My arms cinch her against me as we move in tandem. And my own voice betrays me, letting out a deep moan before I can stop it. When she responds in kind, I know not to hold back. She craves my pleasure, so I let her hear every note of it, and it drives her to a place of no return. Her climax is my signal to let go completely. I grip her hips and push into her deeper. And I hear myself utter the words, “God, I love you. I love you so much,” as my body shudders beneath her.

  We’re weak for each other. She collapses onto me, and I draw her close, panting against her, clutching her like I never want to let her go. Right now, I can’t even think, and it’s heaven—a sweet respite. She must feel the same.

  “Happy birthday, Orion,” she whispers, and I can’t help but laugh.

  “You outdid yourself with this gift,” I say, brushing my thumb across her flushed cheek. “How will you ever top it?”

  “I don’t intend to. This is the last birthday present you’ll ever get from me, mister.”

  Phoebe insists I stay the night in her room. While we’re both in bed, still warm and naked, she turns out the light and cuddles up close. “Did you really mean it?” she asks.

  “Mean what?”

  “When you said you loved me.”

  “Of course I meant it. I’ve loved you for years. Wasn’t it obvious?”

  She shrugs one shoulder. “I thought it was just infatuation.”

  “Hell no.” I stroke her strawberry-blonde hair and marvel at how easy it is to be this close to her. “Infatuation’s impossible with you. You demand more; you always have. Since the day I met you, I knew… no one else would ever measure up. It was always you or no one.”

  In the dark, I see the silhouette of her smile. “You’ll regret saying that.”

  “Never.”

  “Well, maybe I’ll regret it. Maybe I don’t want a boyfriend with such a dangerous job.”

  “I’m just the lookout,” I say, glad for my lowly position now.

  “Only until you get promoted, and that’s bound to happen sooner or later.” She leans in and kisses my cheek. “You’re too good. You’ll be a Judge in no time.”

  “Then I’ll be invincible like Eden. You saw it yourself. He’s practically impossible to kill. It’s not unique to him. Every Judge has one.”

  “One what?”

  Hadn’t I told her this already? I thought I had. “The Finger of God. It’s this sliver of wood under their skin on their inner arms. It makes them heal instantly. So, unless the blow is an immediate kill, they come out okay. I’ll have one when I’m a Judge.”

  She props herself on one elbow. “Fascinating. But if it’s so easy to heal people like that, why don’t they share their secret with the rest of the world? Think of how awesome that would be if everyone just healed right away. It would be a wonderful world, don’t you think?”

  I pull her into my arms. “Well, when I’m a Judge, I’ll push for change. How’s that?”

  She sighs. “You’re a good man, O. I hope you know that. I’m only going to say this once, okay? So listen up. I probably love you too. Fair warning, though. I have a funny way of showing it.” She chuckles and pushes her fingers through my hair. “But you’ll get used to me.”

  “I hope so,” I say, and I mean it. I hope we have a thousand more nights like this. “Either way, I’ll enjoy every second of it.”

  * * *

  The next morning, I wake alone. How I managed to sleep through the night, I have no idea, but I give Phoebe all the credit. On her pillow is a note written in her hand. I read it over and over again, despite how little it says.

  Orion,

  Didn’t want to wake you. I’ll text you when I’m on the plane so you don’t worry. Call me when you can. And remember, no matter how you feel right now, you did nothing wrong. None of this was your fault. It was all me. I’m very good at making a mess of things. It’s my only real talent. Hopefully, I don’t make too much of a mess with you.

  Love,

  Phoebe.

  I dress and tuck the note into my pocket with every intention of keeping it in a scrapbook the way Mom did with the first letter Dad ever wrote her. One day, I’ll have what they had. I never thought it would be possible, but I can see it now. It’s so close, I can almost touch it.

  The hotel restaurant opens early, so I head down for a cup of coffee and a light breakfast. I feel hungover even though I had nothing to drink last night. Maybe today, since the mission was a ruse, I’ll just go back to my room and sleep. I don’t want to be conscious for long.

