Stella Maris (The Legendary Rosaries) Read online

  “Catherine seemed to think so, and I saw your car parked across the road from the church. You were going to kill her, like you killed the nun, so don’t lie to me.”

  “It wasn’t me,” he repeated, his face twisting in sorrow. “I would never have hurt Cecile.” He squeezed his eyes shut, tears pushing out the corners.

  “Then, who?”

  “My cousin Michael.” He spat the name out as though it was a curse word. “I can’t control him, he’s too strong.” He opened his eyes. “I can’t live like this anymore, can’t live in this hellish prison for a second longer.”

  He pushed out of bed and went to his cabinet, shifting through the drawers, eventually removing his rosary. Clutching it to his chest, he headed for the door in his nightclothes, the flannel hanging off his withered body. He no longer resembled the tall, muscular man who’d stepped off the plane just a few weeks ago. It was as though he was a totally different person.

  I followed him to the front door. “What are you doing, Nonno?” I asked as he pushed it open.

  “I’m not your grandfather.” He stepped outside into the cold night. His rosary lit up, the red glow breaking up the darkness.

  I followed him around the side of the house. “Why would you say that?” I asked, not believing him for a second, even though his words still hurt.

  Ignoring me, he dropped to his knees in front of some rose bushes and started digging at the ground with one hand, his other one still clutching the rosary.

  Realising what he was about to do, I yelled “No!” and lunged for the rosary, snatching it out of his hand before he could lower it to its shallow grave.

  He scrambled to his feet, his expression panicked. “Give it back!” he screamed, taking a swipe at the rosary.

  I whipped it behind my back. “No! You were going to bury it.”

  “That’s my decision to make, not yours, so return it at once.” He held out his hand.

  “No, Nonno, burying it could get you killed.”

  “Precisely! I want to die.”

  I shook my head, not believing my ears. “This isn’t like you. You’re not the type to kill yourself. You’re strong. You’d hand your own mother over to the devil just to survive.”

  “That’s not me, that’s Michael.”

  “You’re not making sense,” I said, wondering whether he’d gone senile.

  He continued ranting, “I can’t let him continue, can’t let him keep hurting people. I have to take this opportunity now, destroy him before it’s too late. So please, I’m begging you, give me the rosary.”

  I shook my head and took a step back, intending on taking it to my father, anything to get it out of my grandfather’s reach.

  “You have to give it back!” he screamed. “He killed my child. My child! He deserves to rot in Hell!”

  My heart leapt into my throat, the absence of my mother filling me with terror. “Where’s Mamma?”

  “I’m not talking about her! I’m talking about my daughter!”

  “She is your daughter.”

  “No, she’s Michael’s child.”

  I didn’t reply, my grandfather definitely having lost his marbles. Approaching footsteps yanked my attention away from him. I exhaled with relief as my father appeared around the corner with a flame in his hand.

  His eyes widened at the sight of my grandfather. “What the hell happened to your face?” he asked, heading for him.

  My grandfather stumbled back. “Don’t come near me, demon!”

  My father stopped in his tracks. “I’m not a demon.”

  “You are.” My grandfather’s gaze moved to me. “You are too. You’re all demons!” He went for me.

  My father shot in front of him, the two of them colliding. My grandfather let out a pained howl as he hit the ground, my father falling on top of him.

  My father scrambled off him. “Are you all right, Papà?”

  My grandfather’s face went from agonised to furious. He lunged for my father, looking like he was going to strangle him. My father grabbed his wrists and forced him to the ground. My grandfather thrashed about, trying to get free, screaming about demons and hellfire, totally losing his mind.

  My father shot me a worried look over his shoulder. “Get your mother!”

  His words sparked me into action. I sprinted for the front door, bounding through it. I burst into my parents’ room, startling my mother awake. Before she could yell at me, I blurted out, “Nonno’s gone nuts. He tried to bury his rosary and is fighting with Papà outside. He’s also aged dramatically.”

  My mother shoved her covers off and jumped out of bed. Without a word, she rushed past me in her nightie, heading in the opposite direction.

