Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Lady of the Little Eagles

O~O~O~O~O~O

“But if you close your eyes, does almost feel like nothing changed at all?”

“So wake me up when it’s all over, when I’m wiser and I’m older.”

O~O~O~O~O~O

Chapter 1: Wake Me Up, Pompeii

First of all, let me get one thing straight: I’m not psychic.

Sure: sometimes I get dreams that can tell whether tomorrow would be a slow day at the café or not; sometimes when I’m asked to “guess” how many children a pregnant woman will have, I get it right; sometimes I can even see the ghostly figure of a small child in the corner of my eye, running around the park where a murderer shot him between the eyes.

But I don’t like using the term “psychic”. Whenever I think about that term, I immediately imagine myself going all “Jean Grey” and lifting up all the cars and the coffee cups and the water that flows through the Hudson—I pass it every time I take my morning jog.

Nope, I’m not psychic. I’m just… sensitive. Yeah, let’s go with that.

My name is Dominique Arnetta and I’m a sensitive. Well, it’ll have to do.

I live in a lofty apartment just near upstate New York (I’m not telling you where exactly, I’m cautious like that) and I love playing video games, hanging out, writing down my dreams, and coffee. I work as a barista at the coffee shop down the block and I write novels to pay the rent. I love animals and I have a pet Siberian husky—I know, big right? But he’s a softie and the clean-up of hair and dog shit is well worth for the cuddles and playtime.

But that’s not important.

I’m here today to tell you my story, the story of how I discovered something amazing and awesome… but also something terrible.

The story of how I discovered the Apple of Eden was real.

God, where do I even begin?

Okay, wait a minute, now I sound like some chick from a drama-rama or something. I know exactly where to start: at the beginning.

I can still remember the day I first had my vision of the Apple: it was the first day I played Assassin’s Creed.

I had taken a short break and gone to the bathroom to relieve myself (playing for six hours straight can do that to you). I was washing my hands when I felt the back of my neck begin to tingle. I had looked behind me, expecting to see a face or hear a whisper, but there was nothing.

Still, I became afraid. Knowing that my ghosts were real didn’t make them go away.

But there was nothing, no one there.

I closed the door behind me and washed my face. But just as I was drying up, I caught a glimpse of my reflection.

Only it wasn’t me staring back at me.

It was Altair.

I’ve never jumped so high, nor gasped so painfully in my life. It was a good thing the floor was carpeted or I would have broken my neck. When I finally regained my bearings, I rubbed my eyes and looked again: he was gone.

I briefly considered taking a break from playing after that.

But then I thought: “Nah.”

I wouldn’t mind having Altair Ibn-Lahad’s face be the first thing I see in the morning.

Yes, I’m a psychic, gamer girl who doesn’t mind having a sexy, Arabic man’s face staring at me be the first thing I see every morning. I’m slightly messed up like that. Sue me.

But it was while I was playing the second game did I begin having doubts about the nature of my—“hallucinations” was the term I used back then.

I had been eating at the time when I heard someone knocking on the door. I was confused; Marcus had a shift at the factory he was working at (what factory he was working at, I’m not really sure) and Jenna and Trixie were on a shopping trip together. They invited me to come along, but I turned them down.

I finished doing one hot, Arabic assassin. I told them I was excited to play with my new, sexy, Italian assassin next.

Can you tell I like my men imported?

Okay, wait. Shit, I’m losing track of the story.

So I heard a knock, right? I felt confused because I wasn’t expecting anyone. I opened the door to an empty hallway.

“Hello?” I called out. My voice bounced off the walls, an echo that eventually faded into nonexistence. At the end of the hall, just before the path turned to lead to the elevators, the lights began to flicker.

I felt something tingle at the back of my neck. I never shut the door so fast, and so loudly, in my life.

“Fuck,” I breathed out. I felt my hands trembling on the vice-like grip had on the doorknob. I let go of the doorknob slowly, steadily unclenching my fingers to try and get the blood circulating again. I remember feeling pain because I bit my lip so hard it had begun to bleed.

I took one step… two steps… five steps back from the door when—

Knock, knock…

And cue the suspense music.

The peephole never looked so terrifying in the four years I’ve been living in this apartment.

I felt my heart stop beating when my eye fell on the empty hallway. My chest pounded as anger and fear rushed through me. I shouted: “What do you want?!”

I threw the door open and came face to face with a Templar, sword-hand raised and weapon glinting in the fluorescence. I felt my scream get stuck in my throat as its hand twitched and the blade drop.

I jumped back, and I tumbled gracelessly over the back of the sofa and onto the hard, unforgiving wood of my coffee table. I heard glass shattering and Sam barking… but no metal footsteps charging.

With heaving breaths, I scrambled to my feet and grabbed the nearest thing I could get my hands on: a children’s encyclopedia on plants (don’t ask me why an encyclopedia on plants was sitting on the coffee table—my apartment is a mess of books, video games, and random junk I would find at the bottom of age-old toy chests and dusty, cardboard boxes).

The book felt solid and heavy in my hand. In the back of my mind, I knew that this would no good whatsoever. But the illusion of safety was enough for me. I ran on fumes, but that was enough.

But the Templar was gone.

I remember dropping the book in frustration, and crying out in pain and frustration because it had landed on my foot and damn, that book had been heavy. 

* * * *

My visions of the game didn’t stop there. But I didn’t see the Apple until that one, fateful day.

The day my life, as I knew it, ended.

I can’t even begin to stress how my life had been so… so normal before this whole Apple of Eden brouhaha began: I had made a lot of friends when I came to the city, but only Marcus, Jenna and Trixie only stood out as my besties. The barista job had covered up the expenses that the lull in my writing career and book publishing could not. My books (so far, only two) were the works that tended to get shoved at the back of the shelves in bookstores, behind big names like “Harry Potter” or “Percy Jackson and the Olympians”. But that was okay.

And I was content with my home, which had a fairly large flat screen TV with a PS3 and X-Box console.

I also liked to make mash-ups. I loved making them, listening to other people’s mash-ups… I’ve loved them ever since I first heard DJ Earworm’s United State of Pop 2008 (Viva la Pop). But I only learned how when I watched Pitch Perfect when it came out a few months ago.

Ever since then, it became a hobby.

Yep, my life was good, fun… safe.

But that, of course, was when Life would want to pull you of your shell and beat the living shit out of you.

The day my life ended was the day Ezio looked at me while I was playing Assassin’s Creed 2.

I was running away from a group of guards who saw me kill a corrupt official—I fucking hate those guys—and I was about to take a Leap of Faith after synchronizing from a viewpoint atop a church tower in some nameless part of Venice, when instead of the camera panning around the city and flashing back to the perching assassin, it panned to his face.

And then Ezio looked at me. I mean, he freaking broke the third wall and looked at me!

I didn’t even bother quitting the game. I just shut off the console and let the controller fall out of my hands.

I am getting too old for this shit. And I just turned 22!

I groaned, sitting up and massaged my throbbing temples. I got up and I poured myself a glass of water and some aspirin. I gulped it down and looked at my watch. It was 3:25 PM. I still had two hours to kill before Trixie, Jenna, and Marcus came knocking on my door to watch City of Bones.

Ah, Jenna… she never did get over the fact that she couldn’t get her hands on the second book because the bookstores she normally frequented were always out of stock. Poor girl.

I was just about to move to my bed when, suddenly, I felt the entire room tilt. My body fell victim to gravity as I fell limp on the kitchen floor. Black spots danced in my eyes, threatening to pull me into unconsciousness. I vaguely heard the sound of shattering glass beside me as my eyes struggled to remain open, the pounding in my head increasing.

I crawled over to the telephone on the coffee table beside the couch.

Just a few more feet…

The darkness gave one, final tug. And I gave in, letting the black spots consume my vision.

Chapter Text

Lady of the Little Eagles

O~O~O~O~O~O

“Once upon a time, a few mistakes ago: I was in your sights, you got me alone.”

“Putting my defenses up `cause I don’t wanna fall in love.”

O~O~O~O~O~O

Chapter 2: I Knew You Were a Heart Attack

I was drifting—hah! You though I was going to say “in a vast ocean”, didn’t you? Nah, I just felt—I don’t know… light? It was as if my body weighed nothing and I was floating on air, nothing keeping me up and nothing dragging me down.

It was dark, but the darkness was littered with tiny stars, tiny orbs of flame that glittered in the ebony sea that I was floating in. But there was one star that stood out, for it shone a bright yellow. In fact, if I didn’t know better it looked almost like a small sun, glowing like a beacon in the dark void of space.

I was content to just sit here and watch them all, floating in space but still able to breath within the vacuum.

Eventually, though, something pierced into my bubble of peace: a sharp whining that sounded almost like my big, lovable, softie-of-a-dog, Sam.

And then something strange happened: the moment my pet’s name crossed my mind, I felt something snap, like a rope that had been stretched too tight. The sensation of falling overtook me and I screamed.  The stars winked out one by one as if a hand was snuffing them out.

Finally, everything was gone. Except for the yellow star.

It shone brighter and drew nearer, as if magnetically attracted to me. I winced and I tried to shut my eyes, but I couldn’t—it pierced the darkness behind my eyelids. I felt my breathing quicken as the yellow ball of light stopped a few feet away, keeping up with my free-falling form.

I felt something course through my veins… something ancient and powerful and rejuvenating. I moaned. I felt my “sensitivity” grow stronger—don’t ask me how, I just knew. Everything just seemed more open, more in-focus.

And it was because of my strengthened sensitivity did I realize that the light piercing the darkness behind my eyelids was actually made of runes, tiny golden symbols the size of particles that were compressed into millions of beams of golden light.

I gasped. The star was growing closer. I didn’t feel heat exactly… but the power coursing through my veins seemed to double. I was brimming with it now. I was a floating ball of energy, ready to explode and set the world aflame.

Closer… closer…

It wanted me—no, not me… someone to protect it, keep it safe until the right person would find it.

But wait, wasn’t that Desmond’s job?

Something’s not right—

A breath on my face…

I opened my eyes, and for a moment, I thought I saw the confused face of a very familiar-looking, hooded man a few inches away from my own.

“Ezio!”

“Ezio!” I shot up, knocking over a tray that had been placed on my lap. Its contents—which I later learned had been chicken noodle soup topped with some croutons and a glass of water—spilled onto the sheets and slowly began to trickle to the carpeted floor. Luckily, I didn’t hear glass shattering, but I did hear some very colorful words spewing from a girl—Jenna’s mouth.

“Motherfucking shit! Goddamn it, this dress was new! Granted, it was on sale… but it was new!” Jenna groaned—actually, snarled was the more accurate term—at me, but her face softened when she saw me sway on the spot where I stood.

“Clumsy hoe,” but the words held no heat, only fondness. “You so owe me a new dress… I’ll make sure you pay for it full time.”

After, changing the sheets and settling me back under the covers, she cleaned up the mess.

“Marcus, grab a mop!”

* * * *

“Who’s Ezio?” Jenna finally asked after a slight lull in the conversation. Apparently, they went straight to my place after they waited for half an hour in front of the cinema for me. They tried calling my cell but I hadn’t been picking up.

Trixie had had a bad feeling—I swear, if I didn’t know better, she could have been a sensitive like me—and had convinced Jenna and Marcus to come with her to visit me. They found me passed out on the ground. But the creepy thing was that my eyes had been open, staring into space.

It had been creepy as hell.

“You didn’t talk, didn’t blink… you didn’t do anything. Seriously, Arnie, what shit have you been inhaling this time?” she had asked once I had regained consciousness.

I had resisted the urge to roll my eyes. I never told them about my “sensitivity,” never told them about the things I could do when no one was looking. I just let them assume what they wanted. It didn’t matter. As long as they would be there for me at the end of the day, weirdness taken in stride, I was content.

“Nothing!” I had laughed her off.

But now, faced with that question, I answered truthfully:

“Oh, nothing… just some character I play as in this video game.” It may sound vague, but once you hang out with socialites like Jenna and Trixie, you’ll learn never to go into specifics when it comes to “guy stuff”, which mainly includes video games and TV.

They nodded.

See? It was enough.

“Which game?” Marcus asked. Crap, I forgot about him.

“Assassin’s Creed,” I answered, taking a sip from the second bowl of soup they brought in for me. It was crab and corn. Not bad.

Marcus nodded and went back to his phone, no doubt hogging up the Wi-Fi my place offered. I looked at the time and groaned.

“How long was I out?” I had asked the night before. They replied that I had been out for two hours, not counting the time I’ve been laying on the kitchen floor for God-knows-how-long. I had winced.

But now, it’s eight in the morning (Trixie slept on the couch while Marcus and Jenna slept in the guest room). Marcus had to leave for his job at the factory (what or which factory I don’t really know) and Jenna had to leave for her next appointment (she was a therapist—I know, crazy considering she has such colorful vocabulary!). Trixie was the only one remaining, and even she had to leave soon because her son still needed company at the hospital (he had recently gotten the flu).

I would be alone.

And for once, I minded.

“I’ll be fine, really.” I said, wrapping the robe around me tighter. Trixie shot me a look before finally relenting—her son was in the hospital after all.

I pasted a reassuring smile on my face as I ushered Trixie out the door.

“Alright, call me if anythinghappens, capische?” she yelled behind her as she hurried to the elevator.

“Yeah, yeah!” I said, stifling a chuckle. Even away from her kid, Trixie was still a mother. I wish my mom had been like that.

I turned around and locked the door behind me. Before leaving, Jenna had called my boss down at the coffee shop and told him that I wouldn’t be coming in today. So I had a whole day to kill.

Sam shuffled to me, his tail wagging, but not excitedly. It was as if he could sense my pain and didn’t want to add to it by jumping on me. I smiled and kneeled, ruffling his fur.

“Oh, you sweet dog, you…”

He trailed me to the kitchen as I made myself a cool glass of iced tea. He butted his head against my leg, and I chuckled. I reached up to the cupboard and handed him a crouton, he chewed on it gratefully and barked.

“Good Sammy…”

Of course, it seemed the universe knew that it was my day-off too! Because just as I was getting settled with a nice book (“Lord of the Rings”—because who doesn’t?) on my favorite chair with a cool cup of iced tea, with Sam curled up nice at my feet, the mother of all headaches bloomed in-between my eyes.

“Ugh…” I groaned. I staggered to my feet and made my way to the bathroom. The floor swayed and tilted around me, and it was as if I could feel the Earth itself tilting on its axis with every step I took.

“What the fu—? Ahh!” I yelled as I tripped on a stray wire. Sam recoiled when I almost stepped on his tail, barking indignantly.

Damn my addiction to video games.

I fell forward, with Sammy was still barking in the background. But before my head hit the floor, a bright light burst from the carpeting. I reached out a hand—both to brace myself and to reach for it—before clenching my eyes shut. I felt myself fall into space, and the sound of whining echoed behind me.

Chapter Text

Lady of the Little Eagles

O~O~O~O~O~O

“This could be perfect, but we won’t know unless we try.”

“Distance was a friend of mine.”

O~O~O~O~O~O

Chapter 3: Catch My Breath On the Other Side  

I was falling again. But this time, I could hear air whistling past my ears. I wasn’t in the dark void of my peace bubble anymore. I was actually falling through the sky.

I opened my eyes. The waters of a canal neared me as I plummeted, gravity pulling me down like a human comet. My black hair whipped around my face, getting into my eyes and my lips, which were parted in a silent scream that seemed to be stuck in my throat—I really should get a haircut.

When my brain finally registered the water growing larger by the second, the scream stuck in my throat tore itself out, piercing and lost in the heavens. I closed my eyes and forced myself to quickly gulp in a deep breath. I was preparing to feel the shocking numbness that would be coursing through my veins (if the force didn’t turn me into a human pancake) as the water enveloped—

Except that it didn’t.

I felt a strong arm wrap around my waist, and the air that was screaming against my ear changed direction.

I opened my eyes. Stone buildings raced by me in a blur as the arm that held me in a vice-like grip tightened. I looked up; a chiseled face met my gaze, and I gasped as I noticed he was swinging us around the corner using a hanging plant with his other arm.

But… the only person I know who could do that is…

No… he’s just a video game character.

He’s not real…

I gasped when the air finally stopped screaming at my ears. We had dropped onto one of the balustrades so conveniently placed in our path, and the arm wrapped around my waist released me.

I took a deep breath and tried to calm my shaking body. I didn’t even realize it, but I was already sinking to the warm, solid relief that was the cement of the rooftop we were on. I heard a deep voice stifle a chuckle beside me, and I resisted the urge to open my mouth to snap at it.

Instead I looked up at my “savior;” a hooded man wearing a white robe-like garb that was lined with belts and pouches. His face was young, but a scar marred his chiseled features. Brown eyes rimmed with gold met my own, and I gasped, a name spewing from my lips before I could stop it:

“Ezio…”

His eyes narrowed into slits, and I gulped, backing against the nearest wall as he stalked closer, hands twitching slightly. I watched as the golden rims of his eyes quickly covered his brown irises—his Eagle Vision.

Oh, sweet crap…

“Chi sono e come si fa a sapere il mio nome?” He said, his Italian flawless and precise. I literally felt my tongue twist: how the hell was I suppose to answer that?

The man—Ezio had me pressed against the wall now, one of his hand moving closer and closer to my throat. I resisted the urge to gulp again.

“Chi sono e come si fa a sapere il mio nome?”

Well, shit…

Here goes nothing.

“Dominique Arnetta, I mean you no harm.” I intoned cautiously, slowly standing up. My knees were still wobbly but I clenched them tight, not wanting to appear unsure of my answer. I raised my hands up—the universal sign of surrender. The assassin in front of me eyed me warily before dropping his own hands.

“Che cosa è successo? Ho visto la tua faccia mi sembra che dall'interno della Apple e all'improvviso sei caduta dal cielo…” Ezio continued to ask. But to me it just sounded like an Italian nonsense—he wanted to say so much! His body remained tense as his eyes bored into my own. He seemed to sense my confusion and he stepped forward, his hand raised.

But at that moment, the moment his foot stepped an inch closer to me, I felt an intense power surge through me—like that time while I was in the void when that bright, yellow orb almost touched me. I felt my “sensitivity” grow stronger and I couldn’t help but moan.

The books were right. Power was sweet. My knees turned to Jell-O, and I resisted the urge to collapse and just bask in the sweet nectar that must have been Ezio’s energy.

I didn’t even notice Ezio had stopped moving, his eyebrow raised and an amused glint entering his golden orbs. I noticed the smirk that tugged on his lips, and I was immediately reminded of the situation I was in. I forced myself to concentrate, and an idea popped into my mind:

“Ezio, may I touch you?” I asked, reaching out a hesitant hand. The assassin tensed, but when he saw my hooded eyes and labored breathing—I’m ashamed to admit that Ezio’s buff-ness also contributed to the situation—a cocky smirk spread across his face. He grasped my hand and pulled me to him.

