. “I believe that Father Derrik is here to see you. He’s in a bit of a hurry, from what I can tell.”

  My stomach falls to my feet at the use of his name. My tongue is made of lead, it seems. “Oh?”

  Sister Anne just smiles as we come to Sister Marguerite’s office. “You’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

  She has taken my expression as being concerned about making a good impression. It’s almost hilarious, how wrong she is. Father Derrik and I know each other very well… but she doesn’t need to know that.

  Except for Sisters Agathe and Marguerite, I pray that no one ever knows how the Father treats me when we are alone. Sister Anne pulls the door of Sister Marguerite’s office open and I bow my head, stepping inside.

  She closes the door behind me, leaving me facing the abrasive Sister Marguerite, sitting at her broad oak desk. She’s easily the oldest person I’ve ever met, and she has the disposition of rotting old lemon. She scowls at me, her wrinkles hinting at a lifetime of making the same sour expression.

  “Sit,” she commands, raising one bony finger to point to the pair of uncomfortable visitors’ chairs before her desk.

  Bowing my head, I hurry to comply.

  “Not that chair!” she hisses as soon as I start to sit down. “The Father likes to sit on the right.”

  I’m not sure that’s even true, but I apologize and switch seats. “Pardonnez-moi.”

  Sister Marguerite looks at me like someone would view a cockroach. I may be imagining things, but I feel a tension in the room that is not usually there. It’s as if the Sister has a bee in her bonnet about something else, other than my failing in the eyes of God.

  “Father Derrik will be here soon,” she says, eyeing me. “I tried to explain to him that you are not the ideal candidate to be married to the Prince, but he won’t hear of it. Even though everyone knows that your sister would be better suited to the role. She’s much more devout than you and so much more attractive…”

  My heart sinks. Of course, Sister Marguerite is against me leaving the convent. There is a petty part of me that can’t wait to get away from her and Father Derrik, a part that probably won’t ever come back here again once I’m free.

  Sister Marguerite leans over her desk. “There is something wrong with you, Rue. A rotten part that thinks that you are special. That you are going to escape the fires of hell without ever truly worshipping at the Lord’s feet. Even Father Derrik hasn’t been able to wash the sins from your soul, though he’s tried for years...”

  The door behind me opens and I stiffen. I don’t even have to smell the heavy frankincense and stale communion bread to know that it’s him. My shoulders hunch. A cold dread fills my veins without me even turning my head.

  I’m so scared of Father Derrik that a sweat breaks out across my brow at his creaking footsteps. His hand lands on my shoulder, making me jump.

  His voice is mild when he greets me. “Rue.”

  Licking my suddenly dry lips, I refuse to look up. Sister Marguerite looks pleased at the fact that I’m terrified.

  “Father, come in.”

  His hand is removed and then he comes into view, sitting in the seat beside mine. Dressed in head to toe black with a little white square just below his Adam’s apple, our Father Derrik is blond and handsome, just as I imagine the snake was when he first appeared to Eve in the Garden. He’s graying a little at the temples and smiling just like the devil himself would.

  My fingers itch with the need to make the sign of the cross. My eyes mist over.

  “Sister Marguerite, I think you should leave Rue in my care for a bit,” he says. “Her confession is long overdue. Isn’t that right, Rue?”

  I start to tremble as Sister Marguerite rises from her seat. Looking down at my fingers knotted together in my lap, I know what long overdue means.

  He’s going to hurt me far more than usual.

  As Sister Marguerite leaves the room, I close my eyes and begin to pray.

  3

  I turn to the door of the hotel room when I hear it begin to open. Ari pokes his head in.

  Thin and weasly, my investigator darts a furtive look around before his gaze settles on me. “Monsieur.”

  “Please tell me you’ve finally got him,” I say evenly, setting my cup aside on the mantelpiece. “Otherwise, you’re not going to be paid for this little excursion to all the coastal cities of France.”

  The man blanches. His English is very heavily accented, not unlike mine. Only his is the odd Bretagne accent, whereas mine is… international, with England and Cyprus dominating. “Oui, monsieur. We have got him in the very next room.”

  I narrow my eyes at him. “Are you sure? I don’t want this one to end up not being the right man, after all. Remember, I only want to talk to the man who was dispatched to kill the girl.”

  Ari bows. “Oui, yes. This is the man that says he worked for La Fraternité. And La Fraternité is part of The Way of the Light. The… how do you say… he was un exécutant.”

  “You mean an enforcer. And The Way of the Light, that is the church that Father Derrik runs?” I ask, arching a brow.

  “Oui, the same. The man claims he worked directly for him. He says they worked… how do you say? Hand and hand? Into the hand?”

  “Shut up,” I tell him. “Let me get my tools, then I’ll be right there.”

  “Monsieur,” he says, disappearing.

  I go over to my suitcase, opening it and grabbing the small black toolbox inside. I crack the lid, checking that it’s all still there.

