Mihály’s laugh into his palms was wormwood bitter. “Well, it’s all gone now, isn’t it?”
If she couldn’t be Evie, did he really not care at all?
A helpless laugh rose in Csilla’s throat. “It happened before, Mihály. I killed Madame Varga. And I brought her back. And you killed the others. You were never ill. You were possessed.”
“But I—”
“Don’t remember? Or remember doing other things? I was sure I was in bed. And I think if I hadn’t come to, that thing in me would have made sure I knew nothing about it.” She dragged her hand across her chest, as if she could rake out the memories of darkness.
“And you say it’s gone?” Ilan shook his head. “Did you see a mark? Demons are pure corruption. They can’t stay in form long and they leave traces when they’re banished.”
He was dissecting her with his eyes now. All soft worship was gone leaving only steel, and she was glad for it.
“There wasn’t a mark...”
“So it found another host.”
Another host. She’d damned someone else, adding to her pile of guilty sins. “The only other person who might have been there was...”
Was Tamas.
Mihály let out a long breath. “Look. The seal is ruined. There isn’t going to be a church for you to join, Evie’s gone, so fuck it all. Let’s just leave. Whatever you are, we will figure it out later. It’s not safe here.”
There wasn’t anywhere safe, not anymore. Perhaps they could find somewhere to hide from Shadow, but it wouldn’t save them. Running would be a disgrace.
“You should earn that blessing you were born with.” The words came from somewhere deep and boiling. “Even if you don’t care about me, you should care about the people who put their faith in you. They’re still here.”
This time when Mihály met her eyes there was no endearment. Fine. Let him resent her for who she was. Better than being loved for the ghost she wasn’t. “I do ca-”
She put her fingers over his lips, silencing him with pressure and light. “I don’t want to hear another lie out of your mouth. You owe me more than that.”
He exhaled against her hand, bowing his head. “Then what would you have me do? Find Tamas, bring him here to be punished?”
“And us as well, I suppose.” She would stay here as everything horrible and miraculous faded into a dull and sunken quiet. Even if no one else knew, she had the memory of the knife in her hands and the sick knowledge that when asked if she would accept darkness, she’d said yes. Why she’d said yes didn’t matter. “I could have stopped it, too. I just wanted to believe you.”
She met Mihály’s gaze, a new quiet on his face. Resignation, without pretension or defense.
“Csilla.” Mihály reached out to graze her cheek, silver on his fingertips. “All my life people—including you— have offered me very undeserved grace. Try extending it to yourself.”
She took a deep breath and gave the smallest nod. Ágnes would have wanted that, too. “Go get Tamas.”
Mihály’s smile went grim. “We don’t have to waste time dragging him here. I’ve killed before.” The paleness in his face undercut the words.
“No!” Csilla shook her head, grabbing his sleeve. “I don’t care what you think about your divinity, you’re not staining yourself.”
Ilan made a hm of agreement, a sharp light in his eyes. “He can’t talk if he’s dead. But go fast. If this was all they were after, he’ll likely have run.”
“Ilan, you’ll keep her somewhere, won’t you?” Mihály said. “At least now we don’t have to worry about anyone getting killed on the streets.”
It was a poor attempt at levity, but she let him get away with it, and Ilan hummed an affirmation.
Csilla sagged in relief, suddenly desperate for quiet, to sit with Ágnes in the dark. This was where they’d found her at the beginning of her life. It was right she be in the same spot to see Ágnes through to brilliance, no matter how it hurt.
Her tears finally fell, as steady as a shower of blessed gold.
31
Csilla
Ilan hadn't asked her to move, and for that she was grateful. There was something primal about sitting with a body, appeasing the inner animal that had to see a thing with its senses to know that it was true. Ágnes was stiff, but so was she, shoulders curled and legs drawn up, back cracking every time she shifted.
And Ilan, sitting on an empty bench with his dog at his feet, eyes never leaving her. His face was gaunt, eyes rimmed with exhaustion. She likely didn't look any better. It would be smarter to go and rest. Things always were clearer in the morning.
She didn't want to face that clarity. The bone-ache of sleeplessness and the fog of grief were a welcome cushion, no matter how much they hurt.
"Do you hear a voice?" Ilan asked, the words echoing in the midnight still. His tone was measured, but she could hear the hope behind it.
She brushed a fingertip across the metal pin on Ágnes' still chest, the light dancing across it no longer pleasing. Saints didn't get to pick their miracles, and the truth of that left her sour. "No. It wasn't me doing anything or being told to do anything. I couldn't control it. If I could..."
She still would have saved Madame Varga. She would have just done more.
She wanted someone to hold her and tell her it would be fine, but the only person willing to was cold.
Well, and Mihály. Perhaps she should have asked him to give her some of that drink he used to forget his own pain. She could forgive him the vice more easily now that she knew what it was to have your heart smashed to ground glass, tearing bits of you from the inside with every beat.
Ilan was no doubt thinking how glad he was that she had been sent out from the church- no one this embarrassingly distraught deserved to serve the divine. Grief was for laypeople who hadn't fully surrendered their lives to a greater plan.
