Page 35 of Prayer of the Damned

“Yeah, it’s a long story.” I try to stay evasive, it’s best he knows as little as possible.

“I’ve got time,” he gestures to the chair by the desk.

I hesitate. I came here to get answers, and wasn’t expecting to see someone else here. Why would the Devil take back Prof. Sapienti? Had he completed the purpose for which he’d been recruited? If so, what was it? And why had the Council taken all his things? My father had mentioned that Prof. Sapienti didn’t always agree with the Council members. Had he betrayed them, and they exposed him? Maybe he hadn’t gone back to our creator at all, and he was chained up in the dungeons of their hugecastle? Castles have dungeons, don’t they? The punishment for those who break the Council’s laws include unbearable torment and torture – believe me, that research paid off after all, so Libretto definitely has a suitable torture dungeon.

I look back – the hallway is empty. If the new lecturer were to try and hurt me, no one would hear my cries for help. I’m not supposed to be here, I know that, but my legs won’t sync up with the red lights flashing in my mind, and they carry me forward into the office. Dr. Abano closes the door behind me, and the sound makes me jump.

For God’s sake, calm down, Belle. I sit down, and to relax I take out my phone and open the call screen, just to prepare for the worst. If he tries something, I’ll call my dad and he’ll alert the Council. Simon can be here in seconds. Thoughts of realistic escape routes soothe the storm in my head.

I examine Dr. Abano’s body as he circles the desk and sits in his leather chair. He’s wearing a suit but he seems uncomfortable in it, like it’s a costume. The ticks in his shoulders and his ceaseless fiddling with his tie confirm it.

“How old are you anyway? You don’t look old enough to be a lecturer, let alone a history lecturer,” I blurt out the first thought that pops into my head.

“Didn’t your father teach you anything about us? Appearances never reveal our true age.”

“Alfredo needs to receive some criticism from time to time, I don’t think it goes well with your position.”

He laughs in response. “I’ll pass that along the next time we see each other. So what exactly is this research Prof. Sapienti was asked to do for your father? Does it have something to do with your special eyes?”

I ignore his question and try to regain control of the conversation. “Are you a demonologist too?”

“Among other things.” He lightly drums his pen on the wooden table. It’s driving me crazy; I hate when people do that.

“And what about… theology?” I continue pressing him. He stops his annoying drumming.

“Why are you asking about that? What's it to you?” he lowers his voice. I must’ve touched a sore spot.

“Is that what got Prof. Sapienti in trouble?”

“I don’t know about his return to the creator. But I know that anyone asking questions about theology usually doesn’t stay on this Earth for very long.” His tone grows harder the more he speaks.

It was a mistake to ask him about that. I have to get out of here as soon as possible, before I get into more trouble. God knows I’ve taken enough hits to my score as is.

I rise up from my seat to get the hell out, but Dr. Abano stops me with a stiff voice. “Sit down at once, Bellcolor, we’re not done yet!”

I quickly obey, chills running down my back. “How do you know my name? I didn’t tell you.” I stare at him.Play it cool, Belle, you got yourself into this and now you’ll elegantly get out of it.

“The Dean of the University briefed us all about your situation, you must have known that,” he answers coldly. The bright shade of his eyes turns frosty and I swallow the lump in my throat.

“So… have you run into a case similar to mine, Barty?”

He chuckles. “Barty?”

“I thought it was appropriate, since we’re already on a first-name basis.”

“What makes you think I’ve encountered a case similar to yours?” He leans back in his chair, continuing to drum with his pen, this time on his cheek. Am I stressing him out?

“Aren’t you a historian?” I raise an eyebrow.

“Among other things,” he again uses his vague answer.

“Well, if you’re not going to answer any question of mine, I think we’re done here after all.”

“You’re not asking the right questions, Bellcolor.” He presses the pen into his cheek and smiles, creating an artificial dimple that could look fantastic on him.

“I prefer Belle.” I fake a smile.

“Well, Belle, if you ask the right questions, I might be able to answer them.”

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