  A blowtorch. A brand. Several knives of varying lengths. A length of piano wire. And overlooking all of it, a portrait of Aurelia is taped inside the lid. Frozen with a prim smile, she was at her best there: blonde and beautiful and remote.

  Closing the toolbox, I take another swig from my tumbler of whiskey and then head out into the hallway. Ari is waiting for me, bowing a little as he opens the door next to mine.

  As I pass him, I realize that I’m at least a foot taller than Ari. I guess that’s not terribly surprising, seeing as I’m six and a half feet tall. I crack my knuckles as I enter the room, which has been cleared out. The walls and window are covered in a dense, dark grey felt meant to dampen sound.

  Zip tied to the only chair in the room is a rather fat and balding blond man. H
is mouth is taped shut and his legs are taped to the chair legs. He’s bleeding from several wounds on his head. When he sees me, the man goes red in the face and tries to yell through his gag.

  Ari closes the door behind us. I hand Ari the toolbox casually, focusing on the man. He groans against his gag as I come close.

  “Ari, did you already ask him about whether or not he practices The Way of The Light?” I ask, not taking my eyes off the man.

  Ari walks over to one side of the room, putting the toolbox down. “Oui. He does not follow the Church, he says. He does work for them, that is all.”

  My lips lift. “So, he knows, presumably, that everything that the Church believes is absolute horse shit, then.”

  “I’m sorry?” Ari asks, his brow furrowing.

  I ignore the question, walking around the bound subject. He tries to follow me with his eyes, his head turning a little. Perspiration breaks out on his brow. I can actually smell the fear on him, the unlucky fuck.

  “What is his name?”

  “Louis.”

  I come around Louis’s other side, still looking at him. “Louis, I have some questions for you. Well, first I have a warning. And then questions. Tu comprendes?”

  Louis nods hesitantly, his brown eyes wide with… not fear. What is it? Resignation? An understanding of what is going to happen to him, maybe? After all, Louis did exactly what I’m doing now when he worked for the Church.

  I put my hands behind my back and pace slowly. “I’ll put this as simply as I can for you. I’m a killer. Hell, I started out in a position like yours. Advanced interrogation, torture, straight up murder if I didn’t get the answers I wanted. What I am saying is, if you don’t answer me quickly and honestly, I will kill you without a second thought.” I turn to Ari, motioning to Louis. He steps in and removes the tape over Louis’s mouth. I smile lightly at Louis. “Tell me that you understand.”

  He inclines his head. “Yes.”

  He has a German accent, which is a little surprising. I lift my brows. “Very good.”

  I purse my lips. Where to start?

  “My friend here has told me you worked for Father Derrik in the Way of the Light.”

  Louis’s mouth twitches. “Yes. That wasn’t what he called the little organization I worked for, however.”

  “La Fraternité?” I ask, folding my arms across my chest. “Is that what he called it?”

  Louis shrugs, his head drooping. He is tired and has lost some blood, but I’m not very worried about that. “Yes, eventually.”

  I watch as his eyes slide around the room, looking for means of escape or a weapon. I would probably be doing the exact same thing if our positions were reversed.

  Turning my head to Ari, I ask for a chair to be brought in. Ari disappears for a minute. While I wait, I examine my nails. There is a good deal of dirt under my nails, grit leftover from my fight yesterday.

  When Ari comes back in, I see Louis staring at the door, trying to decide whether or not it’s a good idea to yell for help. I grab the chair that Ari offers me, turning it around and straddling it.

  “I wouldn’t, if I were you,” I say coolly. “I bought out the whole floor… and this place is made is stone, so you can scream all you feel like and no one will care. Plus, Ari will open that toolbox I brought in here. You don’t want that, do you?”

  His gaze narrows and his lips thin but he doesn’t comment.

  Leaning forward in the chair, I consider him. “Father Derrik tasked you with killing a girl.”

  His expression doesn’t change. “You’ll have to be more specific. I worked for La Fraternité for almost eight years.”

  I glance at Ari, who licks his lips nervously.

  “Aurelia Morel. This would have been four years ago.”

  His lips quirk in a brief smile. “You mean the young woman who was to be the Queen of Montenegro?”

  I pause, cocking my head slightly. “Pretty, petite blonde, about 17?”

  He nods. “Yes.”

  “Why do you call her that?” I ask, curious.

  Louis frowns. “Because she was going to marry Prince Rastoder. It was all arranged. Everyone knew about it. Yet, I was assigned to kill her at the directive of La Fraternité.”

  The way he phrased it gives me pause. I have several questions, but I try to ask the most important question first.

  “You say that this Prince…”

  “Rastoder,” he fills in for me.

  “Prince Rastoder was planning to marry Aurelia?”

  “Yes. Except I don’t think that Derrik liked her too much.”

  I squint. “What does the one have to do with the other?”