Prideful bastard.

I blinked rapidly and looked deep into his golden eyes. He blinked and immediately my hand was upon his temple.

Ezio stiffened, and I immediately heard the sharp schlink! of his Hidden Blade as he unsheathed it. I choked back a scream, and I focused on the power coursing through my body—power that tasted like nectar on my tongue.

I willed myself to push… but against what, I wasn’t really sure. I just pushed mentally, forcing myself to breach the barrier of my mind and touch Ezio’s own.

This reminded me of those times when I would force myself to have a vision or to get a “reading” of the future when I was younger. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t.

I hoped that now wasn’t categorized under the latter.

After a few tense seconds, I finally felt something brush against my thoughts. I grasped onto it and followed it like a lifeline. Incoherent words registered in my mind—the Apple... your face… Borgia scum—but I brushed them aside, focusing on following the source of this train of thought.

I knew I reached my mark when I felt Ezio gasp, his golden eyes widening.

And then I was being shoved back, the assassin’s blade pushing itself against my throat.

But the deed was done:

“Hello, Ezio Auditore da Firenze.” I said in perfect Italian. “My name is Dominique Arnetta and I mean you no harm.”

Ezio’s expression remained tense, and the blade at my throat did not withdraw. His eyes bored into mine, but I met his gaze head-on, not cowed by the piercing eyes of this prideful, hunky piece of Italian meat.

I don’t know what possessed me to do so, but it was as if that trick I did—entering Ezio’s mind and absorbing his knowledge of the Italian language—fueled me with adrenaline. My skin felt itchy and my hands twitched against the concrete, aching to do something. But what… I didn’t know.

Huh… I wonder what other things I can do now…

The man was shocked, I could tell. The steely gaze of his eyes was like that of a cornered animal. The tremor of confusion that rang in his voice only affirmed my suspicions:

“What did you do to me?” His question was as clear as bell now that the language barrier was gone, though his accent was still thick… but not enough to make the statement garbled.

“I…”

Oh, how should I put this? I reached into your mind with my sensitivity and absorbed your knowledge of the Italian language.

I struggled with how to phrase my words correctly. I wasn’t stupid. I knew that people like me had been condemned as witches for what we could do. And to be honest, I wasn’t sure if the man in front of me was a believer of the supernatural or not.

“I learned your language.” I stated simply. I tried not to gulp (I’ve been doing that a lot lately), as that would only push the blade deeper into the skin of my throat. I’d been honest; by entering his mind, I managed to grasp his vernacular and make it my own.

Ezio searched my eyes, and I gazed back, forcing the small thorn of guilt away from my chest.

The assassin didn’t withdraw his blade from my throat as he grabbed my arm and nudged me to the nearest ladder. I stumbled, but I caught myself just in time. I shot him an indignant look before making my way down.

It was only when I was already at the foot of the ladder did I realize that I was still wearing my comfy red hoodie and shorter-than-meant-for-public shorts. I was barefoot, for I felt the dampness of the pavement against the soles of my feet. The beige robe that was a gift from my aunt Ellen was still on me, and I wrapped it around me tighter. I was attracting a lot of curious stares from the crowd milling around me as I desperately tried to smoothen down my unkempt hair—a result from the wind that sprayed it across all directions.

I just managed to flatten the nest that was my hair into a presentable tumbledown at my shoulder when I heard Ezio land beside me. I tried to get a better look at him, but his hood was on.

I was about to ask why, when I remembered that in exchange for Ezio’s deeds for justice, he had become outlawed in every city or state. I should have remembered that. After all, I “controlled” him for the majority of his “life.”

He grabbed my arm and began to walk me—of course, he would walk me; no gentleman in their right mind would ever let a lady be dragged in public. We made our way past the marketplace and into the open streets of—holy shit, I think we’re in Venice.

Holy fucking shit—

A not-so-gentle push snapped me out of my thoughts.

“Keep moving, signora.” He whispered to me. I felt anger rear its head within me, but I pushed it down, and I focused on putting one foot in front of the other. I didn’t bother trying to fight him, mainly because I couldn’t even if I tried; his hand was an iron clamp on my shoulder.

I stared, awe-struck, at the faded structures of the Renaissance surrounding us as we walked. New York architecture was so different from Venetian architecture of the Renaissance—anyone would have noticed that. Towers peaked from the buildings across a nearby river, and I resisted the urge to ask Ezio to take me there for a closer look.

I wanted to see more—so much more! But it was just then that I was shoved into an alley. I turned around, an indignant remark on my lips before he waved his hand ahead. I realized that the alley was too narrow for us to walk shoulder-to-shoulder.

I sighed loudly before continuing the march, my feet occasionally sinking into puddles and piles of—oh, dear God, that had better be mud.

I resisted the urge to screech when I felt something fairly big scurry in-between my legs.

Once we made it out, Ezio turned me to the left and stopped us in front of what seemed like a workshop. A name registered in my mind once more as to who owned this workshop, but I stopped it before it could spew from my mouth like tap water.

My blabbermouth had gotten me into enough trouble today, thank you very much.

Ezio gripped my arm tight before proceeding to knock on the wooden door.

“Just a moment!” a voice I heard so many times in Assassin’s Creed answered. I resisted the urge to back away from the door like it was a bomb.

This can’t be happening… he’s not—

But then the door swung open, and Leonardo da Vinci’s smile met us. The assassin beside me softened slightly, tension draining out of his broad shoulders, but his grip on my arm did not loosen.

I, on the other hand, snapped back to my situation as a ray of clarity shone through the haze of questions that had fogged my mind.

“Ezio!” The inventor-slash-anatomist-slash-cartographer-slash-painter-slash-botanist-slash-engineer-slash-architect-slash-mathematician said, a delighted gleam coming into his eyes. The artist’s smile did not waver as his eyes landed on me. But he tilted his head, an obvious question in his eyes.

“And who is this?” He said, his smile never wavering. I saw the way the artist’s eyes slightly harden, and I winced. I extended my other arm hesitantly. I looked up at Ezio, a silent permission in my eyes. He remained impassive.

I looked back to Leonardo and attempted a smile, though the awe and slight fear in my eyes must’ve been obvious.

“Hello, I’m Dominique Arnetta.” Leonardo watched me, and his blue eyes must’ve seen the fear—bless his soul—for he immediately shook it.

“Leonardo da Vinci, a pleasure.” The man said. Then he glared at the assassin. And, to my surprise, Ezio winced. “Ezio! Where are your manners? It is obvious you have scared this innocent madonna to death.”

“Leonardo, I am not sure about that.” Ezio intoned lowly. It sent shivers down my spine and Leonardo raised an eyebrow at the assassin. The artist’s eyes wandered to me, and his eyes widened as realization dawned on him.

“Is she working with the Borgia?” Leonardo asked. His eyes were now hard shards of ice boring into my own, and I resisted the urge to whimper. Ezio shook his head:

“No, but—” the assassin looked around, his sharp eyes scanning the crowd milling about behind him. “I think we should continue this somewhere more private, no?”

Leonardo seemed to realize that we were still talking at his doorstep. I wondered how gossip worked in Renaissance Italy. But I didn’t have time to dwell on that, because in moments Ezio was already prodding me inside and pushing me to sit on a chair beside Leonardo’s fireplace.

I curled in the chair like a cat, hoping that the warmth of the flame would calm my shaking body—but it wasn’t because of cold. It was more of a shivering fear. And it wasn’t because of the assassin or the artist conversing in the other room. It was because I finally understood where I was in that moment of clarity—when Leonardo had opened the door.

I was in Venetia, Italy.

Leonardo da Vinci was still alive and young. And Assassins exist, if Ezio was anything to go by.

I was in the 15^th century.

And I wasn’t sure, but it looked as though I was in the video game.

And I’ll be damned… I had no way how to get home.

I curled up tighter, ignoring how uncomfortable the wood pressed against my side. I whispered the words to myself over and over again, desperately hoping that by repeating it to myself again and again, I would remember just how ridiculous I was being and I would just wake up:

“I’m in Venetia. I’m in Italy. Leonardo da Vinci is alive. Ezio Auditore is alive. Ezio Auditore da Firenze is real. Assassins are real. I’m in Venetia. I’m in Italy. Leonardo da Vinci is alive…”

I mumbled it continuously like it was mantra, creating my own safe bubble in the great Leonardo da Vinci’s chair. And I hoped this was all a dream.

But at the same time, deep down—no matter how crazy it might sound—I also hoped that it wasn’t.

Chapter Text

Lady of the Little Eagles

O~O~O~O~O~O

"Don’t hold back.”

"It’s the house telling you to close your eyes.”

O~O~O~O~O~O

Chapter 4: Time For Our Little Talks (Part I)

I didn’t even realize that I had fallen asleep until I felt someone drape a warm blanket around my curled body. I woke with a start, and the man—the artist, Leonardo—jumped back, a wary expression crossing his features. I straightened up, groaning at the cramps that wracked my body at the movement.

“Your position must have been uncomfortable, signora,” Leonardo commented, walking forward again and adjusting the blanket around my shoulders. “I apologize. I did not have the heart to wake you. You have been asleep for quite some time.”

“Some… time?” I repeated, the words not registering in my mind. But when I looked out of the window, night had already fallen. The streets were silent. But in the distance, I could hear the rambunctious shouts and laughter from bars—ahem, taverns—in the nearby streets.

“It is already nearing midnight, signora Arnetta, and—” the artist began. He was already helping me up when I stopped him:

“Please, call me Arnie.” I never liked my last name. It didn’t sound normal—another thing that wasn’t quite right with the psychic novelist-barista who liked playing video games a little too much.

The artist nodded as he looped an arm around my back to pull me off the chair. But the moment his hand made contact, I felt a familiar something surge through me. But it wasn’t like Ezio’s something that had been sweet and divine, this was almost purer—more innocent.

Where the power (energy, I guess?) that I absorbed from Ezio was rejuvenating, yet powerful and addictive, this felt more like a drink of pure water after a long, hard day’s work. I felt my mind clear instantly.

“Where’s Ezio?” I asked, standing straighter than I was before. The artist noticed this and let go of my shoulders. But the moment his hands left my shoulders, I sagged forward, my eyes drooping as I tried to fight off the drowsiness that suddenly clouded my mind.

Leonardo was immediately upon me, grabbing my arm and steadying me. The moment his hand made contact with my arm, his… whatever-it-was flowed through me again. I breathed in deeply before exhaling, the fog-like lethargy in my mind dispersing. Leonardo quirked a brow and moved to let go again, but my hand found his and I tightened my grip.

“No, wait,” I said, my throat dry. “Don’t let go of me yet.”

His blue eyes widened a fraction, and I realized what my statement must have sounded like to a guy’s ears. My cheeks burned, and I giggled nervously.

“Oh, God. That sounded so wrong.” I stammered, but Leonardo only chuckled.

“As you wish, Arnie.”

He looped his arms around my waist, and I leaned onto him gratefully as he guided me up the stairs of his workshop. Climbing up the steps, I quickly racked my brain, thinking of ways to try to get over the hangover that Ezio’s presence—or rather, lack thereof—left me to cope with.

…

Wait a minute.

This feeling coursing through me—this current of purity… I should have noticed it earlier! It was Leonardo’s!

Energy, my brain helpfully supplied.

It was Leonardo’s—let’s call it “energy.” Leonardo’s energy… yeah, that sounded appropriate. It was Leonardo’s energy. That’s what I’ve been feeling, the sensation of purity flowing through my veins. And the powerful and positively sinful feeling that coursed through me was Ezio’s energy.

The knowledge of me actually being able to tap into people’s energies threw me into a loop for a few seconds. But it really shouldn’t have surprised me. I could have possible just broken all of the known laws of physics (not that I knew them, or gave a shit) and proven the existence of parallel universes (one where Assassins exist!). My powers upgrading shouldn’t have surprised me at all.

I had already been tapping into the man’s energy as a source of temporary relief from the lethargy fogging my mind. The problem now was how to tap into that energy to “heal” me without him having to touch me 24/7.

I would like my man to be attentive, not clingy, thank you very much.

An idea popped into my head. But before I could think it through—desperation can really mess up your common sense—I turned around. Leonardo’s eyebrows rose in question. But before he could open his mouth to speak, my hands were already upon his temple.

I was immediately assaulted with layers upon layers of memories and emotions, surprisingly. Each memory with its designated emotion flooded through my psychic link with the artist.

I resisted the urge to make an “aww” sound at what I saw: this man was… innocent. There was no other word for it. Pure like the sunrise breaking through the New York cityscape, and more innocent than any of the people I had ever met in my entire life.

Leonardo made a choking sound, and it dawned on me that the artist might—just might—not be enjoying the way that I was. I quickly snapped out of my daze and shoved the memories aside.

In my panic, I chose the one memory I could think of that might contain the most “innocent” energy I needed to recuperate: Leonardo’s first meeting with Ezio.

I grasped onto it like a lifeline, letting the emotion of the moment—the innocent meeting between two men, the promise of friendship and brotherhood—flow through me, letting it cure me of the gaping hole Ezio’s absence left me.

“Molto onorato!” It’s a pleasure to meet you!

Two men meeting in the warmth of the Florentine sun, unaware of the darkness the future held for the both of them.

“L’onere e’ mio.” The honor is mine.

The promise of friendship and brotherhood, yes… but tainted with death and violence, littered with the corpses of the corrupt and the malicious.

I severed the connection.

Leonardo was still. His blue eyes were wide and glassy, as if staring at something far away. His mouth was slacked open in shock. I waved my hand in front of his face. Nothing.

Panic gripped my heart as I grabbed the nearest container—a ceramic jar that I guessed Leonardo must have used to fill with water or something—and ran downstairs. After a minute of running around the house looking for a faucet or showerhead, it dawned on me that I was in Renaissance Italy.

“Fuck!” I cursed as I ran at the back of the house. There! A pump jutted out of the ground, and I was surprised at how easy the water flowed from the mouth. I filled the cup with water and ran back upstairs, thorns of guilt wrapping themselves around my heart.

“Mr. da Vinci?” I yelled, my shout echoing across the silent house. Still no response.

Fear clawed at my heart as I emptied the jar of water on his face. The artist choked and spluttered, and I laughed in relief.

“Oh, shit, shit, shit. You’re okay. You’re alright!” I jumped, throwing my arms around the man. Leonardo stiffened and I immediately backed away, my palms raised up.

“I’m so, so, so, so, so, so, so, sooooo sorry.” I said, my eyes brimming with frightened tears. I didn’t know where they were coming from, but I didn’t try to stop them as they flowed down my cheeks.

“Did I hurt you? Shit. I’m so sorry. I-I just… I just wanted the hangover to stop so I just—and when I felt your energy it was so pure and refreshing and I—I—oh, God. I’m so, so, so, sorry. I’m so selfish, damn it!”

I had started sobbing and hiccupping somewhere in the middle of my breakdown. Leonardo continued to stare at me with mixed emotions: awe, fear, and slight confusion. He watched me sob uncontrollably for a few moments before finally snapping out of his stupor and shuffling forward. I felt him wrap his arms around me as he attempted to comfort me. I leaned onto his shoulder, trembling like a leaf in an approaching storm.

“Oh, shush now… shhh…” Leonardo cooed in my ear. “It’s alright, Arnie. It did not even hurt! Mi dispace, Arnie, if I frightened you. I did not—”

Standing straight, I was at eye level with his chin, so hugging him posed no awkwardness. But the moment I heard those two words—mi dispace—from the artist’s mouth, I pulled my tear-streaked face away and glared at the artist:

“No, Mr. da Vinci. Don’t you dare apologize to me. I was the one who did wrong, even though you were not hurt by my mistake. I haven’t even mastered this ability yet, and already I am testing my limits without knowing of the pain it could cause to others. I’m…” I trailed off.

Leonardo remained silent, but his eyes understood the silence as he rubbed my back reassuringly. But as soon as my own words registered in my head, a sob broke from my throat and the tears continued to flow. The man held me as I continued:

“I—I’m so sorry. I-I-I was selfish and… I didn’t know... I didn’t st-stop to think that absorbing the emotions from a past experience w-would hurt… if that is even what I did.”

I stuttered to a halt as I took a deep breath. I didn’t even notice it, but my heart had begun to pound painfully within my chest as I sobbed. My brain fired off thoughts of it’s my fault, I’m so stupid… and I realized that hysterical sobbing betrayed how I was really feeling:

I’m so fucked.

We stayed like that for a few minutes—hours…? I didn’t even know anymore. I lost track of time, and somewhere along the line, we had sunk to the ground. But the man’s arms never left me, rubbing comforting circles on my back and whispering reassurances under his breath.

When I finally managed to calm down, I looked up at the artist holding me. Leonardo’s eyes were gazing off into space; his thoughts probably rampaging at the shitload of crazy I had just unleashed in my whiny ramblings. I winced internally.

“Mr. da Vinci, I’d like to go to bed now.” I whispered, not trusting my voice. The artist woke up from his trance, and looked at me with a soft smile that reached his blue eyes. I felt the remaining vestiges of guilt dislodge itself from my heart. I allowed him to lift me up and guide me to what I guessed to be the guest bedroom.

Once I was deposited on the bed, I immediately burrowed under the covers, desperately seeking the illusion of comfort it provided. I whispered a small “thank you” into what I assumed to be the already-empty room.

But no, the artist was still there, watching over me in the chair beside the bed. I heard him hum in response as my eyes drifted close. The last thing I heard was:

“Nessun problema. Oh, and you may call me Leonardo. Rest now, for you have a lot of explaining to do tomorrow.”

Chapter Text

Lady of the Little Eagles

O~O~O~O~O~O

"It’s time to begin, isn’t it?"

"`Cause though the truth may vary, this ship will carry our bodies safe to shore."

O~O~O~O~O~O

Chapter 5: Time for Our Little Talks (part II)

I woke up to the smell of freshly baked bread.

My eyes opened slowly, squinting against the sunlight peeking through the blinds at the foot of the bed.

Wait. There’s no window at the foot of my bed.

Come to think of it, the bed didn’t feel right, too. I was sure that I was still using the blanket Trixie had bought for me last Christmas, but the fabric on me was too thin. Above me, the ceiling was unpainted, the wood and cement unpainted and undecorated.

And then everything came crashing back down me: my falling and Ezio catching me—the assassin Ezio; Ezio leading me to the workshop of the great Leonardo da Vinci—who was still young, and not dead; my breakdown last night.

But he forgave me… and for now, I guess that would have to be enough.

