Page 3 of Hell and Its Pleasures

I trailed off and the bishop came beside me, sniffing and groaning as he adjusted himself. He clasped his hands over the walls with the rosary between his fingers. The wind picked upand went through my hair and that rosary, sent them straining in the air, breeze whistling as it tried to drag us both out to sea.

“You are simply too good of a man to speak the truth,” the bishop said. He would not look at me as he said it. “But you know as well as I that no one except your confirmed brethren would have access to that room. Let alone the scroll.”

I felt a terrified flush beginning in my cheeks and tried to shield it by dropping my head into my hands, fingers tousled and gripping my own hair. The bishop made a noise with his teeth and sighed.

“I know. It is horrible to believe. But. . .it is the only truth I can think of.”

I let the question hang. What were we meant to do? What wasImeant to do? I had a horrible vision of the bishop’s next words.We will remove such illicit material from the abbey.Or:we will reinforce access to those tomes, we will find a way to protect them from dirty, unclean hands.

If it was my idea, then I could get close. I could see what other illicit books we had stored in that section. Though from what I recalled, nothing as evil as what I needed was stored here.

At least one of us would know.

I put a shake into my voice, placed a finger at my quivering lip, and whispered, “Are there. . .worse things than that tome in this abbey, Bishop Fazio?”

He looked at me strangely, and quickly came to some decision about what I meant, because his face crumpled, and he put his hand on my shoulder. “I think Bishop Jonah was wrong about you, child,” he murmured, and that sent a confusing flare of heat into my belly. Stuck somewhere between the want for praise and the urge to squirm out from under this man’s touch, I stood paralysed and smiling.

Bishop Jonah knew what you were. Bishop Jonah could smell it; sulphuric desire wafting from your pores.

This man was no different, and I could not trust him.

He slipped his hand away. He answered my question finally with, “No. Not here. There are far worse things, certainly. But this abbey does not house them.”

Which wasn’t what I wanted to hear. I wanted the ease of access, I wanted it to be right under my fingertips; I wanted to be able to tear hell open at my doorstep so I might crawl easily into Asmodeus’ cruel embrace.

But if it wasn’t possible? If I had to travel, and search, and dedicate more years of my life to the cause? The fire of my desperation raged in my gut, and the fear and distress of waiting—of more years slipping away, of the last stretch of my youth dashed upon the rocks, its innards rotting, God, all I wanted was to be had and had roughly, all I wanted was for this body to beworth something, I wanted pleasure, I wanted to be fucked--!

Bishop Fazio touched me, and I jolted. Nausea threatened to erupt. I thought about vomiting over the edge of this wall.

“That upsets you,” the bishop commented.

He had no idea.Keep him on your side. Play the devout and pious follower of Christ; make deception and trickery your prayer.

I let my voice shake. “Because. . .”

Enticed, he leaned forward, pulled by the quiver in my voice; the innocence and the piety he could lord over. “Because what?”

I dragged my body back over the warm stone and turned to look at the bishop. How I had moved meant I had to crane to look at him. The sun set his hair alight, haloing him, and I let myself feel holy and righteous in my deception. “Because the demon. . .I know they lie, bishop. I know there is trickery afoot. But it said someone was trying to open a gate into hell itself.”

His jaw clenched so tightly that I could see the movement.I averted my gaze, but his hand moved forward. Forefinger to chin, he tilted my gaze back to his.

“Don Alessandro,” he murmured. “You have done us a great service. You have warned us of something terrible.”

I swallowed. I saw what could happen next. He would leave. He would escalate things; he would whisper things up the chain of command until even the pope knew, and I would be stuck here, having made things worse for myself.

“We must take every illicit tome that is here, and move it somewhere safer,” I said.

To my great relief, the bishop nodded. “There is a place.”

He stared out at the ocean again, tone shifting, edging towards something apologetic. “I would. . .I would hate to disturb your life here, but?—”

“I have been called,” I said quickly. I shot to standing; I could not hide my eagerness. “Please,” I said, without regret, without shame. “Let me do this.”

And he looked at me and blessed me with, “Yes, you shall come,” and my heart raced with the same ferocity as a charge of horses, and briefly, I found God again, just to say:Thank you for your trusting servants. Thank you for all your fools.

Asmodeus.

I am coming.

---