Page 68 of Skotos
Then a dull thud.
“What the hell was that?” I whispered.
Thomas’s hand went to the inside of his jacket where his weapon remained hidden.
Something was moving above us.
Or below.
Maybe outside in the chapel proper.
I couldn’t tell anymore.
All I knew was that we were not alone.
32
Will
“We need to get out of here,” Thomas hissed.
All I could do was stare at Marini’s body. I’d seen men killed, more times than I cared to count. And yet, seeing the kindly old priest slaughtered in a chapel stirred my soul and struck me far more deeply than I would have imagined.
“What was he doing?” I asked, more mental musing than actual question.
“Will, there’s someone here. We need to go!”
Thoams gripped my arm and tugged me toward the door.
“Wait,” I said. “Just . . . let me look. We owe him that.”
I wasn’t sure what checking the dead body of a priest would do for his eternal soul, but I knew I had to do it. If he’d died searching for something, following some lead or path we’d shoved the poorman down, I couldn’t rest without knowing what he’d unearthed.
“Make it quick,” Thomas snapped, drawing his sidearm and creeping to stand guard beside the closed office door.
I dropped to my knees beside Marini’s body and swallowed back the bile climbing up my throat. Marini’s face had lost its softness, its curious wonder, replaced by something slack and hollow. The man who loved books and forgotten histories lay broken on cold stone.
I reached for his robe, my fingers trembling.
“Will—” Thomas’s voice was soft, warning.
“I have to,” I said. “We needsomething. Anything.”
I searched his pockets first—carefully, methodically.
A worn rosary.
A linen handkerchief.
A broken fountain pen.
Nothing that screamed clue.
My hands moved to the folds of his robe, patting gently, hating how stiff and cold he felt beneath the fabric.
Still nothing.
Then, just as I made to rise, I noticed something clutched in his right hand. His fingers were curled tightly around it, as though in death he’d refused to let go. I pried them apart to reveal ancient paper. The parchment was brittle, yellowed at the edges,and folded twice over. I held it up to the light and began unfolding it—