I sat up, the thin blankets falling off my body and pooling at my lap. My robe was still on me, and so was my hoodie and shorts. I pulled the blankets off me and I stood up, slightly shuddering when the hard, cold floor met my bare feet. I left my robe open as I folded the blankets and fixed the sheets, but tied it again—though not as tight as yesterday in the streets—as I went downstairs.

The artist was painting, a concentrated look etched on his face. His tongue was sticking out of his lips, brows furrowed. I found the sight funny and slightly terrifying.

I mean… this man was the Leonardo da Vinci! He should’ve been dead for centuries! And yet here I am, standing at the foot of his stairs, watching him behave like any normal, focused person would.

The man didn’t notice me as I padded to the table where a glass of wine and some freshly baked loaves of bread were left out, most likely for me. It seems that the artist had not yet eaten… or bathed for that matter, if the oily hair and slight body odor was anything to go by. I cringed.

I sat myself down and tucked in, glancing up from time to time at the artist whose hands never seemed to leave the canvas, and if he did it was only to dab his paintbrush into his palette. The man’s blue eyes were trained onto the canvas, as if by adding the right mixture of color and shade the answer to all of the world’s questions would be revealed on the painting.

I continued to watch, entranced, while I took bites out of the bread.

The bread itself was good: warm, soft, and straight out of the oven. The wine… I never liked liquor. Even in New York, I would pick a bottle of Pepsi over a bottle of Gallo’s chardonnay any day.

Maybe if Leonardo and I became friends…

Ha! Now there’s something you don’t see every day; a small-scale writer-barista befriending the greatest artist of all time.

Maybe I could ask him if he had water… or coffee. Ugh, how I would kill for a mocha frappe right now.

Even after I had finished eating, the man was still painting. I had left the artist six loaves of bread along with a half-eaten croissant (I wanted to know what it tasted it like!) and a full bottle of wine. I crossed over to his table and looked at his work from over his shoulder:

I gasped. He was painting the “Virgin of the Rocks,” commissioned by Prior Bartolomeo Scorlione for the Confraternity of the Immaculate Conception. I saw this once when we went to the National Gallery in London on our school field trip.

But this one seemed different somehow, the setting here seemed to be in the day—or at least had a source of light that encompassed the entire scene—whereas the Gallery-in-London version was… I guess the word was “darker”? Why was that?

I also remembered that this was commissioned in Milan… why was Leonardo doing the painting in Venice?

I brushed the questions aside. The artist still hadn’t noticed me, so I decided to test the waters a little. I leaned in, my chin now brushing his shoulders, and whispered:

“What is it called?” I asked, not bothering to feign wonder in my tone as I really was amazed by his work.

The artist jumped, the paintbrush flying out of his hands. No paint splattered on the canvas, but the floor was immediately littered with drops of reds, yellows, and blues.

“Merda!” the artist gasped as he turned in shock, clutching at his chest. I didn’t have to know Italian to understand that Leonardo just used a curse word. I winced and stepped back, ineffectively fighting the heat spreading across my face.

When the hell did I get so touchy-feely?

“S-sorry…” I said, fighting back the guilt from last night’s “experiment.” Leonardo’s eyes finally landed on me, and a soft smile spread across his lips.

“Va tutto bene,” he sighed.

It’s alright…

I sighed in relief, but I still didn’t look up.

“Have you eaten?” he asked.

I nodded. I took a sudden interest in the pattern of paint drops on the floor, bowing my head to avoid the artist’s eyes. Leonardo chuckled.

“It is alright, Arnie. You only shocked me; it is nothing to worry about.” The artist assured me, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder. I looked up, and upon seeing the genuine forgiveness in his eyes I smiled too.

“Now…” He patted my shoulder one more time before leading me to the dining table. I sat on one end of the table while he on the other. He laced his hands together, and I resisted the urge to do the same. His gaze wasn’t piercing, but it still managed to hold me in place.

“Would you mind telling me what happened?” he asked, his eyes alight with curiosity.

I sagged against the chair. My mind held an internal debate: should I tell him the truth? Or nah?

My mind automatically started coming up a story riddled with half-stories and white lies—what? I couldn’t help it. I was too used to lying… how do you think I managed to pass off my powers throughout high school? Throughout college?

I was a Grade-A liar. And it was something I was trying to shake off ever since moving into the city.

But I didn’t know why I wanted to lie to this honest, innocent man. It’s just… I barely knew him!

Wasn’t there a rule or something going against this? Don’t talk to strangers…

But from when I come from, Leonardo has long since died. So does that still count? Don’t talk to dead strangers…?

Well, shit. If that’s a law, then throw me in prison for life imprisonment for all the dead people I’ve talked to over the past twenty-two years.

A minute or two passed by in silence as I looked down on my own hands, contemplating the answer to his easy, yet intensely difficult question.

Finally, I just decided to speak the truth, and to talk to him like I would talk to any other person in my time:

“Which one: with you or with Ezio?” I asked. The artist was stunned for a moment before his laughter filled the room, loud and free. A smile spread across my lips before I could stop it.

“How about let’s start from the beginning, shall we? Ezio says he saw you, your face in…” Leonardo trailed off meaningfully, but I knew what he was going to say. I remembered what Ezio rambled to me when we first met:

“Che cosa è successo? Ho visto la tua faccia mi sembra che dall'interno della Apple e all'improvviso sei caduta dal cielo…”

What happened? I saw your face inside the Apple and all of a sudden, you are falling from the sky…

“He saw my face in the Apple of Eden, didn’t he?” I asked, not bothering to look up. I already knew that the artist was once again speechless by the extent of what I knew. A few silent moments later, Leonardo nodded.

“Yes. He saw your face. And a few moments later, you were falling from the sky.” Leonardo affirmed. I could literally feel the curiosity oozing from this man; a drive to discover the forces behind my sudden appearance in this time and place.

Well, Mr. Artist-who’s-supposed-to-be-dead, join the club.

“I… I honestly don’t know how it happened. Mr. da—Leonardo, have you noticed my clothes? They’re not exactly from around here.” I asked. The artist nodded.

“And the way you spoke to Ezio, before you suddenly learned to speak our language… Ezio described it to me, and it sounded like English.” The inventor pointed out. “Where do you hail from?”

“I think you mean to ask me: when do I hail from?” I clarified, looking up just in time to see a mortified expression overtaking the artist’s curious one. “I come from the future, the year 2012 to be exact. I come from the city of New York, America.”

The artist was silent, but I pressed on. Now that I knew where to begin, I could now lay out the questions that have been plaguing my mind ever since I fell from the sky.

Wow. #ChickenLittle much.

“Okay, that answers your question to where I came from. But…” And here, I leaned back tossing my hair irritably as questions began popping up in my head like fucking daisies.

“I’m still confused. Like really confused: How did I get here? Was it because of the Apple? And I’ve never been able to do what I did to you and Ezio—enter another person’s mind and extract information. But holy shit. I just did that: I extracted Ezio’s knowledge of the Italian language. I mean, what? I’m a sensitive, not a telepath. There’s a huge difference.

Also, I’ve never been this reliant on the energies of other people before. I’ve never needed the presence of other people to make myself function. So why am I starting now?”

Woah… my detective was showing.

“Oh, and Leonardo, you never did answer my question.” I flopped back down on the chair with a sigh, for somewhere along my rant I had begun pacing in front of the fireplace. The artist followed my every movement with a keen eye.

“Where did Ezio go?”

At the name of the assassin, Leonardo snapped out of his stupor and he suddenly jumped up. His face was screwed up in determination. I recognized that look: it was the same look I would get whenever I was encountered with a really, really hard question or riddle, and everything I knew would be put to the test.

It was weirdly nice to see the great Leonardo da Vinci act like a normal person. I smiled as his own words battled the questions I posed for him:

“It is nice to see someone else look at things in such a logical light.” Leonardo began, his eyes appraising me. I fought down the blush that threatened to bloom. I’ve had enough blushes for one day.

“For your first question: yes, the Apple could have played a part. And I must apologize: I do not understand what you mean by being a ‘sensitive.’ To me—and it seems to Ezio as well—you are a witch, though I do not believe in the existence of witches, nor of the craft they practice.”

This time, I wasn’t able to stop the blush that turned my face scarlet. I crossed my legs and tucked my hands in my hoodie. I opened my mouth to explain:

“I don’t believe in witches, too. But honestly, Leonardo, right now even I don’t know what I’m capable of. In my time, I was only limited to the occasional dream of the future. Or sometimes, I would be able to ‘guess’ what the weather will be tomorrow, or if the child that a pregnant woman will give birth to would be a boy or a girl.

“But when I came here, it’s like I can do so much more. I read Ezio’s mind, for God’s sake! I’ve never been able to do that before! I absorbed something from his fucking memory banks. Again: first time. And apparently, now I’m dependent on energy—either yours or Ezio’s. I mean…”

And here, I trailed off. My eyes drifted towards the artist, who was staring at me with awe and fear in his eyes.

Sympathy for this man entered my heart. I must have been a mystery to him—a scary, destructive mystery that could blow up in his face. He wasn’t sure of me—of what I was, of the possible threat I posed towards him and Ezio and everything they stood for. I can tell that much.

And I could relate to this man: that feeling of uncertainty, that feeling of not knowing what the universe had in store. I felt the same thing when I realized that I was different—that I could see the dead, that I could see the future.

I wasn’t the normal girl-next-door. And I would never be.

I stood up, and my way over to where the artist was standing, unmoving. I put both of my hands on his shoulders—ignoring the surge of emotional power I felt when I touched him—and looked into his eyes.

“Leonardo, I am not a witch, even though you don’t believe in them.” I promised. “Not to be arrogant or rude, but all of the people I have met have called me kind and caring. I intend to be the same to you and to everyone we meet here.”

I emphasized every word, pouring all of my sincerity into every syllable.

“I will continue where I left off, okay? Please promise me that you will keep an open mind.”

Okay. Truth time: I had no idea when I became an expert on the nature of my sensitivity. Even back in New York, I was never sure about the extent of my power.

Some days, I would be able to see the dead prostitute haunting the second-floor stairway. Some days, I would have the power to see into the memory of an object I was touching, to see the things it had gone through.

(Wikipedia revealed that that brand of psychic power was called psychometry. Insert wide-eyed emoji here.)

Sometimes, while jogging past the Hudson, I would get headaches and see flashes of a murder taking place on the other side of the city.

Bottom line was: I had no clue about the extent of my ability, even back in New York. But now, with my power seemingly magnified, I was at a total loss about what I could do here.

But I had no choice: I had to satisfy the curiosity that this chronic procrastinator possessed. And I also had to calm the fears that I had indirectly inflicted on him in my short time here.

I owed him that.

Leonardo nodded, and I let go of his shoulders. The emotional surge flowing through me faltered. I led him to his chair, and sat him down. I sat down on my own and laced my hands together.

“When I came here, I found my ‘sensitivity’, if you may, enhanced: I could enter yours and Ezio’s minds to get information—I think even memories, if I tried. But—” and here I looked up at the man once more. Leonardo nodded, determined.

“But now that I am here, it’s like I’m dependent on something… your energies.”

“When I met Ezio, I was able to feel his energy, just like when I touched you last night. Now, when I first touched Ezio, his energy was invigorating, yet addictive. Yes, when I absorbed his energy, I felt powerful. But as soon as he left me here, I was forced to deal with its aftereffects: it sort of… drained me. It’s hard to explain; but as soon as he left, I felt empty. And that is not a good feeling.

“But when I touched you, your energy was purer—like it was cleaner or something. It wasn’t as powerful as Ezio’s, but yours was—is refreshing and rejuvenating… without the hangover aftereffect.

“It was then that I realized that, here, I’m reliant on the energies of those around me for me to use my sensitivity. And something else that I’ve noticed is that each person’s energy is different, if yours and Ezio’s energies are anything to go by.

“There: does knowing what I can do make you feel better?” I asked, the nonchalant façade smooth and unfaltering. “And I’m sorry if I can’t give you anything clearer. Even before I came here, I didn’t know the extent my capabilities.”

I bit my lip to stop the nervous ramble that was threatening to spew from my mouth. My eyes wandered to Leonardo’s. The man’s eyes were unfocused. I could tell that he was still processing the new shitload of crazy that I had just bombed on him. And so I didn’t try to snap him out of it.

Instead, I reached out my hand and took his own, rubbing my thumb across the back of his hand in what I hoped to be a comforting gesture.

Slowly, Leonardo’s face cleared up, and he looked at me. I was shocked to see understanding in his blue orbs. The fear was still there, but it was mostly gone, replaced by awe and an all-too-familiar spark.

“Then you will be able to help us fight the Borgia, yes?”

Chapter Text

Lady of the Little Eagles

O~O~O~O~O~O

"You can feel the light start to tremble, washing what you know out to sea.”

"I’m waking up. I feel it in my bones."

O~O~O~O~O~O

Chapter 6: If I Radioactive Myself

"Then you will be able to help us fight the Borgia, yes?"

I quickly drew my hands back. Leonardo was still looking at me. His blue eyes were pools of flame that smoldered with determination and righteous fury. I bit my lip and looked down, watching my fingers play on the table—a habit I tended to do when I’m nervous or excited…

Hell, right now, I was both.

“I… umm…” I tried to say something… but what was I supposed to say? That I know how this game ends thanks to some spoilers I stumbled upon the Assassin’s Creed wiki? That I know that Leonardo will eventually be captured by the Borgia and will be forced to construct machines of war? (Damn it, AC Wiki!)

Oh, fuck it. The ultimate question was: what was I even doing here?

“Yes…?” I trailed off. Leonardo raised an eyebrow, and I immediately cursed internally. Of course this man could detect a lie; he is the greatest artist of all time.

I sighed. Honestly, I didn’t know what to do! Should I just go along with this and follow the plot of the game like how it had been initially laid out? But if I did, then what was the reason of my being here?

Or should I run away, find a safe place somewhere far away where the Borgia conflict wouldn’t reach me?

But then again, I’m fucking broke here. And I’m still wearing the clothes of my time... not to mention they do look a little bit slutty. If I won’t starve to death, I’ll be raped for sure.

Would that even be a bad thing?

Of course, it’d be a bad thing!

Seriously, Arnie… what the fuck?

Before my internal, sexually-depraved conflict could go any further, I shook my head. Leonardo saw this and his eyebrows furrowed in concern. My lips curled up in a small smile, a silent to assurance that I’m alright, and I know what to do now.

I sat up straighter and, letting more certainty steel my tone, I said:

“Yes. I will fight. But one problem though: I have no idea how to hold a sword.”

Leonardo smiled grimly, “Don’t worry, madonna, I’m sure Ezio can help with that.”

I nodded, taking the advice in stride; I already knew Leonardo would relay me to Ezio for training. But to make sure that we got off on a happy note, I replied:

“Okay… but he better not take advantage of me; there’s a difference between teaching me how to hold a sword and how to hold his sword.”

It’s hard to believe I’ve already been with the artist for over four months.

The days just seemed to blur together into a monotonous repetition of yesterday’s activities—though it was never boring… well, not for me, at least. I spent the whole of the first month trying not to freak out at everything that the Renaissance lacked: which was to say, everything.

So, yes, it took me a while to get used to doing normally mundane things—to me, at least—like washing the dishes (without a dishwasher), entertaining myself (Leonardo wasn’t the richest man on the block), and cooking (again, the artist wasn’t the richest man on the block—his budget sort of stopped me from trying some of the more complicated recipes I knew how to cook).

I had already been in the middle of my second month here when I remembered Leonardo still hadn’t answered my question about Ezio’s whereabouts. Upon asking him, Leonardo had answered that before he saw me in the Apple, Ezio was just returning from his fight with Rodrigo Borgia beside some nameless river.

I had almost dropped the bowl I was holding (I was trying the Renaissance version of fried rice, which mostly consisted of chopped meat, slices of cheese, diced onions, some thyme) containing the cooked ham and diced onions.

I forgot: this was the part where Desmond’s memory sequence in the Animus becomes corrupted, where the game skipped a few years.

Is this why I’m here—to fill in the gap of some fictional guy’s memory of a sexy, womanizing, Italian assassin?

“But do not worry, Arnie,” Leonardo had assured me. “It is normal for my friend to disappear for months without a trace, only to suddenly return one day should he need a Codex page deciphered. I am sure he is fine.”

Was it my imagination, or did the artist sound slightly bitter?

Leonardo had been kind enough to buy me some new clothes. It took a whole day of shopping for me to find some clothes that Leonardo could afford—he insisted on making sure that I liked them “truly”, and that it was not only for “his benefit”.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes; the artist only did want the best for me after all.

The day Leonardo insisted he buy me my own set of clothes and not rely on some spare sheets that I managed to sew together into a suitable dress (Trixie used to teach me how to sew simple cross stitches whenever my barista apron required stitching), my heart swelled and I blinked away the tears that threatened to roll down my face.

I didn’t want to go all Dobby on the man—he was like the homosexual father I never had… or just the father I never had.

I also loved the way Leonardo would try and understand how my “sensitivity” worked; he would frequently ask questions about the weather, if I could only see his energy or also of the people outside.

I remember smiling, slightly amused and slightly disturbed that another person would be so interested in what I could do:

“I’m not really sure, Leo.” I took to calling him that a few weeks after I was dropped off at his workshop. It was the first nickname that popped into my mind and it just stuck.

“I can’t really see energy. Remember that I had to have physical contact with both you and Ezio so that I could know the nature of your energies? I believe the same principle applies with everyone else.”

But the artist’s question got me curious: I began to wonder if, now that my powers were enhanced, it could actually get to the point wherein I could see the energies of other people. And, God help it, if I could absorb them without physical contact.

So at the end of my second month with the artist, I tried to experiment:

I had tagged along with Leonardo on one of his morning market runs, same as usual. I wore a dull green dress with a faded, brown bodice. I sewed in some red accents on its sleeves and skirt and I wore the clogs we managed to get at a very cheap price (I later found out why it was cheap the hard way when I walked in them the first time).

All in all, I looked like a Spirit of Christmas gone broke.

The artist had locked the door behind us as we walked down the cobblestone streets to the marketplace beside the Venetian Canal. We were nearing the square that separated us from the wet market. But before we crossed it, I looped my arms Leonardo and pointed to a wooden doll on display.

“Leonardo, look!” I exclaimed, feigning excitement as I dragged him away from our normal path to the market and to the doll on display. The owner of the stall wasn’t there at the moment, but I didn’t care. I just needed an excuse to touch the man.

The artist chuckled.

“Yes. Fascinating, isn’t it?” He said, but I wasn’t paying attention to him anymore; the moment we stopped in front of the stall I allowed myself to be immersed in the energy flowing from the artist.