  He leans in, eager now to spill all the details. “Well, Father Derrik and the Church are very influential in Montenegro. They spend a good deal of time advising the Rastoder royal family. Especially the Prince.”

  I let that sink in for a minute. “Alright. And you were assigned to kill Aurelia at Derrik’s directive?”

  He clears his throat. “Assigned to, yes. But I didn’t.”

  My eyebrows rise. “You’re saying you didn’t actually kill her?”

  “I didn’t get the chance. I was called in a couple of days before I was going to kill her, to that terrible hovel she lived in. When I got there, she was already dead.”

  The image of Aurelia’s cold, lifeless body in her bed flashes before my eyes. I found her just like that, her eyes bloodshot from being strangled, her stiff fingers still clutching the bedsheets.

  “If you didn’t kill her, who did?” I ask, impatient.

  Louis shrugs. “When I got there, her body was being guarded by one of Derrik’s boys that he likes to have around, the ones who run errands for La Fraternité.”

  I scowl. “That isn’t making the matter of who killed Aurelia any clearer.”

  “The boy seemed to think that Father Derrik killed her,” he says with a shrug. “He was pretty clear about that. That’s all I know.”

  Letting my chair drop back down to the ground, I consider his words. Aurelia — the sweet, wonderful blonde that I was infatuated with — had secrets. Secrets that I didn’t get to learn, in the short time I knew her. That much is clear.

  What isn’t as clear, is who killed her? Was it the somber young priest himself, on a manic bent? Or did Derrik have someone else do it for him?

  I expect that it was the latter, but I don’t know for sure.

  “Where is Derrik now?” I ask.

  He smiles a little. “Playing matchmaker, from what I’ve heard. The Rastoder royal family still needs a bride for their Prince after the last couple… didn’t work out.”

  That gives more pause. “The last couple? You mean more girls than Aurelia have been killed?”

  Louis gives a Gallic shrug. “Sort of. After her, there was Grecia, who was mysteriously thrown while horseback riding. She’ll never walk again. And there was the American girl, Claire. She just… disappeared.”

  “Disappeared?”

  “Well, that’s what everyone thinks. In reality, I was called in to take care of Claire’s body. I took it to a pig farm in Rouen and disposed of it.”

  I stare at Louis. “But you didn’t kill her?”

  “No. It was the same as the others. I got a call after the fact. I showed up, only to find some scared kid sent by La Fraternité.”

  “And this repetition didn’t concern you?”

  His rolls his eyes. “No. It’s what I am paid for.”

  I rise from the chair. “I see. Well, the Church will have to find themselves a new errand boy to help clean up their messes. I think that you’ll be busy for the foreseeable future.”

  I look at Ari, motioning for a gun. He pulls the shiny chrome weapon from his waistband.

  Louis panics. “Wait, wait! I can help you!”

  I aim the gun at his ample forehead. “I doubt that very much.”

  “I— I can take you to Father Derrik. Or… or I can take you to the new girl who’s supposed to be Quee
n! Yeah, I can do that!”

  Pausing, I lower the gun slightly. “There is a new girl?”

  “Yeah! You know, she’s uh… Rue somebody?”

  Doubtful, I press him for more information. “Roo?”

  “No, like R-u-e? Named for a plant, I think.”

  “And Derrik... what, he’s preparing her to join the royal family or something of that ilk?”

  “Yeah. He’s got her in a little town in Liechtenstein—”

  I raise the gun and fire two rounds into his head, splattering his brains all over the wall behind him. He sags to the side, his expression startled.

  “Jesu,” Ari says, making the sign of the cross.

  “Don’t do that shit in front of me,” I command dispassionately, handing the gun to him. “And clean this room up. I want it to fucking sparkle when you’re done.”

  “What should I do with the body?”

  I shrug, turning to leave the room. “I don’t want him to be found anytime soon. Take him out on the water, way out. Weight him down and dump him. I don’t want to have to repeat myself about the fact that he cannot be traced back to me.”

  “Monsieur.” He bobs his head obediently.

  I head out of the room, my mind churning. Apparently, Derrik has replaced Aurelia with some girl named Rue.

  A girl who can’t be that hard to find…

  Maybe revenge will be easier than I thought.

  4

  The sound of Father Derrik zipping up his pants seems to echo through the room. I rest my hands on my knees, kneeling on the floor. My head hangs low. The top half of my dress has been pulled off, the bottom rucked up around my hips. I can’t manage to move my gaze off the ground as I wipe at my lips.

  My tears have dried by now, but I still feel wretched and dirty. While Father Derrik hears my confession, he whispers things to me. Things like how perverse I am, making him behave this way. How I’m a seductress and I have no right to act as I do. How he will purge me of my sins if it is the death of him.

  “Get up,” Father Derrik orders, stern now. “People will think you were raised poorly when you’ve been practically spoiled since you’ve been here. I would hate to have to bring your sister Amabel in here during our next session, to have her witness the depravity you show.”