  “Wrong way, Mamma! He’s by the rose bushes.”

  She ignored me and disappeared through the library door. I followed her inside, finding her unlocking the glass cabinet. She grabbed The Book of the Rosary and opened it up to what appeared to be a hidden compartment, removing a—

  Halo rosary.

  She tore past me with the white rosary. Stunned she had one, I followed her outside. My father was still forcibly holding my grandfather down, who was struggling uselessly against him. My mother dropped to his side and raised the rosary. He screamed, “No!” as she forced it over his head. Next thing, bright light shot out from the rosary. My parents scrambled away from my grandfather as it lit up his body. His arms flung out to his side as though he was nailed to a cross, instead of flattened against the cold, damp ground. I stared in awe, never having seen a Halo rosary work before. I hadn’t even seen one. Halo Merges kept to themselves, rarely associating with other Merges. I didn’t have a clue how my mother would’ve gotten one of their rosaries, especially since she wasn’t a Halo. My immediate family were all Seraphim, while Stephen’s were a mixture of Seraphim and Terras.

  But it didn’t matter. The Halo rosary was still working. My grandfather’s aging was reversing before my eyes, like a video being rewound. The power of the beads was erasing his wrinkles and filling out his sunken cheeks, repairing the damage.

  My mother dropped back down and removed the Halo rosary, instantly putting out the light. She waved her hand at me and my father, instructing us to carry my grandfather inside. I pocketed my nonno’s rosary and helped my father get him back to his room. We laid him down on his bed. My grandfather blinked up at us. He no longer looked panicked—or quite so old. The Halo rosary had shaved off a couple of decades, my grandfather now appearing in his sixties.

  His confused gaze roamed over us. “What are you doing in my room?”

  “You tried to bury your rosary,” I replied.

  His eyes went wide. “Did I succeed?”

  I shook my head. “I said tried.” I removed the rosary from my pocket.

  My grandfather reached for it.

  I stuffed the rosary back into my pocket. “You’re not getting it; you’ll only try to bury it again.”

  “I won’t. I wasn’t myself.” He pushed out of bed and held his hand out. “So, give it to me.”

  “No.”

  His face turned angry. “How dare you—”

  “Papà,” my father cut him off. “He saved you, so go light on the boy. He did good by you tonight.”

  My grandfather’s jaw clenched. “Fine, but I still want my rosary back.”

  “Well, I’m not giving it back,” I replied, unwilling to risk it.

  My grandfather growled, “You need to study your culture more rather than paying so much heed to humans, because if you did, you’d know the rosary is perfectly safe in my hands.”

  “Yeah, so safe you almost buried it.”

  He shook his head at me, irritation curling his upper lip. “Then give it to your father if you don’t trust me.”

  Knowing my father would keep it safe, I pulled the rosary out of my pocket and handed it over. My eyes widened as he passed it to my grandfather.

  “What are you doing, Papà!” I yelled, trying to get it back.

  M
y grandfather slipped the rosary over his head. “Leave, nipote.”

  “Now I’m your grandson? Only moments ago, you were saying I wasn’t. What the hell is going on?”

  My mother answered for him, “I’ll explain it later, Chris. Go to bed, it’s late.”

  I turned to her. “No it’s not, and I want to know what’s happening.”

  She grabbed my arm and yanked me towards the door. “I said later. Your father and I need to work out how to help your grandfather.”

  “But—”

  She practically shoved me into the passageway, closing the door on my face.

  Chapter 20

  ~ MICHAEL ~

  Saint Dominic’s Boarding School for Boys, Agnaru

  1889

  I slipped into Father O’Malley’s office, closing the door without a sound. The curtains were drawn, the room pitch black. I snapped my fingers, conjuring up a flame. Using it to light my way, I headed for the dead priest’s bureau, shifting through the drawers, searching for anything that flashed my name. Not finding anything, I went to his desk, also hoping to find nothing. I flicked through some papers, then a notepad, stopping at the sight of my name. Messy writing was scrawled across the page. It looked like a draft for a letter or a speech, what was written making me wish I could bring Father O’Malley back to life—so I could kill him again.

