Page 26 of She Who Was Once the Sea

In any case, like a half-wild horse pulling unwillingly against a metal bit, I turned around once more, placed my hands in my pockets, and began walking, trying to think of literally anything to keep my mind off Marella and what appeared to be the most perfect set of breasts I could have ever imagined…

I shook the image from my mind.

Chicago. I should remember Chicago. Remember what brought me here in the first place.

Regardless of how much I desperately wanted to forget the series of events that led to me uprooting my life, moving to Italy, and joining the Fratelli, I decided that between that and becoming visibly aroused in public, I’d choose the unpleasant memories.

I saw my ex-girlfriend, eyes filled with tears as she stood in the tiny kitchen of our tiny apartment with suitcases at her feet.

I feel like I don’t know you anymore.

I saw my old boss, frowning between me and his computer screen while reading my "below expectations" employee evaluation record.

I can see that you have potential, Garrett. I just don’t know how to motivate you.

I saw myself, staring at a cardboard box filled with office paraphernalia, sitting alone in an apartment stripped of decoration, sipping red wine directly from the bottle while an endless stream of YouTube videos played in the background.

I don’t know how to make myself care about anything.

I remembered the opening lines of a video that played through the darkness of my dining room at three in the morning, long after I’d stopped paying attention but before I could fully pass out.

"Did you know that there’s an ancient group of monster hunters in Rossaia, Italy? And they’ll sponsor a work visa for anyone who volunteers to join them…"

I let myself ruminate on the months of bureaucracy and consulate appointments, of paperwork, emails, and phone calls that followed as I filled out the surprisingly easy-to-find application on a whim. Despite the fact that most people thought the Fratelli were simply an ancient order of—let’s be honest—nutcases akin to the Bigfoot hunters in the Pacific Northwest, they were apparently recognized as a legitimate organization. And while I received more than a few chuckles and eye rolls from government employees throughout the process, no one questioned the validity of my employment.

"Garrett."

I found myself wondering about how much the Italian government actually knew about the Fratelli and their—our—activities.

"Garrett!"

Surely, if they were willing to fast-track work visas for new members, they must know something about the reality of Rossaia’s monster problem…

"GARRETT!"

But if that were the case, wouldn’t there be more talk of the truth in the general public? Officially, the job for which I was hired was not "monster hunter," and I knew that the Fratelli did not call themselves such on official documents (we were considered some sort of missionary operation). But our work was also treated as an open secret among the people of Rossaia. In the brief time I’d been in the city, I’d experienced everything from respect to outright derision, and even a few instances of amused admiration from tourists who wanted photographs.

We were left to clean up an ancient problem for the country, while those in charge acted as though we were the crazy ones.

"GARRETT!"

I nearly screamed as a heavy hand came down upon my shoulder from behind, and as I wheeled around, I found Lucas staring at me with open confusion and a little amusement.

He raised his eyebrows and cocked his head. "A bit distracted, are we?" he asked, leaning around me to open the door beside me with a key from his pocket. It was only then that I realized I’d wandered all the way back to the monastery, and I’d been standing outside for several minutes.

"No," I replied hastily, following him through the heavy door.

His only response was a derisive snort.

We were silent as we made our way through the mezzanine and into the elevator. It was obvious that he had questions for me, but neither of us was stupid enough to bring up Marella in a communal space; the Fratelli had this place far too covered by cameras to risk conversation.

I half hoped that he would leave me (and the subject in general) alone entirely. But when we reached the dormitory level of the monastery, he followed me down the hall and to my room, crossing his arms as I unlocked the door, then practically shoving me into the small space before slamming it shut behind us.

"Garrett," he repeated. "What the fuck, man?"

I sighed and let myself fall onto the bed, running my fingers through my hair. A part of me debated outright lying to him; there was no way for Lucas to know for sure who—or what—Marella was. I could simply say that I knew her from somewhere else, maybe from back home, and hope that he would let it go…

But a bigger part of me knew that Lucas was smarter than that. And if I wanted any chance of convincing him to not immediately run to Fratelli leadership and report me, I’d have to respect him enough to be honest.