Chapter Text
“We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed.”
Beatrice murmured the familiar scripture, barely audible in the echoing expanse of the nave. Controlling the flow of her breaths, she moved from the held warrior pose. She dropped her hands to the cold stone floor, and rocked forwards, into the crane pose. Tensing her core, she shifted the weight of her body to her hands. Her shoulders activated. Her feet left the ground.
“We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body.”
She held the position. Her mind stilled, the physical injuries she still carried fading to a series of impotent aches. Her breath came, steady and true. The Vatican — their flight — their loss — all of it, washed away like so many sandcastles by the ocean of her prayer.
“For we who are alive are always being given over to death for Jesus’ sake, so that his life may also be revealed in our mortal body.”
She’d have preferred to run, really. To lose herself in the rhythmic pounding of her feet, the burn in her lungs, the strain in her chest. To run until she couldn’t any more, from this no-name town near Milan, far away to where none of it mattered and no one could find her.
But there was nowhere for her to go; there never had been. Not on God’s earth. Her place was with her sisters. Her duty was to the Halo.
To Ava.
Besides, Mother Superion had been clear. Stick together. No one was to go off alone. One person was to watch Ava, at all times, still sleeping like the dead ever since she’d passed out in the back of their hotwired Citroen, mere minutes away from the Vatican. A second was to watch Lilith, quiet and strange and still and otherworldly, something beyond heaven and earth, now.
And that left one. One to rattle around in the silence of the church they’d claimed sanctuary at, to run inventory (they had nothing), to make their strategy (they knew nothing), to keep the sorry remnants of the once mighty Order of the Cruciform Sword hobbling along, fulfilling a purpose that Adriel had blown apart in front of God’s own representative on Earth.
They were nothing.
“So then, death is at work in us, but life is at work in you.”
Beatrice straightened out of the pose, rocking back to the balls of her feet and rolling her shoulders. The sun was creeping up, and vivid rays of light were spilling through the stained glass windows to cast a warm glow on the old stone of the church. It cast the pulpit in stark relief, though it threw only greater shadows across the empty rows of pews.
Perspiration trickled down the back of her neck, chilling her. Habitually, she went to arrange her veil. But it was gone, along with her habit and robes, her uniform and her armour. Her head was uncovered, bared to God’s unflinching gaze.
Shaking her head at the fanciful notion, Beatrice left the nave. She crossed the transept, and slipped through the old wooden door at the northern end of the church, which led to their humble accommodation.
The local priest had permitted them use of the old dormitories, where the clergy had once lived. Now, it was largely held ready out of a traditional adherence to abstract notions of sanctuary and charity. The space was small and spartan, containing two narrow beds and an aged, wobbly chair and table. They’d deposited Ava on one mattress when they’d arrived, two nights ago, while Mother Superion had silently claimed the other, sending Beatrice an arch glare as she did (though she really hadn’t been about to say anything). Lilith had sat at the table, back straight, hands entirely still, mind a thousand miles away. She hadn’t moved for hours at a time.
So Beatrice and Camila had taken turns. While one slept fitfully with their back to Mother Superion, the other kept vigil at Ava’s side, checking for pulse and breath, murmuring a prayer or watchword, hoping and waiting for a start, a sigh, a sign that she was about to pull herself out of whatever otherworldly realm she’d found herself trapped in.
Now, the scene that presented itself to Beatrice was a familiar one. A haunting one. Camila, humming a soft hymn over Ava’s prone form. The dormitory was otherwise empty.
“Where are the others?” Beatrice asked, her voice loud in the stillness of the chamber.
Camila didn’t react to her entrance. “Mother Superion took Lilith. Maybe ten minutes ago. I think they’re talking in the chapter house.”
To be a fly on the wall of that conversation. “How is she?” Beatrice asked, without expectation, and the evenness of her tone still surprised her. Maybe she was still in shock. She hadn’t cried. Not like Camila had, as they’d peeled away from Rome, leaving Mary behind.
Camila smiled sadly. “No change. She murmured a little, in her sleep, before.”
Beatrice hadn’t expected anything different. But nonetheless, her heart sank, just a little more, and she wondered how low it could get; how deep her reserves of faith could truly stretch. “It’s been two days, Camila. Maybe she won’t wake up. Maybe... she can’t.” Immediately, she wished she could take it back, clenching her jaw shut. Ava’s chest rose slightly, and fell again.