  Michael Laboure is a troublesome young man. His behaviour is starting has become threatening, to the point that I’m now concerned for my own safety. The last occasion for worry was when the boy approached me after class today and persistently asked demanded that he be allowed to touch my rosary beads. When I refused, he became aggressive, so much so that I felt in danger. If Father Callum had not entered the classroom, scaring the boy away, I’m certain Michael would’ve forcibly tried to take the rosary from me. He is also disruptive during class and aggressive towards the other students, many of them scared of him. I have tried to discuss this with his aunt and uncle, but they have continued to ignore the situation, instead throwing money at the schoolboard to quieten me. But this is far too serious to sweep under the rug. I have a responsibility to keep my students safe as well as the teachers. And since Michael’s guardians cannot, or will not, listen to me, I require your assistance in having Michael admitted to an asylum, where he can receive the help he desperately needs.

  Furious with Father O’Malley’s words, I ripped the piece of paper out and crumpled it in my fist. At least it hadn’t gotten to its intended recipient, otherwise I’d be in a straightjacket, thrown in with the insane. And I wasn’t insane. I was in total control of my emotions. I knew what I wanted and took it. That made me strong, not insane. Bastard! I was glad I killed him. Glad I burned him into the nothing he was. He didn’t deserve the rosary. I did.

  The sound of footsteps in the hallway caught my attention. I quickly extinguished my flame and ducked behind the desk as the door opened.

  “Michael?” Cristoforo whispered. “Are you in here?”

  I grunted and pushed up from my hiding place, glaring across at my cousin. He was holding a small lantern, the smell of oil reaching my nose.

  “Put that out, you’ll get me caught,” I snapped.

  The sleep spell I’d tried to cast over the dormitory hadn’t worked. I’d said the exact same words as the last time, but for some reason the spell hadn’t taken. I wished I had a manual for the rosary, because I knew I could do so much more, my spying on Father O’Malley proving that. I’d seen him do miraculous things with the red rosary, like the time he’d lit up a bush with his bare hands. It made me think of Moses’ burning bush, even more so with the way the priest had spoken to it as though it was a conduit to God. Father O’Malley hadn’t seen me watching, probably thinking he was all alone on the other side of the forest. I’d snuck out from the boarding school for a rendezvous with a girl, stumbling across the scene by pure chance. Or maybe it was fate leading me to the rosary.

  Leading me to my destiny.

  “Why the hell are you following me?” I said through clenched teeth. I’d purposely snuck out so I didn’t have to listen to Cristoforo’s whiny complaints and panicked ramblings. I wished I hadn’t told him what I’d done to Father O’Malley, but he always had a way of getting things out of me. Or maybe it was just my stupid pride that had pried my mouth loose, pride over my burgeoning powers.

  My cousin glared back at me, looking tougher than he was, his muscular build making him appear considerably older than sixteen. He didn’t deserve to be bigger than me, just as much as Father O’Malley didn’t deserve the rosary.

  “More like, what are you doing here?” Cristoforo hissed. “Are you trying to get us hung?”

  “I told you I would take care of the evidence.”

  I snapped my fingers, instantly creating a flame. I lit the crumpled notepaper, enjoying the look of disbelief on my cousin’s face as I burned the evidence. He wasn’t shocked by my power, since he already knew what I was capable of, he was just a goody-two-shoes who was scared of people finding out he was an accomplice to the priest’s murder. Oh, he had no part in what had happened, and even if he had been there, he couldn’t have stopped it. He would’ve stood frozen to the spot, staring in horror as I lit the priest up like a bonfire. I could just see him doing that. He was a timid kitten masquerading as a lion. All posturing and no bite.

  “Stop using the rosary,” Cristoforo spat. “It’s dangerous.”

  Feeling like putting him in his place, I walked around the desk and flicked a playful flame at him.