I emptied my mind, allowing the sounds of the bustling crowd and Leonardo’s occasional ‘hmm’ to fade into the background.

Here goes nothing.

I opened my eyes, and—in the process—I willed them to see everything.

I gasped and Leonardo turned, his eyebrows raised in question and worry. But I didn’t notice him, nor did I notice his feeble attempts of withdrawing his arm from my grip. I was more focused on the air around us:

“Oh my…” I trailed off, too in awe with what I was looking at. It’s kind of hard to explain:

Imagine Ezio’s Eagle vision—but while its focus was on the nature of the people and the background just sort of faded into black and white, my sight focused on the energy imbued within the environment itself.

The people faded into tiny, unfocused pinpricks of reds and blues while the air around us shimmered and rippled with sparks of black and white.

Leonardo had finally managed to wrench his hand free from my grip, but my vision didn’t fade back to normal. I kept my eyes trained on the sky, widening when I saw tendrils of black and white extend from the rippling body that was the air like the tentacles of some grotesque squid.

I took a step forward, bumping into a man holding a fairly large crate. The box tumbled out of his arms and shattered into splinters of wood, its contents scattering across the cobblestone.

The man cursed in Italian and glared at me as he walked towards me—but still I didn’t notice him, too entranced by the approaching tendrils of black and white energy.

The man was only a few feet away, while the tendrils were mere inches from my fingertips. A small crowd had gathered around us—all of them whispering and pointing at me as I raised my hand, reaching out for the tendrils.

The man I bumped into meanwhile was two feet… one foot… ten inches… away when—

The tendrils met my fingertips.

Memories: births and deaths; poverty and corruption; injustice and rebellion; and an orb of gold that was carried by a man wearing white…

I saw courtesans, thieves, merchants, doctors, blacksmiths, artists, nobles, beings clad in white that bore the Assassin insignia…

I saw them all in the blink of an eye.

“What the hell do you think you are doing?” The man yelled. He turned me around—my guess intending to give me a piece of his mind—but he only screamed with shock, falling back when he saw that my eyes had rolled at the back of my head.

The crowd gasped as I swooned, and Leonardo rushed forward and caught me before my head could hit the hard ground.

Chapter Text

Lady of the Little Eagles

O~O~O~O~O~O

" If you stay forever, hey, we can stay forever young.”

"There’s always gonna be another mountain"

O~O~O~O~O~O

Chapter 7: Here’s to The Climb

“And thus, the dawning of the Mystic’s new powers did manifest, and she shall set straight the discord sowed by her Adversary.”

The voice had rung through the silent void. Even from where I was, I had felt the authority—the power within it. It had set my teeth on edge, and though I didn’t know where I had been, I felt the urge to run and hide under a hole forever and ever and ever—

I moaned into the blackness as a pounding began to spread from where I assumed my head would be. I willed the pounding in my temples to stop. But only the act of wanting only worsened it, and I felt the urge to vomit.

“And so, their battle nears; a struggle that will correct the dissonance in the harmony set by the universe. Sacrifice will go beyond that the flesh can present, for they shall struggle over the very fabric of Time, the very soul of the future.”

The message had been ominous, and the woman’s grim tone—for the voice sounded like it belonged to a woman—hadn’t helped at all. But I had felt a cool hand laid itself on my forehead, and the throbbing ceased.

The severity of the message disappeared, draining out of my memory like dirty dishwater down the drain. What was it again? What did she say?

It didn’t matter.

I was tired.

I slipped into a darker darkness; and this time, I remained undisturbed.

I later realized that I had been unconscious for three days. When I woke up, I remember gasping as my mind registered the artist’s tired, bloodshot eyes and his trembling fingers as he struggled to maintain the weak grip he had on the cup he had been holding to my lips.

The cup fell to the floor as soon as the man saw my eyes open:

“A-Arnie?” The artist whispered, his bloodshot eyes wide. I resisted the urge to cringe and, instead, allowed the feeling of guilt to wash over me as I quickly sat up and hugged Leonardo, whose shoulders had begun to tremble.

“Leonardo, what happened?” I asked, hesitant. The artist had begun to sob against me, and I rubbed soothing patterns on his back to calm him down.

“I… I thought you were dead, il mio amico. You—” here the man took a shuddering breath, and I felt my own catch in my throat. “You would not wake up, no matter what or how hard I tried. At first I… I-I thought you were dead.”

Leonardo choked back a sob, and I was shocked by just how much this affected the artist. “But I could still hear your heart beating… and y-you were still breathing. It seemed like you fell asleep… but you would not wake up.”

He trailed off and I didn’t push him for any more details. I pushed the questions—How did I get here? What happened in the square after I fainted?—to the back of my mind and focused on comforting the man who was now sobbing uncontrollably against my neck.

I whispered apologies, begged and pleaded for his forgiveness against his ear as the sky darkened outside.

I let a tear trail down my cheek as my heart ached for the suffering I caused the inventor.

Three weeks later…

The memory of Leonardo’s broken, sobbing face continued to haunt me. Even now, three weeks after I awoke, I still couldn’t get the artist’s eyes—brimming with tears, all because of me—out of my head.

From that day on, I tried to promise to myself: no more public experiments.

But Leonardo himself has asked me: what had I seen? Why did I faint? Why was I asleep for so long?

And I had giggled in relief; I thought I had lost the scholar in Leonardo that day. I thought I had lost that spark of curiosity Leonardo possessed when it came to the nature of my abilities because of one, foolish mistake—my mistake.

I remembered asking him last week why my fainting spell affected him so much. I mean, I’m going to be honest: I didn’t really think of myself as the type of person people like spending time with. I’m the type of girl you would see curled up in a booth at the far end of a café with earphones, reading “Percy Jackson and the Olympians” with a mocha frappucino in hand. I don’t do clubs or parties. I do bookstores and arcades and the occasional movie-night.

So why did Leonardo react the way he did?

The answer he gave me broke my heart:

“I do not enjoy the feeling of being helpless,” he had said, not looking away from the commission he had been working on the time. But I could tell that my question had shaken him, if the trembling hands and the shaky voice had been anything to go by.

“Ezio, his family… and now, you—people I care about. I have all of this knowledge, knowledge that can help shape the world! But when it comes to the ones I care about, it is useless. And when I am useless, the ones who used to need me do not need me anymore. They leave.”

Here, he had stopped painting. With a sigh, he put down his brush and turned to face me. My breath had hitched in my throat when I saw the vast oceans of Leonardo’s eyes. At that moment, I was drowning in them—crystal orbs filled with sorrow and knowledge gained through pain.

“And there is nothing more painful in the world than being left behind by the ones you care about.”

I didn’t know what to say. So I did the only thing I could think of: I hugged him.

“I’m sorry,” and then I kissed him on the cheek.

“And I’m not going anywhere.”

I promise.

Now, I felt the wind gently blow against me, making my skirt billow around my legs and my hair fly around me. It awoke me from my reverie. Yesterday’s ghosts weren’t meant for those living in the present; Leonardo had already forgiven me for that stunt I pulled, and I wasn’t going to wallow in the past—er, further in the past.

“Arnie?” the artist called out from where he was working. I hummed in reply as I went to the kitchen to get a glass of water. “Would you mind buying me some more paint from the art merchant a few streets away? I am running out of blacks and blues, and this commission must be finished by tomorrow.”

I made a tsk-tsk sound as I walked over to where the artist was painting feverishly. I sat down on a stool nearby, not even bothering to look—I already knew it was amazing—at the canvas. I took a long gulp of water before standing up and refilling the glass for the artist. The man took it gratefully and took a sip before dipping his paintbrush inside.

I laughed and grabbed the glass before the man could put it to his lips again.

“Hey!” he remarked, though slightly off-handedly as his focus returned to the canvas. I laughed and washed the glass before putting it away.

“I don’t mind.” I said as I grabbed the shawl I managed to haggle from a merchant on the other side of Venice. It was a simple, beige shawl that covered me up just fine when the weather got a little chilly. Leonardo had already put out a small purse of coins for me. I picked it up, and pecked the man on the cheek before heading out.

“I’m going now!” I yelled, adjusting my shawl and my grip on the basket while walking to the door. “And yes, I’ll make sure not to spend the change on anything ‘not important’. And make sure to finish that before dinner; I don’t want your ‘artsy’ hands on the same food I’m eating!”

The artist’s laugh rang behind me as I shut the door.

I felt the shawl slip down my shoulders and pool around my arms as I adjusted my grip on the basket. Luckily, the day wasn’t too chilly even though November was already coming around. I breathed in the scent of autumn in Venice as I took the long route to the merchant.

The fading sunlight reflected off the facades of the well-worn, but still-majestic buildings as I took in the sights of the people walking by me: middle-class citizens; beggars; merchants; parents and their children… people from all walks of life milled around me as I stepped onto the square where I had fainted.

Leonardo had said that the man I bumped into didn’t press charges—or whatever Renaissance equivalent of “pressing charges” was, and that the crowd dispersed as soon as Leonardo announced that I was still breathing, only unconscious.

A doctor had been called to the scene, and had diagnosed me with a slight fever and prescribed me some medicine that Leonardo quickly stashed away—as opposed to throwing it in the gutter, which would have been my plan were I in Leonardo’s shoes—as soon as we reached his house.

I sighed as I held the basket closer to my chest. Ever since that day, ever since I saw everything, I kept trying again and again to see the energies these unsuspecting people left behind whenever they love, murder, rob, or steal.

It took me a while to guess, at the most, what I had seen then.

Leonardo had been a big help, bringing up the definitions I posed for him when he brought this up the first time with me:

* * * *

Eventually, after a few late nights littered with cups of tea and stale bread, we managed to come to a conclusion: what I had seen was, in fact, energy—or rather, the energies that the people had imbued upon the environment, the very air itself.

“But what about those black and white tendrils?” I had asked then. Leonardo had been taking a long sip from his tea, which had already gone cold. The artist had hummed thoughtfully before putting down the cup and nibbling on a loaf of bread.

“I would like to believe that, akin to the human conscience’s ability to discern what is right from what is wrong, those two colors were the warring natures of people—the generic ‘conscience’ of the energies these people release.”

I resisted the urge to comment on how this man knew the nature of my powers even better than I did.

But he was right. And I didn’t need to ask him how that energy was released; I’ve watched enough Medium and Ghost Whisperer episodes, read enough books on the occult and spiritualism, to know that energy is released through events—both joyous and poignant.

When deeds charged with intent, whether malicious or benevolent, are carried out, energy is released. But it’s not like the electricity that powers up an appliance.

No, wait. On second thought, yeah, it could be like that—only people like me are the “appliances” in this equation.

But there, sitting with Leonardo, I had only feigned a satisfied sound and finished my cup of tea.

* * * *

I blinked, snapping myself out of my thoughts. An alley a few feet to my right caught my attention. I ducked into it and took a deep breath.

Most of the times I’ve tried opening my—let’s call it my third Eye… Okay, most of the times I’ve tried opening my third Eye resulted in failure. It was like I needed to tap into someone else’s energy for the environment’s energy to become visible to me.

But after what happened with Leonardo, I didn’t want to risk any more blackouts.

I took another deep breath, forcing my mind to calm down. I immediately recalled the first time I touched someone from this era—when I touched Ezio. I had pushed against something… something that had been stopping me from reaching out into the consciousness of another, a mental block of sorts.

I furrowed my eyebrows and clutched the bag tighter to my chest as I pushed mentally, focusing my thoughts on a single spot in the middle of my forehead. I imagined myself—willed myself to break free of whatever it was that was blocking me from seeing the true nature of things.

Woah, my Yoda just showed for a minute there.

“Come on, come on, come on, come on…” I muttered to myself while the clutching the bag tighter and tighter.

Slowly, I felt something trickle down my forehead. I gasped and my eyes flew open, expecting the world to once more be engulfed by blacks, whites, and shades of grey. But I felt that “something” trickle down my nose and on my lips. I stuck out my tongue to taste it, but immediately spat it out and gagged.

Oh, God… that tasted like shit water. Literally.

“Oh, God! Blegh!” I shrieked before bending over and gagging, eventually bringing up the contents of my stomach. Eventually, my stomach ran out of things barf out, so I started dry-heaving.

“Fuck—you! Oh… god…!”

I bundled my shawl and used it to wipe the vomit out of my mouth before dumping it in the basket. I stumbled out of the alley and backed against the wall opposite it, ignoring the protests of some of the people I bumped into. Leaning against the cement, I shuddered at the taste of shit in my mouth.

“Whoever the hell thought of the idea to dump shit in alleys deserves to have a foot shoved up so far up his shitter, that his—” I muttered to myself, still heaving in breaths of the cool, autumn air; but I immediately cut myself off as I realized that the air seemed to have darkened while I was in the shade.

I cursed my luck, and my hand immediately shot into the basket to grab my barf-smelling shawl. My hand had already wrapped around the cloth when I noticed a sort of vibration seep into my bones.

It was more of a pleasant hum more than anything. It made every cell of my body come alive—not in a bad way, but not entirely good either. After a few moments of just standing there, I realized that the vibrations seemed to come from a point in my forehead.

I looked up, and I nearly screamed in delight.

It worked! The world was in black and white again!

I sucked in a sharp breath as some of the tendrils began to drift nearer. I didn’t reach out to them, though. I only let them float around me. I could actually feel the energy pulse within them; feel the beat to the rhythm of my heart. I resisted the urge to just reach out and absorb them.

I can handle it now…

I know how to use it…

I wantwantwantwant it—

“Control yourself, mortal.” A woman’s voice spoke in my ear. It sounded confident and authoritative, powerful.

I screamed as a flood of yellow light engulfed my vision. The vibrations in my cells intensified, and I trembled before falling to my knees. In the background, I could hear people whispering. And behind that: the soft, but firm, clip-clop of a horse galloping. The shouts of a city guard rang in my mind, but it also sounded muffled.

But I stopped paying attention to everything else as the light—this pure, powerful, divine light—seeped into my bones and pulled me up, higher and higher.

I was soaring, an eagle in the sky; gifted with incredible power, and burdened with glorious purpose.

A voice spoke to me again; only this time it wasn’t the woman’s authoritative tone. No, this time it sounded more like a man’s voice. It was rich and exotic, yet somewhat oily and derisive. I cringed.

“Now, it is time for you to continue; the interlude has passed. And now, it is time for this grand drama to proceed.”

A golden hand stretched from the sea of light, and covered my eyes. Then everything was gone.

Chapter Text

Lady of the Little Eagles

O~O~O~O~O~O

“Am I more than you bargained for yet?”

“This is gospel for the fallen ones, locked away in permanent slumber.”

O~O~O~O~O~O

Chapter 8: Sugar, This is Gospel

There was nothing, nothing at all. I couldn’t see, hear, smell, or feel anything.

Was this what death was like? Was this what every person would go through the moment their string was cut? Was this what every person went through before their spirits would rise up, independent of their bodies?

I couldn’t speak. I wasn’t breathing, yet my lungs did not ache with the need for air. But every time I tried to bring air into me, it was like something was blocking my nostrils.

I didn’t know what the hell was happening… until I realized that this might be because there was no air to breathe in.

Where am I?

~O~O~O~

Il Vaticano (December 1499)

“The rest is up to you now, Desmond.”

“What? Who is Desmond? I don’t understand… please wait! I have so many questions!”

But the figure didn’t return, nor did her voice reverberate forth from the walls of chamber again. There was only silence, like that of a tomb’s.

The assassin walked forward, silently willing the chamber to repeat the message again, for the moving painting of the goddess Minerva to show itself again. There were so many questions… too many questions…

Ezio sighed as he turned his back on the empty dais, willing his feet to take one step at a time—away from the mysteries left unsolved, away from the too many questions that involved this place:

Who was she? Who was Desmond? Why was he sent here if the painting did not even mean to speak to him… but to a phantom?

“Do not forget to bring your friend along with you.”

~O~O~O~

Out of nowhere, I felt cool air brush against my skin. I shuddered, not used to feeling something after an eternity of nothing.

The cool air wrapped itself around my body like a cloak, and I was both elated and terrified to finally feel something while inside this void.

~O~O~O~

Ezio whirled around, Hidden Blade at the ready. The chamber remained empty, but where did that voice come from? It was not that of Minerva’s; the voice had been that of a man’s. It was oily and commanding... it reminded Ezio of the slippery tongues of liars, combined with the imposing confidence of an official.

Behind the assassin, the tablets engraved with glowing lines and mysterious symbols began to sink out of sight. The chamber echoed with the sound of stone grinding against stone, and clouds of dust puffed from the holes in the ground where the stone tablets had sunk out of sight.

Ezio remained tense, his eyes sharp in the darkness. However, he jumped back when he felt something smooth touch—no, caress his face.

The assassin trained his eyes on what did it: a strip of cloth. It was white, as pale as moonlight and as bright as starlight. Ezio stared at it, entranced, before his suspicious mind registered that it seemed to extend from a source.

The assassino readied his throwing knives, and took a deep breath.

The man’s head shot up:

“Merda!” the assassin yelled as he rolled away from the floating figure of Dominique Arnetta.

~O~O~O~

A new sensation overcame me: floating. Before, it had been like I was lying down on a slab of something—not hard, not cold. Now it was like a soft, shifting cushion was keeping me up… like how floats kept me above the water as a child.

The cool air grew warmer, and I gasped when my nose picked up the smell of sweat, blood, and a dank, musty smell—like an attic that hadn’t been opened in ages.

I whimpered, suddenly wishing for Leonardo to come and get me out of here. I didn’t like it here. There was too much… too much nothing…

I opened my mouth, willing my voice to return from wherever-the-hell-it-went.

But then, all in a rush, a scream burst forth from my mouth. I expected it to be swallowed by the vacuum around me, but instead I felt it resonate around me and within me, even as I closed my mouth.

The last thing I saw before the darkness grew darker was a strip of pale cloth, as pale as moonlight and as bright as starlight.

~O~O~O~

Ezio’s mind literally began to ache with the questions swarming within them. How was this woman… this witch here? He remembered leaving her with Leonardo…

Was she related to the Apple—to the goddess?

This time, the assassin did let loose a growl of frustration and annoyance. He sheathed his Hidden Blade, and took another step back to look at her better:

The woman seemed to be wearing a gown of starlight; it pulsed and glowed, lighting up the now pitch-black chamber. The strip—er, strips, for there was more than one (Ezio counted twelve), seemed to come from the small of her back. They drifted around lazily, as if they were drifting to the push-and-pull of some invisible tide.

Her hair was the same: floating about her in slow motion. Her arms were stretched out, like the wings of a bird—an eagle.

Ezio was startled out of his thoughts when the woman shifted, and a whimper rose from her lips.