Camila looked up at her, then, but without reproach. She stood from the bed, and approached her. “‘Why art thou cast down, O my soul? and why art thou disquieted within me? hope in God…’” she murmured softly, taking Beatrice’s hands in her own.
“‘...for I shall yet praise him, who is the health of my countenance, and my God.’” Beatrice finished the recitation. Psalm 43. A call to hope. Camila’s eyes were still bright. She was giving that hope to her sister-warrior.
Beatrice pressed her eyes shut and took a breath. The younger woman was right. To despair was to abandon faith. She squeezed Camila’s smaller hands, taking strength from her certainty and her trust. Together, they returned to Ava’s side.
She looked even younger in sleep, and innocent. There were no physical injuries: the Halo had healed the abrasions from her body before they’d even got out of the city limits. But still, she slept, unmoving and unseeing. Beatrice took a limp hand in hers, a soft hand; a hand that had been barely used in a too-short lifetime. She turned it over, and pressed two fingers to the delicate skin of Ava’s wrist. The pulse still fluttered under the surface, strong and steady. Beatrice let her hand linger there, thumb ghosting over the delicate bones of Ava’s wrist. Right now, in this suspended reality, the moments between what happened then and what happens next — she could take that liberty. Indulge in that temptation.
It could go no further.
Camila looked away, her expression growing serious. But they both sat there, next to Ava, in silence, as the moments ticked by, until they were interrupted by the characteristic tap of Mother Superion’s cane. The old wooden door creaked open. “Sisters,” the Mother Superion said, calmly, her rich, deep voice penetrating the stillness of the room, “with me.”
Camila stood, but Beatrice hesitated. “We should stay with her.”
“Come now, we aren’t going far.” A note of familiar impatience crept into Mother Superion’s voice, her eyes boring into Beatrice’s. “Just outside the door, child.”
Reluctantly, she dropped Ava’s hand, and followed the pair, to stand just outside of the room. Mother Superion closed the door behind them, cutting off any possibility of a stirring Halo-bearer overhearing their conversation.
“Where’s Sister Lilith, Mother Superion?” Camila asked, dark eyes flashing between them.
“Gone,” was the terse response. Beatrice felt the breath leave her lungs — another one — and Camila gasped, but the question had barely formed on her lips when the older woman held up a hand, forestalling them. “Let me explain, please.” She apparently wasn’t in a hurry to do so, however, and studied them both for an agonising moment. “Sister Beatrice. What do you think should be our next move?”
Beatrice started at the question, habitually straightening up under her leader’s scrutiny. Still, she was being trained, and tested; fortunately, she was prepared. She’d had little else to think about for the past two and a half days. “If we put aside — Ava’s condition — for a moment, we have two priorities right now.” She sketched it out as she spoke. “Firstly, there’s Adriel. We might not know what he is, but we know he communes with wraith demons. That means he is — of hell. So we need to find and defeat Adriel, whatever and wherever he is— ” she paused, and Mother Superion nodded, ever so slightly, “and keep Adriel away from the Halo. It’s something he wants, or needs, to achieve his goals, and he’ll kill Ava for it.” For the first time, something in her voice trembled. Her hands twitched. She swallowed the sensation, and clasped her hands behind her back.
“Indeed.” Mother Superion looked keenly between her and Camila. “So we must understand and vanquish this denizen of hell, and we must also continue to protect the Halo Bearer.”
There was a note of silence. They looked between each other.
“We can’t go back to Cat’s Cradle.” Camila pointed out. “We can’t go anywhere the Order has used, or has been. Not now that Father Vincent has betrayed us.”
Father Vincent. The thought of him sparked a sour note of anger through Beatrice’s torso and limbs; a rusty, bitter tang that made her breath hitch and her fists clench at the small of her back.
She shifted on her feet, and both the sisters’ attention returned to her. Beatrice pushed the fury away. “We have to call on our resources, though. And those of the Church. We can’t fight this alone. We need information, and manpower,” she said instead. “Where does the Pope stand with us? Now that we know he wasn’t responsible for— ” Sister Shannon.
Still, Shannon was with them. She’d never leave them. A hand on their shoulders. A chain around their ankles.