  I sit by a window, fully intending to do the “people watching” most tourists boast about doing whenever they visit Europe, but I wind up staring down at my coffee and half-eaten pastry in an exhausted trance. After a minute or two of zoning out, I look up again to find someone has taken a seat across the table from me. As soon as I recognize him, electricity shoots from my heart to the tips of my fingers. My entire nervous system screams one word—run.

  Today, his long hair is tied at the base of his neck and his beard trimmed, but I’d know him anywhere. “Hello, Mr. Bachman,” he says. “Or should I say Acolyte Bachman? I never did get the hang of the House of David’s ridiculous titles.” He has a subtle accent I assume is partly German, having been briefed on his history. He smiles and offers his hand. “It’s good to finally meet you, anyway. I’m Cal Phil—”

  “You’re Whiteface.” I’m frozen to my chair. I feel like I’m staring down a bear on a hiking trail. If I run, won’t I just provoke it to give chase? Should I play dead or make a lot of noise? I can’t remember.

  He frowns. “And you’re rude. Didn’t your parents teach you manners? I’m trying to have a polite conversation here. I’ve been trying to have a polite conversation for months now. These days, it’s hard to get the House of David’s attention unless you’re beating them to an artifact, so I invented one for you. I even left you a gift in old Goussainville. Most tourists don’t realize there’s a ghost town so close to Paris. I thought you might like to see it.”

  My instinct to leap across the table and strangle the beast is powerful, but I don’t think it would go over well. He looks more like he belongs here than I do. He’s dressed in a beige suit with no tie and the top button of his shirt undone. “Smart casual,” Dad would have called it. His behavior, in contrast, is unnerving. Without so much as a You gonna eat that? He reaches across the table and takes my croissant for himself.

  I fold my arms and try to keep my cool. I won’t let him see how easily he’s shattered my world. Let him believe I’m heartless. Maybe then he’ll leave the rest of my friends alone. “What do you want from me?” I say. “Surely you came here for more than half a croissant.”

  He finishes my breakfast and dabs at his mouth with his napkin. “To be honest, I don’t want anything from you. I find you remarkably boring, in fact. But the leader of Seditio has taken an interest, and I am nothing if not a loyal dog.” His laugh sends a chill through me. There’s an uncanniness about this man, something not quite human.

  “I don’t know why anyone would take an interest in me, let alone Seditio.”

  “You’re educated, talented, and fit, but I’m sure it has little to do with you as an individual. You come from House of David stock—your father and brother are not unknown to us—and our new leader has a thirst for vengeance I haven’t seen for many, many years.”

  “What did my dad ever do to him?” I ask.

  A fleeting smile crosses his face. “Him. Interesting assumption. I’d have guessed you to be more progressive than that. Well, nobody’s perfect. We’ll educate you soon enough.”

  That’s a threat, I know, and I glance around the restaurant for any possible help. Maybe I can get a subtle message to someone, but Whiteface quells that hope immediately. “I wouldn’t if I were you,” he mutters. “I’m happy to end the life of anyone who comes to your aid, and I didn’t come alone.”

  A familiar black car is parked just outside the hotel, and I see several characters wearing masks. No one reacts to them, probably because it’s close to Halloween and American tourists abound. Only these aren’t tourists. I know it, and the man sitting across from me knows it.

  “Right now, I imagine you’re wondering what your mistake was.” Whiteface carefully folds his napkin before placing it on the table. “I can answer that question easily. Do you want to know?” He leans in and whispers, “You trusted someone.” Then he leans back with a broad grin. “Never trust anyone. That’s lesson one. For the rest, you’ll have to come with me. Oh, what a curriculum I have planned for you! You’re going to learn so, so much. You’re welcome, in advance.”

  He stands and gestures for me to follow, but I stay where I am. Never let them take you to a second location. That’s the advice Grandpa always gave me. Make them fight you right where you are. “You can teach me here.”