What was her name again?

“Dominique… Dominique Arnetta.” Ezio answered himself. The man was already looking for ways to get her down when a scream shattered the silence of the room. Ezio looked up, taken aback: the woman’s, Dominique’s, face was contorted into that of pain and fear.

Ezio’s mind registered how the drifting strips of cloth suddenly arranged themselves in a straight line, and the assassin noticed how their pattern formed the tail-feathers of an eagle. Dominique’s eyes opened, and the assassin made a sound between revulsion and horror: her one eye was all black and the other was all white.

Dominique opened her mouth impossibly wide, and a powerful voice rumbled from deep within her. It sounded like something between an eagle’s cry and a snake’s hiss, and Ezio suppressed the urge to cover his ears:

“Ego sum, qui a mortuis Surrexit Mystica. Ius ab iniuria et ego veni, ut nunc est in fine dierum, et ego messorem.”

And she collapsed, her body falling limp on the cold, hard ground.

~O~O~O~

If it was possible, the darkness grew darker. There was no more cold air, no more scent of sweat and blood, no more pale strips of cloth. I wasn’t floating anymore, but I didn’t feel like I was lying down either. It was like I was standing on my tiptoes, as if my feet were pointed like those girls doing ballet.

And it hurt like a bitch.

But then the black around me began to change: it didn’t grow lighter, but more like it was losing its blackness…?

It was turning duller. That’s the word. It looked like the void around me was losing its opaqueness, and it was being replaced by the smokiness of a foggy mirror.

Slowly, the smokiness began to clear. And it was replaced by a sort of clarity like that of a pristine looking glass. Pinpricks of black and white dotted my vision, as I remained trapped within wherever-I-was. Occasionally, burst of black would overtake a small portion of my sight, but then a larger burst of white would counteract it and set everything straight again, and vice-versa.

But I still couldn’t move. I was still trapped. But at least, this time, I had something to keep me distracted inside this glass void.

~O~O~O~

“Ezio? Ezio, where are you?” Mario’s voice echoed throughout the room. Ezio looked around, his mind racing. In a split-second decision, he rushed over to the unconscious woman and carried her bridal-style, although his face displayed his reluctance at holding her so close to him. He walked as fast he could (minding the fabric of the dress so that he wouldn’t stumble), and exited the chamber.

By the time he was out of the chamber and onto the platform, he was slightly puffing for breath. The man was irritated about that; age was one annoying son of a bitch.

“Ezio!” Mario said. His scarred face lit up though his eyes remained guarded and wary. The older assassin’s eyes landed on the unconscious figure in his nipote’s arms, and he raised an eyebrow.

“Who’s this?” Mario asked, his eyes taking in Dominique’s pale skin and long, ebony-black hair. Her dress continued to shimmer even underneath the harsh glare of the lights created by the advanced technology of Minerva’s race.

“A liability.” Ezio answered harshly, as he put her down beside his uncle. He turned around and tried to steady his breathing as he walked over to the Papal Staff embedded within the center of the platform. Ezio took another deep breath and pulled.

It didn’t budge.

Ezio pulled again. But this time instead of the staff following Ezio’s pull, a deep, rumbling sound vibrated from deep within the platform. Ezio watched as the staff began to sink.

Alarm bells rang in the assassin’s head as he tugged on the staff, but it continued to sink.

Ezio watched in despair as it sank out of sight.

“Better in the hands of the earth than in the hands of man.” Mario said, but his words did not quite reach the assassin’s ears. Ezio forced himself to leave it behind. It was important for them to leave now, before the guards were alerted and the entire Borgia army swarmed the church.

The younger Auditore turned his back on the now empty slot and stepped off the platform just as it began to sink.

“We must hurry.” Mario said, already running towards the exit. Ezio walked over to Dominique’s still body and lifted her up, resuming his bridal-style carry as he made his way after his uncle.

~O~O~O~

Nothing had changed. It felt like I had spent another eternity here, watching the pinpricks of black and white move around my vision. I would occasionally try to predict what color would burst out next. Then if I was right… huzzah.

But I was still trapped.

~O~O~O~

A thin layer of sweat coated Ezio’s forehead as he emerged from the doors leading to the Vault. All around him, the churchgoers who had witnessed their fight stared at the assassins in alarm and suspicion. Whispers and the occasional hiss filled the atmosphere of the holy sanctuary. Ezio suppressed an eye-roll.

“God will damn you to hell!” one man said.

“You will pay for desecrating this holy sanctuary!” Another man yelled.

“You and your harlot will pay for your sins!” A brave man yelled from behind him.

Mario urged Ezio on, and the younger assassin stopped himself from turning around and stabbing these bastards with his Hidden Blade. They knew nothing of the truth.

Ezio marched on, not noticing the tremble that coursed through the body in his arms.

~O~O~O~

It started off small at first, breathy sighs that seemed to form no coherent meaning. But then they solidified into words, phrases, sentences that flowed out of nowhere.

And I did not like what I was hearing:

“God will damn you to hell!” a man’s harsh voice said. His voice was a whisper.

“You will pay for desecrating this holy sanctuary!” Another man said. This time, his voice had more essence; I could tell now that the speaker had a sort of reedy voice.

“You and your harlot will pay for your sins!” A man said. This time his voice was loud and confident, overshadowing the whispers that permeated my silent atmosphere.

Did he just call me a whore?

“Bull. Shit.” I yelled. I pulled a clenched fist back without even realizing it. The only that registered in my head was the feeling of my fist breaking through the glass prison that had kept me trapped for all of these eternities.

I heard Ezio gasp as I jolted awake, my arms shooting out with my fists balled up. One hit Ezio’s jaw, and he dropped me in surprise. His hand shot up to his face to massage the slowly forming bruise on his jaw.

“Cazzo!” he spat, but I didn’t stay long after Ezio dropped me. As I hit the ground, I immediately stood up and marched over to the man who called me a “harlot”.

Said priest was eyeing me scornfully, his black eyes shining with malice as he regarded me—well, my body (I still didn’t know what I had been wearing), with contempt, a sneer adorning his aged face.

“Kind sir, did you just call me a whore?” I asked, feigning innocence in my tone as I stopped a few inches in front of him. I noticed his hair still had some streaks of black in them, though his face showed him to be around his mid-fifties. His stance was strong and firm. And usually men like him would intimidate me.

But I couldn’t find it within myself to give a flying fuck at the moment. I had just gotten out of a glass prison only to be called a whore?

Cracker bitches will be served tonight.

The man nodded, a smug smirk still on his face. But before he could blink, my fist collided with his right temple. The priest was knocked unconscious immediately, his robed body falling limp to the ground.

“Well, fuck you, too.” I said, spitting on his face. I turned around and swept past a crowd of shocked priests and a young assassin.

It was then that I realized that I was wearing a gown. My first instinct was to cringe. I never liked wearing dresses—too much hassle when it came crossing streets or using toilets. But the fabric felt comforting upon my skin, like the caress of a lover.

Well, shit. My Nicholas Sparks is showing.

The smooth fabric trailed on the floor behind me, lighting up the floor like a small stream of silver. The sleeves were long, billowing behind me like waves of moonlight. The neckline plunged dangerously low, and I couldn’t stop the blush from spreading across my face when I felt a breeze blow dangerously close to my boobs.

Walking away from those close-minded nincompoops, I noticed Mario standing at the doorway at the end of the room. His face was grim, but his scarred eyes betrayed his amusement.

“Are you coming?” I yelled at the assassin, keeping my back straight and my footsteps graceful. And just for the hell of it, I made sure to exaggerate the swing of my ass back and forth.

Immediately, I felt the assassin’s eyes land on them… and I was pretty sure a few of the priests’ did too.

“I know you’re looking!” I yelled out, not bothering to keep the smugness out of my voice. “And for the record, you hypocritical bastards, I’m still a virgin. And there is no way in hell that I am going to let this sweet, sweet ass touch your pencil dicks.”

I was already striding out of the room and into the hall before I heard the outrageous cries of the priests roar behind me. Mario and Ezio were immediately running beside me, Ezio’s uncle’s face was split in a toothy grin while Ezio was torn between amusement, bewilderment and something akin to indignation.

I laughed as we emerged from the Vatican, the sunlight streaming down our faces. It almost seemed like the picturesque scenery you would see on a postcard.

But then again, it was hard to notice the glorious Italian architecture of the Renaissance when the Borgia army was pointing their swords at you.

Chapter Text

Lady of the Little Eagles

O~O~O~O~O~O

"I can hear the pounding of my heart."

"We were born to break the doors down, fight until the end."

O~O~O~O~O~O

Chapter 9: Supernatural Warrior

Even before Ezio's mind had fully caught up with his body, he had already pushed Dominique back with his arm and unsheathed his sword with the other. He heard his uncle stop beside him and unsheathe his own blade. Ezio regarded the soldiers with a critical eye, his mind already thinking of possible escape routes.

But then the man remembered the woman he was shielding, and he suppressed a curse.

Fight it is, then… he thought, grimly. He let a feral smile spread across his face as he took a cautious step forward. He felt a small breeze ruffle his cape, the notorious red cloth beneath flashing in the sunlight.

Immediately, the guards snapped to attention at the sight. He could feel more than see the guards ready themselves: their postures tensing; their weapons clinking as they adjusted their grips on their weapons; their hands twitching with anticipation.

The assassino breathed in and twitched the arm holding his sword, letting the sunlight reflect off of it.

And it was like a string had snapped:

"Assassino!"

"Get him!"

Blah, blah, blah… Ezio thought, rolling his eyes as he evaded the lunge of the first soldier he encountered, slashing his back and counterattacking the one behind him. It was a familiar dance; a dance of blood, a dance of death. 

And only one would come out of it alive.

~O~O~O~ 

I could literally hear my heart pounding in my chest. That was how scared I was.

I'd never been this scared before; the most scared I've ever been was when my adoptive mother came into my room without knocking and almost discovered Shelly Brooks' porn stash hidden underneath my mattress.

Damn that girl for using my innocent bed to hide her porn.

But this was real. Like: you live or you die real. And to be honest, I had no idea how I was processing this without screaming and bringing out my cellphone to call 911.

'Maybe because you're used to the fact that modern technology wasn't invented yet, dumbass.'

'Oh, shut up.'

Yep, this was me; having an internal argument with myself while watching two fictional characters from my favorite video game battle for their lives in front of me.

Before the assassins charged, Ezio pushed me further back. I didn’t try fighting him, letting my feet carry me backwards until my back hit the warm stone façade of the church behind me. My breaths came in shallow gasps, almost on the verge of hyperventilating.

The yells of the Papal guards along with the sounds of swords clashing and steel meeting flesh filled the air. The breeze that occasionally blew through the turmoil carried with it the fresh smell of the river, mixed in with the metallic smell of sweat and blood that the carnage left behind.

I slid unceremoniously down, my eyes never leaving the skirmish. My mind was racing a hundred miles an hour as it tried to take in everything at once: every slash, every parry, every counter, every glint of metal, every fallen body…

The smell of blood, the smell of steel…

The sound of conflict, the sound of death…

I had closed my hands into fists somewhere along the battle. I was still hyperventilating, and I tried to focus on the pain of my fingers digging into the palms of my hands to distract myself.

But the battle was everywhere. I couldn’t stop myself from glancing up from time to time to sneak a glance at how the fight was going. Every time I did, a wave of despair would wash over me, drowning me deeper and deeper each time, making me sick to the stomach.

I buried my head with a groan.

I felt weak—useless. And I haven't felt like this in... forever.

“I do not enjoy the feeling of being helpless.”

Leonardo…

“I have all of this knowledge, knowledge that can help shape the world! But when it comes to the ones I care about, it is useless. And when I am useless, the ones who used to need me do not need me anymore. They leave.”

I took a deep breath. Leonardo’s ghost became my anchor, calming down the raging storm in my mind and in my stomach. His words gave me an idea:

Closing my eyes, I tried to access my "sensitivity." I willed myself to come across something—anything that could help the two assassins. I desperately wanted to feel the same power flow through my veins the minute I touched Ezio for the first time, or maybe feel that sense of purity from touching Leonardo.

Anything that would make this sense of helplessness go away…

And there is nothing more painful in the world than being left behind by the ones you care about.

‘I have to touch someone... now.'

'Jesus Christ! You sound like a hooker.'

'Would you shut up? Do me a favor, and help me think of something!'

'Like what? Should we put out a little Jean Grey and turn the soldiers to dust? Or maybe do a little Emma Frost and make them all get down on their knees?'

'Just shut up.'

I ended my little monologue quickly. My debate was getting me nowhere.

What do I do? Think!

I looked up, down, left, right, anywhere—just not at the battle taking place in front of me.

It was different here; seeing and hearing the slash of sword tear through skin and muscle or a hammer breaking bone in a video game was different from actually seeing and hearing it. It was disgusting and nauseous... to me, at least.

(I don't know if there are any serial killers out there reading this, but I don't judge)

But slowly, I found my eyes drifting to Ezio:

He was graceful, fluid even. He was like a snake, darting and flexible. But he was also like an eagle: majestic and powerful. I noticed that the way he fought here in front of me is kind of similar with how I would control him back then in the game: wait for an opponent to attack and then counter it, followed by a series of instant kills. Should an opponent break my streak, wait again, and the process would repeat.

But after a few minutes of staring—minutes, it could have been hours, I didn’t know anymore—I noticed Ezio's heaving breaths, the sweat dripping down his face, and the way his limbs seemed to be too heavy to perform his graceful fighting streaks... not to mention the multiple wounds that splattered blood across the pavement whenever the assassin struck or dodged.

He was tiring.

I snapped back to focus: I quickly decided to do the most basic thing I could think of: open my eyes. See everything. Then work from there.

After all, if I start from the bottom, there's no other place to go but up.

I calmed myself down, forcing the sounds and stench of the battle into one monotonous drone. Concentrating, I focused on the single point in my forehead again.

I felt that point in my forehead throb again, signaling the opening of my… let’s call it my third Eye. It was becoming easier to access it with time. But instead of seeing the world as black and white as I expected, I was assaulted with flashes of scenes:

A man clothed in white running across the rooftops, a woman wreathed in black wisps—dark emotions—dressed as a holy woman persecuting another woman bathed in a blue light—an ally; and finally, a woman wreathed in white—light emotions—riding away on horseback.

The last scene was punctuated with a tightening in my chest… almost like a broken heart.

'Shit! What the—? Stop... stop!'

I closed my third Eye. My mind flashed back to the first time I opened my third Eye, remembered the memories that incapacitated me for days because I hadn’t known what to expect.

But now I did.

I took another deep breath. And upon opening my eyes, I willed the tendrils of black and white to stay the fuck away—willed them not to touch me.

To my surprise, they heeded me; slithering away and leaving my Sight clear for a few feet. Past that, however, the wisps of emotional energy eddied to an invisible current. The square outside the church was filled with energy—whether from the battle being waged in front of me or from something else, I didn’t know.

The tendrils of black and white swirled around me in a perfect circle; I could feel their stored-up energies from where I was sitting… like vibrations emanating from deep within my bones.

Now that that's settled:

I looked at the battle again using my third Eye (God that sounded so cliché). This time, I could see that the two assassins surrounded by tendrils of white. But Ezio was slightly different: where Mario was just a faded, gray pinprick surrounded by white tendrils, Ezio was a golden yellow pinprick of light surrounded by both white and black tendrils.

I didn't know why, but this worried me a lot more than it actually should.

Black tendrils, some darker than others, surrounded the soldiers fighting them. But there were some that were surrounded by shades of gray—I wonder what kind of emotion was that. Indifference? Apathy?

I resisted the urge to shudder. I never realized how much of these guards were filled with malicious emotions. But worse than that: I never realized how many of these guards were here, fighting and oppressing the innocent, just because they didn’t care enough to do otherwise.

I let those thoughts slide, focusing more on what I could do from my spot here.

Think, Arnie… think…

The world around me blurred, the tendrils of black and white meshing together into an abstract pattern of swirls and harsh bolts. And, for a moment, it was like I was looking into a television screen full of static.

But then it was gone, and a familiar oily voice spoke from the air:

"Be creative, Little Eagle," it said. "Your only limits are the ones you impose upon yourself."

What the hell does that mean?

But watching Ezio fight—stab and parry, block and counter… I felt something click inside me. It was as if that simple statement answered my every question—my every insecurity about my boundaries, my limits.

Right now, empowered by something greater—possibly something divine, I was powerful.

Your only limits are the ones you impose upon yourself.

The voice inside me was wrong to be sarcastic: I could do a little Jean Grey, a little Emma Frost, maybe even a Charles Xavier.

Hell, I could do so much better.

I stood up shakily. The tendrils continued to flow and writhe in the air, an invisible ocean of passion and power, accessible only by me.

I spread my palms. Using my third Eye, I saw the tendrils still; hanging suspended in mid-air as if frozen, independent of their moving hosts. The figures continued to fight, but the sound of their swords clashing and metal bashing was muted, and I reveled in it.

I twitched my fingers, commanding the tendrils to come to me. And they heeded, rushing towards me like a tidal wave. But before they could touch me, I cupped my palms together. The emotional energies of each soldier, guard, and captain compressed into a tiny orb the size of a marble.

I stared into the drifting orb of energy that I held in my hand; it looked like a tiny marble, holding within it a cosmos of emotions and passion, a galaxy of memories of the past and hopes for the future.

With a sigh, I let it all out with a force to rival that of a nuclear explosion. 

~O~O~O~ 

Ezio was tiring; the sword felt heavy in his hands as he sliced through the Borgia's soldiers, cutting through their ranks and leaving nothing but carnage in his wake. He was a tornado, a white devil that spilled blood like it was cheap wine.

But there seemed to be no end to them. Every time Ezio and Mario cut down ten, twenty more would take their place. The man didn't dare try switching to his dagger, for fear of it being torn from his grip.

So he gritted his teeth and continued fighting, parrying the strike of the soldier in front of him easily and spinning, bringing his sword down on the soldier's back. Warm blood caked his hands, and some of it was already drying up. Ezio grimaced.

The assassin did not how long it had been, but after he had taken down five more men, the soldiers all froze:

"Ezio!" Mario's voice, heavy with weariness but raised in confusion, rang throughout the suddenly silent courtyard.

The assassin did not heed him, instead he noticed, and focused on, how the eyes of the soldiers all seemed to turn glassy, like they were half-asleep. Then all at once they swayed, their bodies leaning towards the direction of Il Vaticano.

Ezio traced their movement with a keen eye, mind racing on what could have possibly caused this. But then he noticed a lone figure standing in front of the wooden doors leading to the church:

It was Dominique. Her hands were cupped together, her fingers dancing gently around something seemingly precious and fragile. She was gazing at the air above her palms like it was a thing of wonder.