Mother Superion again looked at her inscrutably. “His Holiness, despite our… disagreements… remains our benefactor. But you know we work in the shadows. The further away we stay from Rome, the better it is for him and for us.” She looked at Camila. “Sister Beatrice is right. We need to call upon our sisters. We of Andalusia may be only four, but we have other chapters to turn to for aid. But, as you say, child, we cannot take the Halo Bearer with us.” her words began to pick up speed, and Beatrice, suddenly and clearly, saw where she was going. She knew what they’d have to do. “Camila, you and I will leave Milan this morning. We will go to the other chapters, and quickly. Spread the word, warn them of Vincent’s treachery, and gain their support.” Camila nodded, her obedience to the head of the chapter unflinching, though there was a question in her eyes.
“Sister Beatrice,” Mother Superion continued, fingers flexing around her cane, “you are now the most senior able Sister Warrior of our chapter. It falls upon you to guide and protect the Halo Bearer. You need to take her somewhere safe, somewhere you can lay low. And you must train her for whatever is coming — to face whatever Adriel is.” Beatrice flinched, the news expected, but hurting no less. Their sisterhood was fracturing. Shannon. Mary. Lilith. Camila. Superion. All of them, lost to her. Only Ava remained. The Halo Bearer, and her charge. Her responsibility.
She hesitated. “Mother Superion, I don’t know — ”
“What? You don’t know if you can do it?” The older woman’s gaze turned flinty, pitiless. “You already were, before that mess in Rome. And even if we could bring another senior Sister here, from the Madrid chapter, or Munich, or Krakow, do you think she would trust them? No. It has to be you, Sister Beatrice. No one else can get through to her.”
Beatrice squeezed her hands together, the fury awoken earlier by thoughts of Vincent freezing and cracking, and turning to a strange jangling terror. “I — alright. I know. I know. I just —” The sensation of Ava’s wrist under her fingers ghosted over her. Her cheeks under her hands. She couldn’t think about that. Couldn’t let it be real. “What about Sister Lilith?”
“Lilith is changed.” Mother Superion responded, curtly. “She should not have returned, but she did. We must consider the possibility that she has a connection to Adriel’s realm. To his corruption.” Camila made a pained noise, but the Mother didn’t waver. “I sent Lilith away. She has her own cross to bear. And she cannot know where Ava is until we understand her nature.”
Beatrice took a shaky breath. “Alright.” She didn’t vocalise all the reasons, all the protests, all the doubts that were ricocheting around her skull.
“Camila,” Mother Superion said instead, “pack up our things. We leave in fifteen minutes.” Camila nodded and returned to the dormitory, leaving Beatrice and the older nun there in the vestibule alone.
Cruella de Jesus. The preoccupations of the child Beatrice had once been. When Mother Superion had been as bad as it got.
“Mother Superion,” she said instead, the words coming out of their own accord, “I can’t —”
“You can, Beatrice.” The softness of the response took Beatrice by surprise, and she looked up. The Mother took a few steps towards her, and there was something almost like love in those eyes.
“I’m not—” What? Ready? Worthy? Clean? She stuttered, letting the statement drop unfinished from her lips. She wasn’t any of them. To train a warrior nun— to train Ava — it invited failure. It invited temptation. It was dangerous.
“Sister Beatrice,” Mother Superion said eventually, “I have watched you since the very first day you arrived at our order, five years ago. Do you remember?”
She did remember. She’d graduated boarding school in Basel that summer, top of her class. The school’s priest had, via several indirect channels, referred her to the Order, and she’d been deployed to the Andalusia chapter. She’d thought she’d found an answer to her prayers. She’d been fresh and keen and newly reinvigorated in her faith, her redemption, her purpose.
She’d promptly spent the first six months at Cat’s Cradle being dumped on her backside by the other sisters. But she’d stuck it out. She’d trusted her calling. And she’d refused to countenance her failure.
“You struggled. You battled. You made yourself worthy. You learned and you grew and you pledged yourself utterly to God. And you have never wavered. Do you know,” the Mother continued, “how rare a faith that is? And how rare a devotion you have?”
She shook her head, because it wasn’t real, it wasn’t honest, it was fear and weakness and desperate desperate pain, all of it making amends for something that she’d never chosen and never been able to stop, and yet it was all that she was and all that she had—
“I’m a sinner,” Beatrice breathed, the words struggling their way out of her. “I’m not worthy of this. Of her—”
“Sister Beatrice, we are all sinners.” Her superior reached out and put a heavy hand on her shoulder. “That is why the Lord sent his one and only Son to us, to grant us grace from our sin. I know your sin, Sister. Do you think me blind?”
Beatrice forgot to breathe at that. She froze, staring at the Mother Superion, heart racing and thoughts tumbling one after the other. She’d always kept her vows; never for a moment had she strayed. How could she have been exposed for what she was?