  Whiteface’s eyes widen. “Here? But, Mr. Bachman, are you sure you want to include all these people in your lesson? It just won’t benefit them the way it will you. In fact, I believe it would be highly detrimental to any future education they might have. Hard to learn when you’re dead, isn’t it?” He laughs, and I know I have no choice in the matter.

  This man made it clear in Athens that he’s more than willing to kill innocent bystanders to send his messages. And Remy. I wince at the memory of my friend hanging in the church. I don’t want to imagine what this monster did to him before he died, what he would do to any of the people watching us now. “Fine. I’ll go with you.”

  “Excellent.” Whiteface puts an arm around my shoulders like we’re old friends who just happened to run into each other in Paris. He chuckles under his breath. “At least try to pretend you like me, Mr. Bachman. After all, I have strict instructions not to kill you. Whether or not I’ll follow those instructions is entirely up to you.”

  Together, we head to the black car, but before we reach it, I hear a voice I know well cry out, “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” It’s Eden, and my heart has two opposing reactions to his presence. First, there’s hope that he might be able to save me, or at least kick up enough of a ruckus that I can save myself. Second, there’s fear that he, too, will die at the hands of my new ruthless enemy.

  One look at Whiteface and Eden pulls his knife out. But Whiteface is ready for him. “Stop him, please,” he says. The courtesy behind his command is peculiar. There’s no courtesy in the way his men attack my brother. They tackle him and throw him to the ground. They weigh him down, one man for every limb.

  People in the street stop and gawk. With the masks, I’m not sure what they think they’re seeing—a street performance, an undercover arrest. Regardless, they do nothing. They’re too stunned, too confused to help. Instinctively, I jolt toward Eden. Whiteface grabs me by the arm and whirls me around.

  Rather than fierce or murderous, I swear he looks disappointed, like I’ve just turned in a subpar essay. “So indecisive,” he says with a shake of his head. “A minute ago, you were resolved to come with me, and now you’re trying to run? I thought my people were exaggerating when they warned me about your propensity for fence-sitting. I suppose this will have to be our next lesson.”

  I feel his knife before I see it. It’s a punch to the side of my torso. My shock hides the pain at first, but the blood is all too obvious. Our audience has begun to understand this isn’t some clever flash-mob performance they’ve happened upon. It’s too late, though. Eden is down, and Whiteface is already steering me into the back seat of his car.

  The last thing I hear before Whiteface closes the car door is Eden screaming my name. Then the monster climbs into the seat beside me and pulls out an ornate, silver cigarette case. “You don’t mind if I smoke, do you?” He lights up before I can think to answer. “Of course you don’t. You have bigger concerns right now.” He waves out his match and tosses it out the window. “Apply pressure, you imbecile. I didn’t hit anything major, but you’re going to lose a lot of blood if you don’t even try to staunch it. Trust me, where we’re going, you’ll need all the blood you can spare.”

  * * *

  Just outside the city, the car turns into the drive of what looks like a small vineyard. The house is larger than a cottage, but it’s no mansion. People might even describe the place as quaint. “Do you like it?” Whiteface asks. “It’s usually rented out to tourists, but its owner is a member of Seditio and graciously allowed us to use it for a while. I’m telling you this in the hopes that you’ll do what you can to keep the place nice.”

  He opens the front door and invites me inside. All the furniture is floral patterned and the carpets a dusty rose. It looks like the kind of house my mom might have rented on vacation, except for the row of people in plain black masks quietly lined up along the walls. I sit on one couch, and Whiteface sits across from me on the other. One of his masked people brings him a fruit plate and a glass of wine. I’m offered nothing, of course. Instead, my tormenter gestures to my wound and says, “Try not to get blood on the sofa.”

  I glower at him from across the coffee table. “What the hell do you people want with me? You still haven’t explained.”

