“Parishioners. Faithful citizens of Lutesse. We are under attack. The One True Faith is under attack,” he began, jowls quivering as the archbishop finally found some fire in that monotonous voice of his.
“As I’m sure many of you saw in the news today, an infamous heretic and terrorist perpetrated a horrific violent act in broaddaylight, just yesterday. Our sister church was vandalized. Our brother in the Lord, Pere Laurent, is dead,” he went on, describing the attack that I read about in the paper. My stomach turned leaden.
“The perpetrator has not yet been apprehended. And if he is not taken into custody, he and his followers will continue to run rampant in this city, this country and across the continent, until we, the faithful, put a stop to it.” My mouth went dry. What was he implying?
“This terror attack is horrendous. And the perpetrators will pay with their lives. But in this city, we the faithful are also fighting a war that is not so overt as this blatant act of terror,” the archbishop continued on as light from the stained glass windows bounced off his shiny head. “There is an undercurrent of liberal secularism in this city that threatens our way of life, our values and our children.”
Several people from the congregation murmured in approval. Sweat beaded and prickled in my palms as he spoke. Was it warm in here?
“Though the rest of the continent is embracing the One True Faith, here in Lutesse, many would have you believe that you should be an ‘artist,’” he said, using air quotes, “or a performer. They would turn our daughters into harlots and fornicators. They want them drinking and dancing, and listening to jazz music at clubs instead of at home, having children, taking care of their families. Our sons, they would have become homosexuals. We, as a people of righteous faith, must remember that there is no place for that in a truly good and just society. We must work together to stamp out the spread of liberalism, feminism and secularism.” His voice rose, stronger and stronger as he listed several words I would have used to describe my own lifestyle. I shifted uncomfortably on the hard pew, remembering thatmy own father had died trying to fight against what was being preached here.
Beside me, Seff’s mother nodded fervently. And I found that not only were my palms itching, but my underarms, the backs of my knees and the soles of my feet were all prickling with sweat.
On my other side Seff was mostly still, but I thought I saw his head nod, almost imperceptibly.
“What can we do against such hatred as the terror attack? Against such vitriol that is thrown at us from these secularists? I know it may seem hopeless at times. But fear not. You have more power than you think.” The archbishop’s words, meant to rouse this congregation, seemed to blast a hole in me. “Our dear brother, Deacon Erik, has bought out several locations that are the most grievous perpetrators of the secular agenda. And he will continue to do so until all those establishments have shuttered their doors.”
Well. That explained what he was doing at Montmartre. Aside from drinking like a fish and enjoying the company of women who were decidedlynothis wife. Hypocrite.
“Parents—mothers, fathers,” the archbishop continued, looking into the congregation as he targeted those with young children, “you have the most important job of all. For it is you who will shape the minds of the next generation.”
There was another murmur of agreement from the pews.
“With your guidance, your faith and your absolute authority over your children, you have the power to decide the future of our people. Will you allow your children to become corrupted by the Demon Queen of Hell? Will you stand idly by as they descend into secularism and homosexuality? Would you allow your neighbours to get away with performing witchcraft?”
Murmurs of “no” “not a chance” and “never!” rose up from the crowd.
“So I say, go forth from this church today with renewed fire in your belly, foryouare the dagger in the night.Youare the arrow of our almighty God. And throughyou, we can—no, we must—restore the One True Faith to this city of heresy before we fall like a modern-day Sodom. In our Lord’s name, I say,la verita.”
The crowd murmured back“la verita,”perhaps a little louder now than they had for the call and response songs. He had stirred them. This archbishop with his fiery sermon.
And I wasn’t sure what to think. I knew, with certainty, that the viscount agreed with everything that had been said here today. He was in absolute alignment with Scion, and his not-so-secret plans had been revealed: he was buying up clubs in the city in order to shut them down. I wasn’t sure what kind of financial sense that made, but that was between him and his God.