“To love another totally, and selflessly; that is one of God’s greatest gifts,” the Mother said, more softly than Beatrice had ever heard her speak. “Your capacity for love is no sin, Beatrice, regardless of who may receive its warmth. It is how He made you. Psalm 139. Read it again.”
A psalm she knew well; one she had often read, and reread, through tears.
“But, Sister, remember your vows. You are dedicated to God. Not to any man. Or woman. Ava Silva is the Halo Bearer. And you are her guide and her sister warrior. Such are your vows and your purpose.”
Beatrice clenched her jaw. She had no response to the Holy Mother’s words. They were nothing she had not told herself before. After a moment, the Mother patted her on the shoulder, once, twice— and pulled her hand back. “You will need to stay here until Ava wakes. I have already arranged for passports for you both. They should arrive within a couple of days. Take her somewhere you will both be safe. And train her, Sister. Train her to be a warrior of God.”
Beatrice nodded mutely. There was nothing else to say. The Mother Superion gave her one last, appraising look. “And now, if there is nothing else, I will pray for our safety and success, in His name.” She turned away from Beatrice, towards the main body of the deserted Church, and hobbled away, her cane tapping a sharp, staccato rhythm against the stone which echoed behind her.
Dazed, Beatrice returned to the dormitory. Camila was throwing scant belongings haphazardly into a dusty holdall she’d found under one of the beds. Her eyes were red; tears were trickling down her cheeks. At Beatrice’s entrance, she dropped the bag and rushed to her, throwing her arms around Beatrice’s middle with all her might. Beatrice swayed, and steadied them both, wrapping her arms around the shorter girl’s shoulders, taking comfort in the warmth of her embrace.
“I don’t want to leave you, Bea,” Camila admitted shakily against her, “either of you.”
Beatrice tightened her grip. “I know,” she responded, swallowing down the emotion, “I don’t want you to go, either. But you have to. This is our duty.”
“Sometimes duty sucks,” Camila muttered, and Beatrice couldn’t hold back a smile.
“I think Ava’s rubbing off on you,” she teased gently.
“Maybe we all need to be a little more like Ava.” After a moment, Camila straightened and pulled away, giving her shoulder a squeeze before she returned to her holdall. “Help me pack?”
Beatrice looked around the barren room, nonplussed. “I think you’ve got it covered,” she said eventually. Camila gave a watery laugh. She zipped up the bag, mostly empty.
Ava hadn’t moved. Out of habit, Beatrice sat at her bedside and took her arm, to check her pulse again. It still beat, steady and strong.
The slim wrist flexed. Ava’s fingers curled, grasping her pinkie; a cool, soft touch which made her start.
Beatrice couldn't contain a gasp. “Ava?”
The girl’s long eyelashes fluttered, once, twice— and there they were. Bleary, warm brown eyes, taking her in. “... Beatrice…” Ava’s eyes closed again; her throat bobbed. Her hand tightened around Beatrice’s, and their palms met. A ringing rose in Beatrice’s ears.
Camila almost tripped over the bedpost as she raced to them. “Ava?”
Ava’s shoulders flexed; clumsily, she tried to push herself upright, but her arms gave way. Beatrice, instinctively, reached out and grabbed her firmly, a hand grasping her under each armpit. Camila helped her to prop Ava up against the headboard.
“Holy fucking hell,” Ava muttered indistinctly, an expression so inappropriate and unhelpful and entirely Ava that Beatrice couldn’t contain a relieved smile. “That was a kick.”
Beatrice felt like the ground had momentarily disappeared from under her; that queasy feeling of missing a step, only to find the next solid and steady underfoot. Her relief made her lightheaded. She stared at Ava, pale and fragile, and vital and alive and indescribably beautiful, and felt a traitorous swelling of tears behind her eyes. Her hands hadn’t moved from Ava’s sides.
“Here, you must be parched,” Camila said urgently, placing a glass of water to her lips. Ava sipped obediently, then seemed to remember what water was and wrapped clumsy hands around the glass.
She spilled half of it down her front, draped in too-large men’s pyjamas. “Oh — shit—”
Camila took the glass back before she could shatter it.
“How are you feeling?” Beatrice found her voice, unable to stop an urgent note creeping into the question.
Ava looked at her, really looked at her, with something so warm, and she felt her face burning up. “I’m okay. I mean— not thriving. Kind of … hungover. Tired. I think? I don’t remember how— where are we? How long was I out?” She looked between them in growing confusion, and down at the pyjamas Camila had found in the bare cupboards and pulled onto her that first night.