And Ezio noticed, to his horror, that her eyes had become white, a milky film covering her irises.

"Dio mio..." Mario murmured in awe, moving to stand beside Ezio. He was staring at Dominique's milky eyes with wonder and curiosity. "That woman... what is she—?" 

Ezio cut him off with quiet shush. He noticed the subtle way her gown seemed to absorb and reflect the sunlight streaming through the clouds, making her body shimmer like a mirage. Her lips twitched into a sleepy smile. Her eyes never left the air above her palms.

"Witchcraft..." was all Ezio said, to which Mario snorted. But Ezio hushed him again, noticing Dominique twitch her fingers. The corners of the soldiers' lips twitched, and Ezio fought back the urge to walk over to her and stop whatever it was she was doing.

It was unholy... at least to Ezio, it was. She had no Piece of Eden to control, so what other explanation could there be?

But as of now, Ezio didn't mind too much whatever she was doing, as it halted the soldiers' relentless assault, giving both him and Mario a much-needed reprieve.

The woman closed her eyes and sighed. Ezio leaned forward, reluctantly curious about what she was about to do next. Mario did the same.

But then she opened her eyes suddenly, and Ezio made that same sound of revulsion and horror while he was beneath the Vatican:

Her one eye was black, and the other white.

Ezio felt Mario stiffen beside him with shock, and they both watched as she clapped her hands together and spread them, as if addressing an invisible crowd.

All of a sudden, the soldiers were blown backwards, as if tempest-tossed. Ezio noticed the way the soldiers seemed to convulse and jerk as they flew back. Some hit the walls, while some just ended up in a twitchy mess on the cobblestone.

Ezio and Mario stared in awe at the scene in front of them; the soldiers who had stopped twitching lay still, as if dead. But Ezio could still see the shallow rise and fall of their chests.

A cough from behind him made both men jump.

"Hi, Ezio. Hello, Ser Mario. My name is Dominique Arnetta; it is a pleasure to meet you." She said in fluent Italian 

Her eyes lingered on Ezio, a sharp glint coming into her brown orbs before curtseying to Mario, who just stared at her like she was the oddest thing a supernatural-treasure-hunting, Italian assassin had ever laid eyes on.

Chapter Text

Lady of the Little Eagles

O~O~O~O~O~O

"All I know since yesterday is everything has changed."

"That made everything feel better, and even then my eyes got wetter."

O~O~O~O~O~O

Chapter 10: The California King Bed Has Changed

That. Felt. Amazing.

Just... amazing...

Wow.

There were literally no other words for it. I’d never felt so alive; if this was what being high felt like, then now I understood why people drank or did drugs. This feeling of ecstasy... God, it was so easy to get addicted to it.

After exploding (God, that sounded so wrong), I opened my eyes; and the first thing I noticed was how bright the sun was. I blinked, and squinted against its harsh glare, not noticing the fresh breeze that danced through the fallen leaves and scraps of cloth that had been ripped or torn in the heat of the battle.

But I did notice the smell it carried: the salty tang of sweat and blood. The scent of the river was gone.

The next thing I noticed was how quiet it had become; the absence of the sounds of swords clashing and bones breaking was piercing. I yawned, willing the pressure in my ears to go away.

Slowly, the world around me cleared up as I got used to the sunlight. I looked around, and I noticed the twitching lumps that littered the courtyard. I guessed that that was the result of my "explosion" (ah—God, any dirtier and I might as well call it "my orgasm").

Nevertheless, I beamed and felt a bubble of laughter rise from inside me. But it was then I noticed the two figures standing alone in the sea of unconscious bodies. Ezio and Mario Auditore were staring ahead, the faces slack with shock.

I suppressed the urge to smirk, and instead schooled my face into one filled with serenity and indifference.

I walked—no, glided over to them. This was my moment. I had literally, single-handedly swept the Borgia army off their feet.

Don’t judge me; let a girl have her moment!

I was careful to avoid tripping over the bodies, weapons, or the pieces of armor that littered the square.

The two men still had not noticed me.

I felt as light as air, spinning and swinging my arms about as if I was a princess in a fairy tale. I also noticed the way my gown seemed to shimmer in the sunlight, and I decided to keep it.

What? I got to look like a queen, minus the price tag!

I stopped behind them, and the only downside was that my bare feet felt slightly uncomfortable against the sunbaked, blood-caked pavement. But they still hadn't noticed me.

I was surprised; at least one of them should've seen me by now. If not now, then when I was gliding towards them—I wasn't exactly subtle with all the unnecessary hair-flips and gown-twirls I did on my to them.

Plus, the shimmering dress along with the streaks of black my hair-flips left behind should have been a dead give-away.

I coughed, and both men jumped. I tamped down an amused grin, and replaced it with a serene façade as I looked over to the both of them: both men were sweaty, their robes and weapons caked with blood.

Call me insane, but that didn’t faze me anymore in the slightest. I was still as high as a butterfly.

I took a moment to just stare at Ezio; his hood was still on, and his golden eyes were aflame with bloodlust. But right now, it was tamped under reluctant patience—courtesy of years of discipline—and confusion.

Also, now I could see why many women would fall for his body—strong jaw, defined cheekbones, and a body that looked like it was on steroids.

But I also had the feeling that many more would fall for his demeanor: dark, mysterious, emotional—but not broody and self-involved.

So all in all, Ezio was the exact opposite of the "emo" guys from my time.

"Hi, Ezio." My eyes glinted as I sent him a look that, to me at least, meant: I am a badass bitch from hell and you can suck it, you sexy, womanizing Italian hunk!

The younger assassin's eyebrows shot up as he regarded me with confusion. But after a moment, they hardened and I could tell he was about to go all bad-cop on me. So I quickly moved on and curtseyed to his uncle:

"Hello, Ser Mario. My name is Dominique Arnetta. It is a pleasure to meet you."

Mario regarded me with confusion, but with no less awe. But before he could reply, Ezio was already upon me, dominating my vision as his deep, Italian-accented voice vibrated in my eardrums:

"Strega," he growled. "What have you done?"

Well, shit.

My high was abruptly cut off; it was as if I was awoken—rather rudely—from a particularly pleasant dream. The serene façade melted off of my face, to be replaced by a frown and a twitch in my eye.

Yeah, I was one of those people whose eyes twitched when they got pissed... really pissed.

"What do you mean, Ezio?" I asked, stopping the sarcasm from leaking into my tone. Call it my defense mechanism: if someone would bullshit me after I had just helped him or her, I would give him or her bullshit in return.

Just like this asshole in front of me…

"If I recall correctly," I continued, staring hard at Ezio's golden eagle eyes. "What I did was that I saved your lives."

"At what cost?" Ezio snarled, pointing an accusing finger at me. I was confused; why was this assassin so convinced that I was something evil—unholy? The way he looked at me, it was like I was the heartless murderer 

Okay, hold the fuck up:

"Okay. We obviously got off on the wrong foot, so why don't you shut up a second and let me explain." I said. My voice was shaking with rage and indignation. I blew the hair out of my face irritably.

"First of all, and most importantly, I am not a witch!"

I glared at the hardheaded assassin. But Ezio's murderous expression did not soften, his mouth set in a hard line as remained silent. Another breeze blew against him, ruffling his hood and carrying to me the scent of sweat, blood, and musk.

I blinked then looked away, fighting down my blush as I stared hard at Mario who was looking at me with interest, his eyes brimming with curiosity. I drew strength from that as I continued, willing the scoff to enter my voice:

"Witches... really, Ezio, I would have thought you more open-minded than that." I said, rolling my eyes. I ignored the way Ezio clenched his fist, the one containing his Hidden Blade. I was dangerous, too. Didn’t wiping the floor with Borgia ass just prove that?

"I am a sensitive... ever heard of that term before?" At Ezio's raised eyebrow and Mario's questioning look, I forged on: "You know, seeing the dead, dreaming of the future...?"

A look of realization and understanding dawned on Ezio's face, erasing the hard lines of anger and rage.

"You are a Prophet?"

The irritation was wiped off my face, like literally; it was like I was sucker-punched or something. It wasn't really on what Ezio said, it was more of how he said it—it was in a timid, hopeful kind of way... like he was child asking for something, but was used to never getting anything that he wanted.

He didn’t want to be the Prophet. He didn’t want to be the conduit for Minerva’s message. He didn’t want any of this.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, was how I realized that Ezio Auditore da Firenze was someone who could totally relate to my problems.

So, like the saint that I was, my patience was restored:

"Yes...?" I answered, trailing off in a question. But at Ezio's and Mario's exasperated expressions, I sighed.

"Yes." I said with more certainty. Ezio's brown eyes—I'm going on a hunch here that his golden eyes only came out only when he used his Eagle Vision—were storming with emotions. I wasn’t sure, but I thought I even detected a little bit of relief.

But his orbs were brimming with curiosity, no doubt about it.

Aww, Ezio...

"You could call me a prophet." I rushed on, not wanting a misunderstanding. "But you are the Prophet. You were destined to be the one to open the Vault so that Minerva could communicate with Desmond Miles through you."

Okay, I'm going to be honest here: I only just realized what I had said after Ezio had already grabbed my wrist roughly.

I winced, but as I was about to tell him off—possibly give him a good slap—I noticed his eyes: they were wide with confusion and fear... almost to the point of manic.

I let that sink in: manic. In all of my times using Ezio as an assassin, I had never ever seen his façade shatter like this. And frankly, it was unnerving to say the least.

"How do you know about that?" He said to me, the hopeful, timid voice gone. It had been replaced by something harsher, more scared—like a cornered animal. I stared into his shattered eyes, the windows that he had worked so hard to toughen up to conceal the storm of emotions simmering beneath.

I felt my heart soften at the sight—and yes; I was feeling sympathy for a fictional, womanizing murderer. Sue me.

I let a sad smile grace my lips as I placed a comforting hand on his iron grip. I let it rest there as I leaned in closer to his ear. I whispered:

"I was there."

I pulled away, but something kept my hand in place—maybe it was the illusion that my touch could actually soften something as hard as him... and no, I meant that in the most innocent way possible.

I looked into his eyes; already, I could see him reigning in his emotions, the storm cloud that I let loose with my words. I felt sorry for him, but I resisted the urge to reach out and touch his face.

Okay, first of all: I wasn’t that desperate. Secondly, we weren’t that close. And thirdly, love is dangerous.

Was it that obvious that I didn’t have a love life?

A cough interrupted our "moment" (if you could call it that) and my head turned so fast, I was pretty sure Mario winced.

"Do you have a place to—?" he began. But I cut him off, quickly forcing the words out of my mouth before the flustered stuttering kicked in:

"May I join you on your return trip to Monteriggioni?" I quickly asked, disregarding the way my face flushed as Ezio pulled his hand away. Both men's eyes widened.

"How did you know—?" Mario began. But he was cut off when the sound of armored footsteps began to fade into earshot.

We looked towards the edges of the courtyard. If I didn’t know better, I’d think that all of the armies of Italy had marched in just to fight us. A sea of soldiers, all bearing the mark of the Borgia, was slowly making their way through the roads leading towards the church.

My blush faded, and I felt adrenaline begin to course through my veins. I was ready to take on these bastards.

"Do you really want to know?" I asked, letting a sardonic grin creep up my lips as I walked towards the bridge. I reveled in the feeling of the wind blowing on my hair and my dress.

God, I felt like a warrior princess out of a fairy tale… or a really fucked up Katherine Heigl movie.

Looking ahead, I saw the red banner of the Borgia flapping in the wind. They were marching towards us, an unstoppable force… like the Juggernaut from X-Men—but with less angst.

My pace didn't falter as I switched to my third Eye.

I inhaled sharply as I once again saw the world in black and white and shades of gray. The soldiers marching in front of me were faded pinpricks of gray against a poorly drawn rendition of the Vatican City. The armies were surrounded in black tendrils, a blob of ink on a blank slate.

Vaguely, I heard the yells of the soldiers, ordering me to halt. I paid them no attention, and they marched faster, purposely running towards me.

(I noticed how the cloud seemed to pick up speed, and I felt my heart match their pace.)

Behind me, I felt more than heard the heavy footsteps of the assassins as they ran to face the Borgia's reinforcements. The sound of swords unsheathing pierced through my mute bubble.

"Stand back." I said, stopping the two men in their tracks. I could feel their confusion and exasperation bleeding through my second Sight. My grin sharpened.

"They’re mine."

I didn't care if they heeded me or not. But my attention was drawn away from them when I watched the mass of writhing darkness grow closer. Their tendrils were slowly overtaking my line of sight, blotting out all the other shades of gray.

I could feel them, now that they were so close; I could feel the energy stored within them. Though evil in nature, I had a feeling it would taste like the darkest of chocolate—bittersweet as hell, but delicious all the same.

I shook my head and I let them draw closer, letting the feel of their energy resonate within me. But once the smell of sweat and metal got to me, I held out my hand, as if expecting something to be given.

Immediately, the wall of black energy halted, suspended in midair. And then I withdrew my hand, willing the wisps of emotion to come to me like before. They heeded me, abandoning their hosts and rushing towards me in one, giant onslaught of darkness and passion. 

"Stop." I said, forcing power into my voice. The surge stopped in its tracks, a giant wall of black in the middle of my vision. The shifting storms of passion were just inches from my reach, the promise of temptation and knowing that I could control this was almost enough to make me high again.

I grinned, an idea forming in my head:

"Reflera!" I yelled, putting in as much gusto and power as I could in my voice. A small tingle of embarrassment curled in my stomach at how stupid I must have looked to anyone from my time; utilizing a spell from a video game.

But surprised laughter burst from my lips when I saw the wall of black energy shoot back, a fountain of white tendrils erupting in its wake.

"Oh my God! It worked!" I laughed, watching the tidal wave shoot back, bowling down the pinpricks of gray like they were plastic pins, and I had just gotten a strike.

I closed my eyes, shutting off my third Eye at the same time. I slowly opened my eyes, letting them adjust to the sunlight naturally. Turning around, I was greeted once more with the sight of Ezio and Mario in awe—well; Mario had a more amused smile on his face... like me showing off was something cute.

"Of course, signora. You may join us." He said, impressed grin lighting up his face.

He whistled. Immediately, a brown stallion galloped from behind one of the roads leading towards the courtyard, and stopped beside the older man. Ezio did the same, this time hoisting himself up on a white horse with a flecked mane.

"Do you know how to ride?" Ezio asked, his eyes were once again the barred windows to his soul. But when my mind registered what he had asked, I stifled my grin and answered:

"What: you or that horse?" I asked, staring innocently when I was met with Ezio’s dumbstruck face. His uncle guffawed, ordering his horse go at a canter to lead us on.

"I am jesting." I literally had to stop myself from cringing at the word. "I’m a virgin, remember? Now, scoot over, macho man. I believe you have some explaining to do about what you have discovered underneath the Vatican."

TRANSLATIONS:

Strega (Italian) - witch; sorceress

Chapter Text

Lady of the Little Eagles

O~O~O~O~O~O

“Acceptance is the key to be, to be truly free.”

“And I’ve been waiting for this time to come around.”

O~O~O~O~O~O

Chapter 11: The Unconditional Story of My Life

Monteriggioni (January 1500)

“… And then Minerva talked about the sun. She told of a disaster that occurred long ago and another that is coming.”

Ezio and I shared the same horse, a brown mustang, as we trotted across the tranquil countryside. The road was quiet save for the chirping of the crickets and the occasional cool breeze that carried with it the scent of Mother Nature—which was to say: wet grass and horse shit.

“Sometime far in the future, vero? Then we need not worry about it.” Mario’s voice boomed from in front of us. I absently watched his form rock to and fro as his body adjusted to the rocking of the horse’s rhythm.

I remember the first time me and family—well, me and my sister; my mother had been off God-knows-where drinking and trying to see how many guys she could lay in one night—went horseback-riding. I had been eight at the time, two years before we were taken by child services and put up for adoption.

I never saw Arianna again. I was ashamed to say that I barely remembered what she looked like.

(Sometimes, I would lie awake at night and try to picture where she was, how she was doing. The family who took Arianna in didn’t want to take me. Once glance at me, I had heard them say, and they knew that I would never “fit in.” I was too tough around the edges, too embittered by a drunken whore of a mother and an absent father.)

But that’s a story for another time. The stallion they had given me to ride on was a shiny brown, though not as dark as the one we were riding now.

I remember thinking it had been the same color as Miley Cyrus’s hair. Well, before she went twerk-tastic and all.

I remember holding back tears when the guide let me go to try to ride on my own. Sure, I had remembered all the things the instructor taught me: how to stop, how to gallop, how to trot—but I could still remember the fear that almost enveloped me completely as the horse began to speed up.

But then just before I completely lost control, just before the water works burst, I had heard a voice. A man’s oily voice—

“Si, perhaps our work is finished.” Ezio’s deep timbre sounded from behind me. His chest vibrated with the sound, and I felt it through my back, snapping me out of my reverie. I had long since forgone the shimmering, fancy dress I had worn at the Vatican for a simple dress and clogs.

(Let the record show that I gave the dress up with much reluctance. Mario had reasoned with me that we were more likely to fall victim to bandits if I continued wearing it.)

The dress I was wearing now was a deep blue with sleeves that clung to my arms. The dress I had worn back at the Church was stashed safely in a satchel Ezio had purchased. I had done my hair up in a simple bun when Ezio had started complaining that strands of it tended to get into his mouth.

But it was when his words registered to me did I get a sinking feeling in my gut.

This was far from over.

I was still here, wasn’t I? A living specter from the future trapped with the ghosts of the past… No, this was far from over.

A song popped into my mind, and I couldn’t help but hum it under my breath as we rode on:

“A man inside a room is shaking hands with other men.” I sang quietly, letting the rhythm of the rocking horse lull me into a trance.

“This is how it happens, our carefully laid plans. Shake it, shake it, baby—shake your ass out in that street. You’re gonna make `em scream someday, you’re gonna make it big.”

I vaguely heard the world quiet down around me; unaware that the others had stopped speaking to hear me sing—even the crickets had stopped their chirping.

“You love so deep, so tender, your people and your land.”

I vaguely felt the horse slow down beneath me. The breeze picked up, sending strands of my hair flying. I absently patted the horse’s neck, feeling the pulse of his blood, the intake of breath…

“You love `em `til they can’t recall who they are again.”

I hummed the rest, expecting the walls of Monteriggioni to rise up any moment in the distance. But we had stopped completely; the breeze dancing around us had given me the impression that we were moving. I tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear as I looked behind me.