Seff’s true thoughts were more of a mystery to me. He had never said anything so outwardly venomous. Well. That wasn’t exactly true, was it? That strange encounter with the tattooed woman on the street—hehadsaid similar things. We hadn’t exactly had a lot of conversations about the subject at hand. And I was always so good at changing the subject any time something awkward or uncomfortable came up. Always steering the conversation away from something that would spark an argument between us. I had not made my own feelings known either.
But then there was the way he looked at me: like I was worthy of being at his side. Like I deserved to be loved by someone like him. Like Ibelongedsomewhere. Our history together. I had loved theideaof Seff for so long. I could get along with some differences in beliefs if he would keep looking at me like that, couldn’t I?
Later that eveningI found myself walking along a well-worn haunt along the Sequana. A tempest of thoughts swirled and tumbled through my mind. From the moment I had unknowingly broken my oath to my mother on the rooftop of Montmartre, to that supremely uncomfortable Mass this morning. Everything with Seff. Too many things had happened too quickly and I couldn’t process them all.
I had no intended destination, but my feet carried me to the edge of the river, overlooking the north side of the city. I had a perfect view of that monstrosity of a cathedral as the sun sank below the skyline of the city. The vast canopy above the buildings exploded into shades of brilliant vermillion, deepening into magenta and cerulean before slipping into an expanse of indigo. And the wind was chilly but I was wrapped tightly in my heavy wool coat, guarding against its bite. I leaned on the stone barrier, lost in my swirling thoughts.
“Seraphina, thinking of everything or nothing?” A voice from my right jolted me from my daze. I was pleasantly surprised to see Maren.
“Hello, lovely. Sorry, I wasn’t expecting to see anyone here.” The tumult of thoughts slipped away as I shook my head, kissing my friend on both cheeks. I settled back against the barrier. It was good to have Maren here. She was someone I could confide in—the only person other than Carlotta who could see through my carefully crafted walls.
“What’s on your mind, Fifi?” Maren leaned against the barrier beside me. She took a small packet from an inner pocket of her coat and began to roll a measured amount of dreamweed into a sepia-coloured paper. She held the expertly rolled jointbetween pinched fingers as she struck a match, lit the end and took a deep drag. She offered it to me.
Maren was wound even tighter than I was. Her nerves had been so bad back in ballet school that they almost prevented her from getting on stage in the final showcase. When she found that smoking a small amount of dreamweed could help calm those nerves, she became a completely different person. Confident in a way that I envied—relaxed and settled in her body.
Dreamweed made me into an entirely different person as well, its effects breaking down even my most carefully crafted walls and barriers. It wasn’t something I was comfortable with most of the time. Ilikedmy walls and barriers. They kept me safe and secured—to not have control? To admit thoughts and feelings that I usually kept so close to my chest? That was terrifying on most days. But tonight, I obliged. Tonight I could use something to get me out of my mind for once. I thought of the viscount too. What his reaction would be to finding out I was here smoking the mind-altering substance. It made my decision that much easier as I grabbed the joint.
“Nothing. Everything. It has been an… interesting couple of days,” I said, letting the dreamweed smoke fill my mouth. It sharply bit the back of my throat as I took it deep into my lungs, holding it for a beat and letting it billow out into the crisp dusk air. The herbal taste of the smoke lingered on my tongue. And even though Icouldn’ttalk to Maren about the rooftop, even though I couldn’t quite explain the strange swirl of emotion I had felt since singing that night, I could at least talk to her aboutsomeof what was bothering me.
“Is it Seff?” Maren cocked her head to the side, looking me over. “Are we feeling conflicted about him?” She took the joint back from me, taking another puff.
“Hmm…” She was perceptive. I hadn’t told her about our fight at Montmartre, but she had picked up on it anyway. Igrabbed the dreamweed from Maren and took another long drag.
“Don’t change the subject, Fifi.”