“It’s okay,” Beatrice couldn’t help uttering the reassurance, and her hand went to Ava’s shoulder instead — seeing how real she felt, how corporeal, how permanent. “We’re near Milan. We drove about 6 hours from the Vatican. And you’ve been unconscious for —” she pretended to think, pretended that she hadn’t been counting every minute — “about 60 hours now. Two and a half days.” She tried incredibly hard not to let her hand drift to Ava’s soft neck, her thumb to the bow of her lips.
“Holy —” Ava looked between her and Camila, seeming stunned. “Holy shit.” Absently, her hand entwined with Beatrice’s spare one, sitting awkwardly in her lap. Beatrice, meanwhile, failed in her endeavours. Her fingers grazed the tendon of Ava’s neck; her thumb, traitorously, desperately, found the corner of her jaw. She could have sworn Ava leaned into the touch.
“I’m so glad you’re alright!” Camila exclaimed, throwing her arms around Ava, and Beatrice took back her hands as Ava responded to the hug.
“You too, shortstack,” Ava smiled, and Beatrice only missed her touch for a moment. It had been a small indiscretion, over now.
“I just — I can’t believe we have to leave,” Camila said sadly, pulling away from Ava, glancing between them both.
“What do you mean?” the Halo Bearer blinked, looking for all the world like an overtired infant.
Camila looked helplessly at Beatrice, who gritted her teeth for a second. “We’re splitting up, Ava. Mother Superion and Camila — they’re going to find help from the rest of the Order. We’re —” she hesitated, thinking of how best to phrase it, “you and I are going to go into hiding.”
“Into hiding?” Ava repeated, nonplussed. “Where into hiding? What about Mary, and Lilith —”
Beatrice put a tentative hand on her back. She couldn’t help it — she could feel the faintest thrum of the Halo when she did it. It was there now, murmuring steady and low against her fingertips. “We don’t know. Lilith has her own mission.”
“And Mary?” Ava asked again, a wobble creeping into her voice. She looked up from her lap to Beatrice.
She just shook her head. “We don’t know if she got out of the Vatican. We had to run.” She couldn’t let herself think about it — that last cry from Mary, how she’d vanished under waves of the possessed, fighting the whole way down.
Ava stared at her, uncomprehending. Then, Beatrice saw her jaw tense and a furrow appear in the smooth skin between her brows, and realised she was holding back tears. Ava dropped her head to Beatrice’s shoulder, seeming, for once, lost for words.
Beatrice, automatically, wrapped an arm around her shoulders, holding her in place. Camila sat at Ava’s other side, and took her hand. “I’m glad you guys are okay,” Ava mumbled, and the movement of her hair and lips tickled the sensitive skin of Beatrice’s neck. She held very, very still.
“Camila.” Mother Superion stood in the doorway, face expressionless. “It’s time to go.”
Camila gave their hands one last squeeze and stood, throwing the holdall over her shoulder. “Be safe, sisters,” she managed shakily. Mother Superion put a hand on the girl’s shoulder, and turned her attention to Beatrice and Ava, perched on the bed. Ava had stiffened against Beatrice’s side, and Beatrice tried to still her thumb, drawing circles on the curve of her shoulder.
“Halo Bearer,” Mother Superion said, evenly, “I am glad to see you’re awake, but this is where we leave you. In my absence, you must obey Sister Beatrice. Without question and without argument. She is to train you, protect you, and guide you to be the Warrior Nun the Order needs— the world needs. Do you understand?”
For a wild second, Beatrice wondered if Ava would refuse. Or even worse, if she would fob them off and flee the first chance she got. Throw caution to the wind for one more dance, one more drink, one more tryst. Something clenched painfully around her ribcage at the notion.
Ava straightened from Beatrice’s shoulder and nodded once, jerkily. “Yes. I understand— Mother Superion.” The name fell oddly from Ava’s lips, her mouth unused to the Spanish title.
“Good.” Mother Superion looked between them both like she wanted to say something else. Her brow furrowed again, a rare expression of indecision. “May God bless and keep you, children. We will see one another again. In this life or the next.”
“In this life or the next,” Beatrice and Camila murmured softly. Ava was silent.
It was only after the pair at the door had left, the old wooden door slamming behind them with an air of finality, that Ava turned to Beatrice again in her overlarge pyjamas. “Okay. What the hell do we do now?”