Ezio was staring at me, and so was Mario. But Ezio’s face held a mask of bewilderment, while Mario’s was a mix between surprise and amusement if the quirk in his lip was anything to go by.

I suddenly felt self-conscious, wrapping the shawl Ezio “bought”—(cough) stole (cough)—for me from a nameless town a few miles back.

“What?” I asked, silently willing the horse to keep going. But it wouldn’t budge.

“You have a lovely voice.” Mario said, slowly willing his horse into a slow trot.

“Thanks…?” I looked at Ezio. He was still staring at me, his expression unchanged. A soft breeze blew from out of nowhere, and I breathed in deep the smell of the countryside. My eyes fell on Mario’s horse, the distance between us slowly growing.

Oh, for the love of God. I grabbed the reigns from Ezio and sent the horse into a gallop, catching up to Mario easily. Ezio sputtered, indignant, before grabbing the reigns from me roughly. I blew him a raspberry before crossing my arms and looking away.

Okay, in retrospect, I was acting like a graceless, immature bitch. But he was making me act like this! Sue him.

“And you are a capable rider, too!” Mario exclaimed, a wide grin on his face.

“And I hope you meant that in the most innocent way possible.” I said. I combed through the horse’s mane, fingering the strands one at a time as I kept my gaze from Mario, who laughed.

“And a sense of humor as well,” Mario chortled before clearing his throat. I looked up now; his face was all business, and I mentally prepared myself for the explanation I would have to give. The sooner this was out of the way, the better.

“Signora, I have not yet thanked you for what you have done for us back there in the Vatican. Were it not for you, we would have been overpowered.” He said. I nodded absently. Here it comes…

“But if I may, how did you—?” he began.

“I don’t know how it works.” I cut him off, surprising Mario and Ezio, who stiffened behind me. I continued to comb my hands through the horse’s mane, letting the words pour out of me like tap water.

“I’m going to be honest here, Mr. Mario, I honestly have no idea how my powers here work. While you were fighting, a voice told me that the only limits to my capabilities were the ones I imposed upon myself.”

I took a deep breath and let go of the horse’s mane. I fisted my hands into the fabric of my skirt, watching the dust fly from the ground with every step we took.

“Before Ezio caught me falling from the sky, I was living in New York, America, in the year 2012. Before Ezio caught me, I was only ‘limited’—” I made sure to wrap the word “limited” in quotation marks. “—to seeing the dead—or the future, whichever came first.

“But when I came here, it was like I could do so much more: when I first met Ezio, I was able to reach inside his mind and grasp his knowledge of the Italian dialect. I had never been able to do that before.

“This was how I was able to quickly master your language, Ezio. That was what I ‘did’ to you…”

If it was possible, I thought I felt Ezio tense even more so. I began to finger nameless patterns onto the horse’s neck as I continued:

“But when Ezio left me with Leonardo, I realized something else: whenever I used my gifts here, in this place—this time, I had to rely on something: energy. For the same reason people needed food to keep themselves going, I needed this ‘energy’ so that I could use my abilities.”

Talking about these things—my powers and my origins—reminded me of my late-night conversations with Leonardo. Something within me ached. I missed him. I missed him so much.

I’m not going anywhere.

Oh, Leo…

“And where would you find this… energy?” Ezio asked from behind me, a skeptical note in his tone. I didn’t mind. I also doubted my and Leonardo’s theories. But with the lack of resources (namely: Google and Wikipedia) we had to make do with assumptions:

“Now that you mention it: I can find it anywhere, really…” I said, looking up from the sight of panting steeds. The sky was turning orange now; it reminded me of Coraline—the book, not the movie (though I whole-heartedly give two thumbs-up to the movie).

The heavens were “something the color of an ember in a nursery fireplace”, albeit it was rapidly fading with the setting sun, tinged with purples and yellows.

“While I was in Venice, I experimented.” I said, not taking my eyes off of the darkening sky. “In the end, however, I managed to do something I have never ever done before… even from where—or when—I came from: I was able to see it, the emotions of everyone around me. I know it sounds crazy—”

“I am glad that you realize that.” Ezio muttered from behind me. I blinked and turned to look at him. His aged, bearded face was staring straight ahead, his jaw set tight. I rolled me eyes and scoffed.

“Ezio, do me favor and veer your horse a little bit to the left.” I snapped, noticing how Ezio and Mario had somehow switched positions while I was talking.

“And why would I do tha—” Ezio began before I harshly grabbed the reins from his loose grip and moved the horse away just in time before a cannonball crashed a few feet away, showering us in dirt.

“That’s why.” I said, biting back a smug grin as Mario laughed.

“We upgraded the arsenal while you were away.” Mario explained. His scarred face split into an excited grin.

“Ah, and it is now customary for you to fire cannonballs at visitors?” Ezio shot back, his body loosening up somewhat as Mario spoke:

“My apologies. We only installed them a few days ago. My men are still being trained in their use.” Then he turned to me. “Now Arnie, you were saying?”

“I really don’t feel like explaining anymore since your nephew seems so reluctant in knowing my side of the story.” I answered in a clipped tone.

Close-minded bastard.

“I apologize for my nephew, Arnie.” I didn’t look his way, but I could hear the sincerity in his tone. I sighed.

“My point is,” picking up where I left off. “While I was in Venice, I unlocked this new power: this ability to see the energies that people imbue their environment with. What I did in the Vatican… I manipulated these energies, controlled them. I compressed them into a blast so powerful it was able to literally knock the soldiers off their feet.

“And, please note this Ezio, that I did not kill them. The only reason that they were sent flying and knocked unconscious was because of the energy I charged them with. It’s like…”

I struggled to think of something suitable to compare this to; electricity wasn’t really that big at the time, so I had to think of something else…

“Okay, imagine this: think of the human mind or heart as a pitcher and the energy I use as water.” I said, using my hands (and by used, I meant wild, uncontrolled gestures that may have hit Ezio on his ribs a few times).

“If I pour too much water in the pitcher, the pitcher overflows… it’s kind of like that: when the human heart is charged with too much of my ‘energy’, it shuts down.”

Temporarily, I hope…

“But what—” Ezio began, when he was suddenly cut off by cries of “It’s Ezio!” or “Welcome back, Ezio!”

We had already passed the gates, I noticed, and Ezio’s and Mario’s steeds were already walking along the main avenue leading to the Auditore Villa. I let Ezio be (meaning I let him wave around and be the gallant host he can be—deep down… somewhere) and took the time to look around:

Old-fashioned buildings made of wood and cement, the cobblestone avenue lined with shops, the friendly neighbors… oh, where the hell did they go in the year 2012?

We had already stopped at the foot of the stairs that led up to the Villa. But just as I was about to dismount, I had the feeling that something was trickling down my face. Immediately, I was reminded of shit-water.

“Fuck!” I shrieked, waving my arms around me wildly before I lost my balance and fell off the horse and onto the unforgiving pavement.

My head hit the steps. Vaguely, I heard Ezio’s laughter in the background and Mario’s worried tone, scolding his nephew to be a gentleman and help the madonna up.

I heard his feet touch down beside me. But just as he was about to lift me up, my vision was filled with white:

Flashes of fire and blood… the suffocating smell of smoke and sweat… the sound of steel… the piercing cry of murder…

My eyes flew open.

“It’s not over.”

“Mrs. Auditore, I keep telling you: I am fine.” I insisted, gently massaging my temple where a bruise was surely going to form. The older woman clicked her tongue gently:

“At least let us apply an ice pack to it,” She said gently, her hand already hovering near my eye. I sighed and let her do so, wincing slightly at the sharp stab of pain the cold sent through my nerves.

After falling and saying those three words, I had been immediately taken to one of the guest rooms to be treated. Luckily, I landed in a time where Maria Auditore had already dragged herself from her self-induced semi-coma and back into the world of the living.

After dabbing the swelling lump with ice, and instructing me to keep it on, she left, leaving Claudia and me alone.

“Ezio instructed me to make sure you were comfortable while he is out doing a few errands.” She said, her gaze calculating. Any other time I would have felt uncomfortable. But right now, I just felt too drained to notice. Has a bed ever felt this soft, or am I just—?

It’s not over.

“Crap,” I said, suddenly breaking the silence. I jumped to my feet, fighting to push down the urge to vomit, and wobbled to the door.

“Stay.” Claudia said, a silent command hidden behind her tone. “Ezio will come for you in a moment.”

“I can’t.” I said, my groping hands finding one of the bedposts and holding onto it for dear life. “He—he has to know about—ugh, I feel sick… he has to know about what I saw.”

“Oh?” Claudia raised a fine eyebrow as she led me back to the bed and deposited a bucket by my feet. “And what did you see?”

“A siege!” I all but yelled, my impatience making my voice rise. “Monteriggioni will be taken by dawn tomorrow! Mario will die and the Borgia will take Caterina prisoner! I have to go now!”

Claudia was stunned into silence. It seemed that the entire villa had grown quiet after my outburst, and I immediately regretted it.

“Oh, my God…” I said, horrified at what I had done. “Miss Claudia, I am so, so, so, sooo sorry…”

“I do not believe you.” She said, her expression cold, but her tone betrayed her anxiety. “Now if you will excuse me, signora. I have other duties to attend to.”

She turned around. But I can’t let her leave, not like this.

“Wait!” I said, this time panic making my voice rise. But what could I say? I barely knew this woman! Who was I to talk to her like that? Who was I to—?

Heaviness in my heart…

I started, and Claudia raised an eyebrow at that. I continued trying to stammer out an apology: “I’m sorry. That was out of line. I—”

The pain of being left behind by someone you care about…

It was like a light bulb had lit up above my head.

“You miss him, don’t you?”

Claudia was already halfway out the door when my words registered in her brain. She turned around, her face furious and… something else. It had been the same expression on Leonardo’s face when I asked him about why he reacted so badly to my fainting spell.

Oh…

“What… what on Earth are you talking about?” Claudia demanded. Her voice was shaky, but shaky with what... I could only guess.

“You miss Ezio. You miss your brother.” I said. My grip on the bedpost tightened as I tried to make myself taller, but a surge of pain from the back of my head stopped me. I pushed back a moan as I flopped back down on the mattress.

What am I doing?

“Ezio loves you. And though he may seem distant, he loves you.” Only God knew where the hell that came from, but that seemed to seal the deal. Claudia took one step closer to me, her eyes growing misty in the fading sunlight.

“I apologize if this sounds too personal—” I started.

“And you are.” Claudia said, her voice accusing, but shaky.

“But he really does love you.” I pressed on. “I don’t know if he’s told you this, but I am—I have these abilities. These gifts, if you may. When I first saw Ezio, first saw this complete other side to him, I saw that his heart seemed… fractured.”

Hooray for me, relying on assumption to decipher the meaning of the strange sight of Ezio being surrounded by both black and white tendrils of emotion.

“Fractured?” Claudia repeated, her stone façade melting into one of curiosity and skepticism.

“Yes,” I said. At that moment, I felt my headache slowly fade. I gave an internal whoop of joy.

“Well… not fractured in that sense—it was almost like it was torn; like there were two warring natures within it, both fighting for dominance: his ‘dark’ side, which housed all of the dark qualities that have slowly grown within Ezio over the years. And his ‘good’ side, the one he shows towards you or his allies…”

Arnie—the fuck? Really?

At Claudia’s growing skeptical expression, I hurried on to conclude: “The point is: I know he loves you because when I looked inside his memories, I saw your faces: you, Mrs. Auditore, Mr. Mario, Leonardo… all of his friends and family. He loves you all so much. You are the reason he is doing everything that he is doing. Without you, he would be nothing. You are literally the world to him. I cannot emphasize that enough, Miss Claudia.”

There was only silence.

It was getting pretty awkward… that was until Claudia’s face softened into a smile, her eyes shining —now I was sure—with tears.

“Thank you.” It was no more a whisper, but in the silence of the room it was as loud as a church bell. Then she turned and left.

I sighed and lied back down. Damn, these sheets have never been so soft…

A knock.

“Yes?” I almost-but-not-quite-but-mostly snapped. I sighed as I turned away from the door to snuggle deeper into the blankets.

A chuckle. “Is this not an agreeable time?”

That voice…

“You’re the Countess of Forli, aren’t you?” I sighed.

Another chuckle. “And you are?”

“Underdressed.” I muttered into the pillow. But it was loud enough for Caterina, who laughed. I lifted my face off of the warm, heavenly pillows and turned to look at her. She stood with elegance, her fingers delicately laced together in a business-like manner.

I sat up, lazily combing my fingers through my hair—oh, look: someone undid it from its braid—in a half-hearted attempt to tame it.

“Is this where I’m supposed to curtsy now?” I said, finally managing to make my hair lie flat behind me. Caterina chuckled good-naturedly.

“Are you always this candid?” she asked, taking a seat across me. I shook my head.

“No.” I said, covering my mouth daintily as I yawned. “I just really want to rest for awhile. And then warn Ezio that tomorrow, Monteriggioni will fall under siege, Mario will die, and that you will be captured by the Borgia.”

It didn’t take a psychic to know that right now, Caterina’s calm, collected façade had shattered and was now replaced with confusion and horror.

“How—?” she began. Her smooth tone, breathy with confusion, rang in the silent room.

“Don’t.” I cut her off. I was literally running out of saliva repeating my life story to people. “I saw the future. I’m not a witch. I’m a sensitive. Remember that, would you?”

At the last word, I rolled over on the bed again, turning my back on the speechless countess and burying myself deeper into the mattress.

“I…” I heard countess trailed off. “I will.”

I laughed against the sheets. “Thanks.”

I looked up at her, twisting my neck to get a more comfortable angle. “Oh, sorry. Am I keeping you from something?”

The countess was still sitting across from me, her legs crossed and her hands folded on her lap. Her back was ramrod straight. I resisted the urge to cringe. Etiquette must be a bitch to pull off.

“I will be meeting with Ezio shortly to discuss some… personal matters,” was all she said. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.

“I apologize for keeping you, then.” I said, rolling to my feet. “But please, do not tell Ezio of my prediction until after your meeting. He will have much to tell his family before he talks to you privately, I am sure.”

I ended up in front of a window. From where I was, I could see Ezio helping a woman with a crate of flowers. Unsurprisingly, I could tell that Ezio already had the woman under his talons, sex-wise.

“Oh, and do me a favor: tell Claudia to do the same thing. Don’t tell Ezio anything until after your meeting.”

Okay, confession: I don’t know how the hell I managed to sound like that—all frankness and demanding in front of authority. I could never pull that kind of thing off with my boss back in New York.

But could you blame me? A vision of the future and an emotionally charged confrontation with a fictional character’s sister can really take your empathy to hell.

“Is that all, Miss Forli?” I asked, turning around. The countess had this look on her face—it was weird: it looked like a mix between confusion, awe, surprise, and fear.

“Um… yes…” she stammered as she stood up, clearly taken aback. It looked totally out of character on her, that look on her face. It was like her calm, collected façade was never there—like it had just been an illusion.

I wondered if I had been like that back in New York; if I had hidden my own insecurities under layers of sarcasm and smiles. If that was case, then putting on a broken mask was easier than I thought.

She cleared her throat, snapping me out of my thoughts. I noticed she managed to get back some semblance of control over her raging emotions, and I barely stopped a sympathetic grin from tracing across my lips.

“As you wish, lady Arnetta.” she said, like she was the one pulling away from this conversation first. “Now if you will excuse me, it is time for me to hail the conquering hero.”

It was a poor attempt at dissipating the tension in the room, but I laughed anyway. And that seemed to be enough. The countess smiled before turning around.

But just as she was about to leave, I remembered the visions I had while I was at the Vatican: the one where a figure wreathed in white was riding away, the tightening of a broken heart echoing behind her…

“And one last thing, Miss Forli?” I called out. The countess turned around, an amused smile on her face.

“Please, call me Caterina.” She said. I smiled.

“Caterina, then…” I corrected myself. “You love your people, yes?”

I could tell the question caught her off-guard, but she was quick to answer: “Yes, I do.”

I nodded. “Please make sure to tell Ezio that, will you?”

Caterina raised a fine eyebrow, cocking her head in confusion.

“What do you mean by that?”

I shrugged and turned around once more to face the window, where I watched Ezio as he slowly strutted towards the Villa. His hood was done, and I saw that his hair was still in its tie. But I could see the breeze playfully blowing the short ponytail to and fro, to and fro…

“He has a strong, kind heart. He is a womanizer, yes… but with you, he feels different.”

I turned around to look Caterina in the eyes:

“Please do us—do him a favor, and tell him if what he is feeling is mutual or one-sided.” I looked back to Ezio; he was already climbing the steps. “He doesn’t deserve any more pain…”

Silence… then the sound of quiet footsteps retreating… the sound of a door closing…

I sighed.

“Oh no, did I get too close? Oh, did I almost see what’s really on the inside?”

For once, I didn’t care if I had just ruined the time stream or some science-y shit like that. I just wanted Ezio to not get his hopes up… His fractured heart deserved better.

It would be too much for him.

I knew that it would be for me.

Chapter Text

Lady of the Little Eagles

O~O~O~O~O~O

"When the lights started out, they don’t know what they heard.”

“Baby, do you dare to do this?"

O~O~O~O~O~O

Chapter 12: Burn the Dark Horse (Part I)

The sound of the front doors of the Villa closing resounded throughout the Villa, alerting me Ezio’s arrival.

“When you feel the world is crashing all around your feet,” I hummed as I turned away from the window. My bare feet padded silently across the carpeted floor of the guest room as I quietly opened the door and peeked outside.

“Buongiorno, Ezio.” Caterina’s voice rang throughout the foyer, her calm façade in place once more.

I smiled sadly as I watched Ezio approach her with ease, a suave smile on his face. Silently, I stepped outside and closed the door behind me. I hid myself in the shadows of the hall, untouched by the light pouring in from the outside.

I didn’t need to use my third Eye to see that he was delighted to see her… in more ways than one. From where I stood, I could feel the attraction Ezio had for her—it was intoxicating and heartbreaking at the same time; to know that someone loved you so much and yet know that it’s something that just can’t be.

Ah, shit… someone ring up John Green, I already have his next novel in the making.

“Come running headlong into my arms, breathless.” I finished in a whisper.

“Caterina,” he said in his smooth, silky voice. His eyes were alight, and I almost turned away. This man… his future with Caterina was filled with nothing but heartbreak.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your presence here?”

“I desire… an allegiance.” Caterina replied, her façade unblemished, serene. “The Papal armies have resumed their march on Forli. Your mercenaries would be a great asset to my cause.”

They had started walking towards the study. I silently slipped out of my corner, moving closer so that I would be able to hear Ezio’s response:

“It is likely that I can give you what you seek.” He said. I noticed his voice had suddenly become clipped. “But we will talk later.”