  Jumping back, Cristoforo stared at me like I was mad. “Stop playing with fire, Michael, you literally could burn the school down.”

  I smiled at him. “What a brilliant idea. I wouldn’t need to sneak around this hellhole anymore, because it would be gone, gone, gone.” I laughed at his horrified expression.

  “Stop joking, this isn’t funny.”

  “Oh, no, cousin, I’m dead serious.” I blew on the flame, making it bigger.

  He took a rapid step back. “Please, Michael, you can’t,” he said, now looking his usual panicked self, his fake bravado gone.

  “Why not? You hate the place too.”

  “Not enough to burn it down.”

  I sniffed derisively. “Well, I hate it enough to burn it down a thousand times. It’s nothing more than a prison, a means to torture me.” My smile returned at the thought of Father Cullen dying the same way as Father O’Malley. If anything, I should’ve killed him first, watching gleefully as he screamed in agony, begging for my forgiveness, something I would never give him.

  I raised my hand higher, crafting a fireball out of the flames, the energy coming from within. The fire was running through my veins, my blood its conduit, the rush so pure it made opium feel like placebos. Unlike the spells, the flames came naturally to me, something I didn’t have to even try to achieve. They were just there, a part of me, a part of who I was now. Or had always been.

  My cousin stared at the fireball, the flames bathing his strong features in an orange glow. “No, Michael, please no. Too many innocent people will die.”

  I cocked a brow. “Do you really think I care about anyone here other than you? They can all burn in Hell for what they did.”

  “They didn’t do anything.”

  “That’s my point!” I exploded, so sick of holding my rage in. Sick of pretending like I wasn’t filled with so much fury that I could burn the world down. “They ignored it, turned a blind eye, allowing it to continue, allowing me to suffer. Now it’s their turn to suffer.”

  I threw the fireball at the wastebasket. The paper inside it lit up. I laughed as my cousin jammed his big foot into the small bin, doing his best to stomp out the flames, the scene comical.

  He put the last of the flames out and levelled me with a vicious glare, the expression at odds with his usually soft nature. “Do that again and I’ll make sure you won’t be able to lift your hands,” he growled, stepping closer to me. He was obviously trying to intimidate me w
ith his size, just failing in the process. It didn’t matter how much brawn he had.

  I had the rosary.

  “Are you threatening me?” I asked, wondering whether he was finally growing some balls.

  He clenched his hands. “I won’t let you torch the school.”

  “So, you’ll hurt me? Your own blood?” I snapped my fingers, lighting them up once more.

  His gaze briefly flicked to the flames, then back to me, his strong jawline tensing. “You’ve changed, Michael, you’re not the cousin I once knew. You’re a murderer,” he hissed out the last part. “So, put that out or I will.”

  I bristled, furious he was threatening me, someone he was supposed to care for. He was more like a brother than a cousin to me. But maybe that was just how I viewed things, because I wouldn’t have stood in his way, wouldn’t have stopped him from getting revenge.

  I would’ve helped him.

  “You know what Father Cullen did to me?!” I yelled. “Yet you threaten my life?”

  “I’m not threatening your life, I just want you to see sense, but obviously you can’t. Maybe Father Cullen was right about you.”

  “What do you mean by that?” I spat.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if what you said about him was just a means to manipulate me, using sympathy to gain my support. It’s probably why you never reported him. Because it’s all lies.”

  My face went slack, what he’d said cutting me to the core. “You truly believe that?”

  He nodded, his face as harsh as his thoughts. “You’re vindictive enough to lie. Vindictive enough to kill innocent priests too. Father O’Malley was nice and you killed him, even though it was Father Cullen who supposedly hurt you.”

  My rosary lit up, pulsing around my neck, almost as though my hurt was fuelling it.

  He continued ranting at me, not caring what his words were doing to me. I’d told no one but him about the abuse I’d incurred under Father Cullen, and I’d foolishly thought he’d believed me. Thought he had my back. The only person to have my back. But if my own cousin didn’t believe me, what else did I have?