  “Haven’t I?” He looks genuinely confused as he spears a piece of melon and pops it into his mouth. “My apologies, Mr. Bachman. Unfortunately, you’ll have to ask my boss what she wants with you. I told her you were just a new recruit—a nobody, lower than nothing. I may have laid it on a little thick. To be honest, I’m envious of the attention she intends to give you.” He grins, and the hatred in that grin feels like poison. “I’ve worked for her since the day she inherited the organization. Every other senior member doubted her ability to lead, but I defended her. Now, I’m wondering if that wasn’t a mistake on my part.” He points his cocktail fork at me. “What do you think? Can a woman really lead an organization like Seditio, or should she keep to the sidelines? It’s a fair question.”

  It isn’t, but I don’t say so. “Who is your leader?”

  “Perhaps you’ve heard of her. Her family was in the news some years back. The Denau murders were quite the scoop. Mary was their sole survivor.”

  Mary Denau. I seem to remember Joshua mentioning the name. “Was she the little girl they found at the scene?”

  “That she was. And look how far she’s come.” He lifts his wine glass to his lips, and a brief smile crosses his face. “She’s been through so much, but she says so little. Hers is a tough exterior to break through, but I have my theories about her goals. Eden Dowler is your brother, correct?”

  I don’t nod, but I don’t shake my head either.

  Whiteface doesn’t seem bothered by my lack of response. “He’s killed more members of Seditio than any other Judge. Who better to serve up revenge than his brother? Our Mary has a great mind for psychological torture. Natural talent, I assume. It’s a safe bet she wants you to join Seditio and crush the House of David’s Grim Reaper.”

  “Why would I join an organization I don’t understand?” I say, my wound throbbing under my hand. “I have no idea what you people are even fighting for other than chaos.”

  “Chaos?” Whiteface bursts out laughing with a piece of apple halfway to his mouth. “Mr. Bachman, that is so far from the truth, you’d need a jet plane just to visit. No, we don’t want chaos. We want equality. You see, the House of David has decided to police religion. The faiths they don’t like they call cults and do everything in their power to destroy. The artifacts your people are hiding from the world—every one of them is a miracle. Did you hear me? The House of David is hiding miracles. While we all go about our mundane lives believing nothing out of the ordinary is possible, hope incarnate is being hoarded and hidden by people who’ve appointed themselves the arbiters of faith. Now, tell me, Mr. Bachman, how is that fair?”

  I try to shrug through my pain. “It isn’t, but neither is life.”

  If the smile on my tormentor’s face is any indication, I’ve either said the worst thing I could have said or exactly what he wanted to hear. Probably both. Definitely both. “You are correct, of course. Life is not remotely fair. And you’re about to get a first-hand lesson on that fact. Lucky you. I’m a world-class teacher.” He stands and turns to his masked assistants. “Take Mr. Bachman to the basement, if you would. Class is in session.”

  Before I realize what’s happening, there’s a blow to my head, and my world goes black.

  * * *

  I wake with a searing headache, my bare skin sticking to the metal table I’ve been strapped to. My clothes lie in a pile between my legs. As my eyes adjust to the light, I notice a shape standing beside me. It’s Whiteface but different. It takes me a minute to figure out what’s wrong with him, and when I finally do, my body begins to tremble.

  He’s donned his signature white face paint. The makeup clumps in his beard, cracks around his eyes, and accentuates his age. “Hello, Orion,” he says. “I introduced myself as Cal before. It would have been far better had you been content to deal with Cal. But you wanted Whiteface, and now you’ve got him. What do you think?” He spins in place. “Neat, eh? It’s a look I’ve been perfecting over the years.”

  I wish I could stop trembling. “It looks stupid.”

  Immediately, his fist finds my jaw, and I realize I was dealing with the civilized version of him before. “Do you know why they call me Whiteface?” he says with a grin that cracks the paint around his mouth. “See if you can guess.”

  I don’t want to play his games, but I’m not in a position to choose. My side is starting to burn now, and my face throbs where he hit me. “Because you wear white makeup?”

  He makes an unpleasant buzzer sound. “Wrong!” Then he punches me in the jaw again. “It’s because whenever my victims see me, they go white in the face.”

  One of his masked henchmen chimes in. “I thought it was because you’re supposed to be obsessed with John Wayne Gacy or something.”