Page 69 of The Wickedness of Man

Iknocked at the large wooden doors just outside of the archbishop’s chambers and waited, gripping my cane in both hands. I didn’t know where I would start; how much I could reveal. Harry’s interference was going to be problematic, as it usually was, but this time, he was set on winning the damned prize and reclaiming the succubus Carmilla de Mornay for his father, and that would blind him to the truth of just how deeply embroiled he truly was in his father’s plots.

A veiled sister opened the door and ushered me in to the archbishop’s study. I cast a glance around; I’d always hated this place. The round room held stacks of books on the shelves going back to the original manuscripts that the monks at the Monastery of Gethsemane had transcribed, by hand, some as early as the late 1300s, some as recent as the late 1800s. There were jars filled with bits and pieces of failed experiments; infant demons, animals, and even human fetuses in formaldehyde; parts of demons—werewolf claws, vampire fangs… even the stinger from a lamia’s tail. Should any modern-day scientists ever catch sight of this place, the mysteries they could unlock would rewrite world history as humanity knew it. The sheer amount of “pseudo” sciences that would simplybecome“sciences” might destroy mankind’s understanding of itself.

There were vials, jars, a million other little bits here and there I’d never been able to identify. In the center of the room were two couches and a low coffee table in front of a large wooden desk and a leather chair.

Behind that were two stained-glass windows with light streaming in behind them—completely artificial, of course, given how far down the labyrinthian tunnels of the organization’s underground lair we were. It showed the cliffside and ocean view from the Monastery of Gethsemane in England as it had been visible from Benedict’s office there. At the edge of the cliff, facing out toward the ocean, was a barefoot woman dressed completely in white, blonde hair blowing in the wind, her face half turned over her shoulder as if she was about to speak, a sad smile on her face.

He’d told several of us, on numerous occasions, how he had made the artists painstakingly recreate every detail he’d described until it was perfect. When Harry had just stated that it would have been easier if he’d had a camera put outside the window that could cast the live feed from the monastery onto a digital screen here, the archbishop started hitting him until four other bishops—myself included—were forced to intervene. I’d always hated the image, for some reason I couldn’t name. Too gloomy—too solemn. Something about the look in the woman’s face made me feel a strange sense of loss.

The man—or rather the demon, Archbishop Osbert Benedict himself—sat at his desk, his head leaned back, eyes closed in delight, completely nude. I could feel the sexual energy in the air, but I did my best to pretend not to notice. He did this sometimes just to get at me, as he did to many of us. I cleared my throat, and the archbishop let out a deep, satisfied moan, slipping both hands under his desk as he lifted severalinches from his seat, leathery wings spread out behind him and thankfully blocking the light from the fake window display. It cast him largely into darkness, and then he collapsed, panting heavily as another veiled nun crawled out from beneath the desk and then made her way through a door to the right of the room, wiping her mouth with a handkerchief as she resettled her veil.

“Ah, Jax, a moment, please.”

The nun who’d answered the door handed him one of his priestly robes and helped him into it, then followed her compatriot out of the room when he dismissed her with a wave of his hand. I averted my gaze as he tied the robe over himself, shrinking back into the form that was as close as he could get to his predemonic appearance these days. He still looked stunningly monstrous and would certainly never be mistaken for anything entirely human—except perhaps at a distance.

Agreatdistance.

“You come bearing news, I take it?” said the archbishop as he settled back into his chair.

I took several slow steps forward and stood in front of the desk.

Forgive me, Caleb… I don’t know how they got this information so quickly.

“Yes. I received a report earlier from the special investigators to deliver to you. Apparently, a new cambion by the name of Magdalene Church recently awakened, but… I have a concern.”

“Oh?” Benedict smiled, steepling his long, clawed fingers. “Please, continue.”

“There is a list of every known cambion in the city sitting in my office,” I said, lowering my voice despite knowing that nothing said here would be repeated anywhere else. Benedict’s office was the only place within the organization that had been completely protected against intrusion. “Her name was not onit, and she was apparently avirgin cambionat twenty-six-years old.”

…Until Caleb got to her, that is.

“She wasn’t on the list because she wasn’t meant to be,” said the bishop evenly. “How did the teams verify it was her?”

I was dismayed to discover that the girl was already known to him; in fact, his nonchalance had me downright panicked. The pieces of this puzzle were beginning to fall into place, but with as much importance as Benedict placed on secrecy, ironically, he wasn’t normally good atkeepingthings secret. He largely relied on those of us who ran the organization to ensure his private affairs remained that way.

My stomach twisted into a knot; if Benedict knew—then it confirmed my suspicion that he’d allowed Harry to use Caleb on purpose… Which meant that I may been instrumental in moving the archbishop’s pawns into place exactly where he’d wanted them, too. Harry was still chasing down Carmilla, but it was clear from the discussion that for once, she wasn’t the target of Benedict’s focus.

“…Jax? You were saying?” he said, peering at me in that strange, rigid manner that made him look completely inhuman.

“Ah. Yes, apologies, I was lost in thought. You know that your son declared that he was making his attempt to capture Carmilla de Mornay recently, and so she has been under surveillance for the past two weeks. On Saturday, Carmilla made an unexpected appointment midafternoon with a young woman, which resulted in quite a few things occurring in the interim—” Benedict’s eyes started to narrow, and I hurried to answer. “A few hours ago, two of our former university members called the monitoring line and reported that their ward, Magdalene Church, a succubus cambion, hadn’t been in contact with them and has not returned to her home.”

“I see. And this troubles you how…?” said Benedict. There was a devilish hint of excitement in his eyes, as if he was waiting for me to give him more information so he could gloat.

I looked down at the carpet and drew in a deep breath. “Sir, you tasked me with the documentation of every cambion that entered the city, awakened or otherwise, yet I did not have information on the girl. Why?”

“Because I didn’t think you needed to know. It’s an interesting series of coincidences, to be sure, but that doesn’t sound likegoodnews, Jax—just like it has the potential to be.”

Evasive as ever, the old bastard.

“…No sir, but it would have helped me to be informed, so that I could have planned things accordingly, given the complications that arouse,” I groused. “Harry was?—”

“What was it he was trying to do again?” Benedict asked, standing and walking to a small wet bar nearby his desk. He lifted a bottle and poured himself a whiskey but didn’t offer me anything. “Something about capturing a demon?”

“Carmilla de Mornay, if you recall me saying?—”

“Ah, yes. Continue.”

“Harry picked a team of agents, including Caleb Knight, to hunt her down?—”

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