Then he walked to the study beneath me, out of sight.

I gestured wildly to get Caterina’s attention. She looked up and I made a face: Bitch, what you playin’ at?

She gave me a pointed look and followed Ezio, her composure never slipping. I rolled my eyes, and suppressed a scoff before hurrying downstairs to join them. Just as Caterina’s form disappeared behind the door, I slipped in behind her.

I closed the door behind me, attracting the stares of everyone in the room, whom I had the feeling had been greeting Ezio just moments ago.

“And who is this?” A man in black asked. His hair was cut short, and his piercing eyes seemed to cut into me. His voice was sharp, and I immediately got the feeling I shouldn’t get on this guy’s bad side.

But just as I was about to stammer out a response, his face registered in my mind: This was the man who wrote “The Prince”; one of the literary pieces we had to write about while I was in college… he was—

“You’re Niccolo Machiavelli, aren’t you?” I asked, blinking, as I couldn’t quite register the presence of yet another historical figure.

Paging Leonardo. Leonardo da Vinci.

“Yes,” he answered, confused. But as he continued to look at me, his tone started to border on accusing. “And you are…?”

Ezio opened his mouth to answer, but I cut him off:

“Dominique Arnetta,” I answered, curtseying slightly. I ignored Machiavelli’s bewildered look as I took this lull in the conversation as a chance to look around:

The room was simple yet elegant; a soft carpet, mahogany paneling, polished desks and frames… the room seemed like your stereotypical classy, rich-bitch office.

I also took note of the people in here with us: the first person I noticed was a man wearing a hood, a fox mask of sorts tied to his belt. His arms were crossed, and his lips were set into a sort of smirk…

La Volpe.

The people I noticed next were the two women in front of me: Maria, who also had her eyebrows raised. And Claudia, whose face was alight with joy at seeing her brother after so long—but for some reason, I could still detect traces of her sadness.

Oh…

I shot her a small sad smile. She winked at me, and held a finger to her lips.

I sighed loudly at this, and then turned to look at Ezio, whose eyebrows were raised in an obvious question:

“Oh, don’t mind me!” I suddenly exclaimed, visibly startling everyone. “Do continue, Ezio! Do tell us about how you did not kill Rodrigo yet managed to find out what lay hidden beneath the Vatican.”

“The Spaniard lives?!” Machiavelli cried as he turned on Ezio, his cold expression morphing into one of disbelief and anger.

“Please, let me explain...” Ezio said. He sounded as if he was attempting to calm an agitated beast. I suppressed a snort, which quickly morphed into a moan at the sudden mother-of-all-headaches that bloomed in between my eyes.

This went unnoticed, however, as everyone’s attention zoned in on Machiavelli’s miniature meltdown.

“You need not explain anything!” He was advancing on Ezio, who didn’t budge. “You should have killed him. We are sure to suffer for it! Why… how could you even—?! You ignorant, foolish—”

“Woah, woah, hold up, Geronimo Stilton.” I cut him off, a little bit shocked at a.) being able to think of something like this with a raging headache to boot and b.) at Machiavelli’s close-mindedness. How could he judge Ezio’s decision so easily without even hearing the entire story?

“Excuse me?” Machiavelli asked me in surprise and irritation, his piercing gaze bored into my own, and I literally did not have the energy to pretend to be ashamed at what I had just done:

“You heard me, Winx Club.” At this point, I was just firing off anything Italian I could think of. “If Ezio said he was going to explain, then do him a favor and just shut up and let him explain.”

The entire room went silent. But I paid this no heed as I felt my headache rise to a crescendo. I heard Machiavelli splutter, indignant:

“How dare you… who do you think you are—?!”

“Or better yet,” I cut him off again. “Do me a favor, and just… shut up, because your voice is literally not helping with the mother-of-all-headaches I am currently sporting and—”

“Arnie!” Ezio cut me off. I felt a stab of pain shoot through my temple and I resisted the urge to swoon. “May I speak with you outside?”

I all but snapped: “No, you may not speak with me outside. And by the way, what the hell is your problem, Ezio? I was just trying to help you by getting this close-minded idiot to shut up and listen!”

Even Ezio had nothing to retort to that. I sighed loudly, and plopped down on a chair near the window. The setting sun cast the room in a sort of heavenly glow, but that did nothing to soothe the awkward, tense silence that had descended on the people within it… that is, until a chuckle broke the silence.

“She has fire in her tongue,” La Volpe remarked, his eyes twinkling.

“Indeed…” Maria nodded, her affronted expression being betrayed by the twinkle in her eye.

“Hmm…” Caterina hummed to herself as I watched her move towards Ezio, whose eyes betrayed his gratitude. I thought I saw a small quirk in his lip before he turned around to face Machiavelli. It could have been my imagination, but that was enough.

I smiled contentedly to myself as I closed my eyes, choosing instead to rely on my ears to hear Ezio’s story:

“I entered Il Vaticano and faced Rodrigo. He used the power of the papal staff against me, but I defeated him. Combining the Staff and the Apple, I gained access to the vault.

“There, a moving painting of the goddess Minerva spoke. She told of a terrible tragedy to befall mankind in the future, but gave hope of lost temples that will provide aid to humanity.

“And then she called out to phantom, Desmond, as if he were there, standing beside me. After her warning, she vanished.”

I opened my eyes as Ezio finished, his tale leaving everyone (except me, of course) in awe, and filled to the brim with questions:

“Amazing…” Caterina breathed out.

“I cannot imagine such wonders!” Claudia exclaimed. I smiled against the arm I was using to cushion my face from the hard surface of the mahogany table.

“The Vault did not house the terrible weapon we feared.” Machiavelli grudgingly assented. “This is good news…”

“What of this goddess, this Minerva? Did she appear human?” Claudia asked excitedly.

“Yes, but her words proved otherwise.” Ezio said. His eyes twinkled as he looked with love at his sister. I held back an “aww” at the sight. “All of her kind died many years ago. I wish I could show you the magic she performed.”

“But where did she come from?” Machiavelli almost-but-not-quite-but-mostly sneered. I didn’t have to be looking at him to know that he was talking about me. My eye twitched against my arm.

“From your ass, where your head is right now.” I snapped, my eyes narrowing as I lifted my head to look at the scholar. This time, La Volpe erupted in a fit of surprised laughter while Claudia giggled. Maria shot her daughter a pointed look, but her stern façade was betrayed by the quirk in her lip. Caterina covered her mouth while her shoulders shook in silent laughter. Mario’s face was blank, but the twinkle in his eyes was all I needed to know that he found this amusing as well.

Machiavelli’s face, meanwhile, had turned red at the insult. He turned around to stalk towards the door before Ezio stopped him:

“I apologize for her behavior,” he tried to say with a serious face, before a small grin cracked his façade. Machiavelli huffed and said to him:

“I will return when she is out of this room.” He said before stepping out.

Ezio’s accusing eyes turned to me, and I immediately held up my hands: “You don’t even have to ask.”

I stood up, but I was immediately assaulted with flashes of images: Mario’s death, the pain of seeing him die echoed within me; Caterina’s capture, her fury and indignation at being held against her will; and Ezio…

My eyes widened as I gasped, not noticing the way everyone’s eyes shot to look at me. I felt light-headed.

Is there a place for me to lie down… or—?

“Arnie!” Mario cried as I suddenly collapsed face-first. Ezio caught me in time, and I only managed to whisper these words before my sight was engulfed by a sudden blackness that crept in from the corners of my vision:

“It begins at dawn.”

I awoke to the sound of cannon fire.

My eyes shot open as I heard a boom in the distance. The headache was gone, and as crazy as it sounded… I’d never felt so alive.

But that did nothing to dull the panic that was making my heart pound hard against my chest. My palms began to sweat as I sat up, immediately noticing my change of clothes; a simple sleeping gown that didn’t even reach my knees. I scoffed into the empty room.

Ezio…

“Ezio! Ser Mario!” I yelled as I rolled out of bed, my black hair sticking up in the weirdest of angles. The sleeping gown’s material was smooth, and I resisted the urge to slow down and take some time to roll around the bed like some weird-ass cat rolling in catnip.

I stood up and grabbed a robe that was hanging by the foot of the bed. I snatched up a brush that was so conveniently placed at the bedside table before rushing out of the door.

The villa was silent save for the occasional boom that punctuated the quiet. I rushed down the hall, brushing my hair like a maniac, all the while screaming for anyoneto please! Answer me!

I reached Ezio’s room (don’t ask me how I knew—maybe it was the sexual sounds coming from an oh-so-familiar voice that was the dead-giveaway… I didn’t know) and tried to open the door. It was locked.

“Ezio, for the love of God!” I cried, trying in vain to open the door. I even tried throwing my shoulder against it a few times.

“Ezio! Open the—ah, fuck—open the goddamn door! The Borgia! They’re—oh, fuck, that hurt—they’re coming! Open the—”

I was just about to kick it in for all it was worth when Ezio opened it, a sheet hastily wrapped around his waist which, to my disgust and slight arousal (what? A sexy, Italian man was standing half-naked in front of me! What was I supposed to feel?), was already half-hard.

I put my foot down when I felt a breeze blow up against my—erm, my lady parts.

Ezio looked pissed… emphasis on “pissed”: his chest and neck were littered with hickeys and his hair was all tousled up. The muscles on his stomach moved with each breath took. He was sweating slightly, and his biceps seemed to absorb the light—oh, god this is sounding like a porno.

Okay, back to the story: He was sweating slightly… but his gold-rimmed eyes bored into me with murderous intent.

“Arnetta,” he hissed, his Italian accent thickened with the lust he had used with Caterina during their lovers’ session. “You had better have a—”

“They’re coming!” I cut him off, trying to divert my attention from the smell of sweat and sex that was coming out of the room. I ducked under the arm he used to open the door and instead hastened to the window to see what was going on. But before I got there, I noticed Caterina lying on the bed, using another blanket to cover up her modesty…

But it was only when I saw her shocked and horrified expression did it finally registered to me:

She never told him…

“You bi—!” I started to yell when I was suddenly cut off when a cannon ball burst through the wall to my left. It left a gaping hole in the building’s structural framework, causing the ceiling to collapse in on itself.

“Caterina!” Ezio yelled as he shoved me aside. He draped himself over the woman whose body, I noticed, had begun to tremble slightly.

I shook myself off from the feeling of weightlessness that suddenly overtook me when Ezio pushed me to the ground. I stood up and rushed over to the hole in the wall.

“We’re too late…” I whispered. The adrenaline-inducing feeling of panic that I had felt just moments ago drained away, only to be replaced by the cold, empty feeling of despair as I watched the Borgia army advance on the walls of Monteriggioni.

Chapter Text

Lady of the Little Eagles

O~O~O~O~O~O

“Music’s on, I’m waking up. We fight the fire, then we burn it up."

“So you wanna play with magic?"

O~O~O~O~O~O

Chapter 13: Burn the Dark Horse (Part II)

What was this weird feeling? It was so heavy, like a leaden lump on my chest that wouldn’t let me move, wouldn’t let me breathe.

Not that there was any point, we were all going to die anyways because of Caterina’s selfish sluftcraft and bitchery—

“Merda!” Ezio growled. His lust was gone now, replaced by shock and something fiery that burned in his eyes. His movements were rushed, but not panicked. In fact, it was like I was looking at a machine on overdrive, guided only by one-word commands:

Clothes. Armor. Broken. Useless. Weapons. Scattered. Where? Sword—

“I have to find Mario and rally the troops.”

“My men are in the courtyard.” Caterina said as she walked up to Ezio. Her face displayed shock, but fierce determination shone in her eyes as she grabbed Ezio’s arms to get his attention. “I aim to lead them around back and flank our attackers.”

Caterina’s last words snapped me out of my despair-induced apathy: “Flank our attackers…”

I scoffed loudly, and both of them stopped whatever it was they were doing and looked at me like I had grown a second head.

“Oh, don’t mind me,” I said, heavily lacing my words with sarcasm. A brief fantasy played through my mind of Ezio suddenly collapsing, clutching his chest with his mouth open comically wide at the amount of sarcasm I injected into my tone. “I’m just the girl who tried to stop all this shit from happening in the first place!”

“Arnetta!” Ezio yelled exasperatedly over the roar of the cannons. “Enough!”

I raised up my hands, but not before shooting a glare in Caterina’s direction… because seriously; I did not go through one—no, two head-splitting headaches to see the fucking future just so Miss Forli could screw around with her “conquering hero.”

Ezio’s nearing footsteps, which should have sounded muffled over the cries of war, but instead sounded sharp and piercing, made me snap my head towards him. I made sure to level a glare at him, too.

But I stepped aside, not really in the mood to speak against him since there was a war going on and how the hell am I thinking like this, there is a freaking battle happening outside and holy shit, those are dead, bleeding bodies—

“Stay out of sight.” He said at last, snapping me back to reality before I started hyperventilating. He was looking at Caterina—that cracker bitch—but I could tell the words were for me too. He took a running start and leaped out of sight.

“Whatever,” I mumbled. I was slightly surprised that Ezio would still say something like that to me even though, looking back, all this time I’d been nothing but a whiny bitch to him.

Maybe he does care about me. The thought of him protecting me, holding me in his arms, being there for me was enough to bring a blush to my cheeks.

This is so not the time…

Ah, God… I miss Leonardo.

I heard someone clear a throat behind me. I felt my blush fade away as I turned around.

Caterina’s face was composed as always, and I hated her for it. It was like what happened between her and Ezio was just business (which it was). I gathered all the venom I could, despite the scary-as-hell situation, and sent a glare at her.

She didn’t flinch, but I noticed the way her eyes suddenly found the holes in the wall quite interesting.

“I apolo—”

“Save it, Miss Forli,” I snapped, all the warmth from the nickname gone as I practically hissed at her. “You know what? Screw you; I did not just experience two mother-of-all headaches just so you could bang your conquering hero—”

I was cut off when I heard a muffled crash to my right. It was followed by a large groan, and then I felt the house slowly give way.

“Cazzo!” she yelled as she lost her balance, tipping forward as her body reluctantly fell victim to the laws of gravity.

“Caterina!” I yelled while I braced myself against the crumbling wall behind me. Cracks split open the cement, the sound piercing even against the sound of cannonfire, as the house finally began to cave in on itself, with us still inside.

Oh, God… this is it… we’re going to die.

I felt the villa’s foundations collapse under the damage, heard the monstrous groans that wracked the house’s structure. Caterina was hanging on for dear life as her dainty hands gripped a bedpost tight as we tipped forward.

The world seemed to slow down around me as I felt gravity reclaim my body. I felt myself being lifted off of the ground as I heard the wall behind me fall first, shattering into rubble. I felt my body fall ever slowly as I watched the ceiling above me give way entirely.

It will crush us, I thought off-handedly, as if everything that was happening to me was happening to someone else, and I was just a spectator.

“Not yet…” I whispered. Then, just before I felt the heavy material of cement and wood would crush my body, I felt a warm hand grab my shoulder and yank me backwards. And then, there was darkness.

When I opened my eyes, the first thing that came into my mind was: Holy fuck…

The first thing I saw was a wide, blue sky. And the second thing that came through my mind was: I never thought the New York sky could be this blue…

But that was when I heard the screams, the sounds of cannons firing and metal clashing. And then everything came back at once:

The villa, Caterina…

“Caterina?” I called out, standing up, wincing when I felt my shoulder ache. I didn’t how the fuck we made it out, but when I saw the ground in front of me explode a few feet away, all thoughts of how and why vanished. Replaced by the urge to look, to find—

Fuck, Ezio is going to kill me…

“Caterina!” I yelled one more time, turning around, running forward, dodging sizzling craters and still-warm bodies, though none of them hers. No. No. No. No. No. Nonononono—

A head of auburn hair, glinting in the sunlight that dribbled through the thick layers of smoke and death…

“Caterina!” I yelled part in joy and part in exasperation. How the hell did she get so far…?

“How the fuck did you get so—” I was running, but when I saw the look on her face I stopped. It was one of shock, of pure horror. “Caterina, what—?”

“Dio mio… dio mio… dio mio…” I heard her mumbling as I neared. Her eyes were wide, and her auburn hair was in disarray. Combine that with her tattered and soiled undergarments, it gave her the look of a homeless person—

Scratch that, combine her homeless look with the glazed look she had in her eyes then one could perceive her as a crazy person, like we’ll-put-you-in-an-asylum-so-you-can-get-better crazy person.

“Caterina!” I yelled, hoping my voice would snap her out of it. She was scaring me for God’s sake…

“Dietro di te!” she yelled, her eyes finding mine. I sucked in a sharp breath as I noticed how they suddenly seemed to burn into my own. The glazed look was gone, and a fire that seemed to be fueled entirely by fear replaced it. I didn’t need to slip into my third Eye to see that it was coming off her in waves, but why…?

“Dietro di te!" she shrieked again, backing away as I watched her hands fumble around for a weapon. She finally found a sword that was lying near a dead mercenary’s body and lifted it up, pointing it at me—pointing it behind me.

Turn around!

I turned around.

The first thing I noticed was the figure standing in what I first made out to be a mound of logs… clothed logs… clothed logs with protrusions—branches, those have to be branches… what else could they be—that seemed to look like arms and legs and—

Oh. My. God.

I wanted to scream, but it wouldn’t come out. The figure was wrapped in a black cloak that covered everything except its hands, which were pale and almost dainty. A large, pointed hood obscured its face but I could see strands of platinum-blond hair flying in the harsh breeze brought by the battle raging around us.

It stepped forward, and I felt more than heard Caterina choke back a whimper as she stood up. I have never before heard the great Caterina Sforza whimper.

I repeat for emphasis: whimper.

This was the woman who retorted “Bastardi! You think you can threaten me? I’ll give you NOTHING! You want my children? Take them! I have the instrument to make more!” to the Orsi brothers when they kidnapped her children as ransom for the Piece of Eden they thought was in her possession.

And just now, she whimpered like a scared child.

Fuck it. We’re screwed…

The sword she held in her hand was trembling slightly, but her eyes burned. Hate, anger, and desperation came off of her in waves, and I resisted the urge to cower behind her.

I heard a sharp intake of breath come from the hooded figure, and I was snapped back to reality. I looked back, Caterina’s face had hardened and the trembling in her sword-hand stopped. She took confident strides towards the cloaked figure, and stopped a few meters away.

I followed her, awkwardly avoiding the dead bodies whose faces held their death masks of fear and horror and unadulterated pain—

“Who are you?” Caterina asked. She swung the sword she held in her hands threateningly. Internally, I cheered her on, even though a few moments ago I was calling her every rude name I knew of… and that was a lot.

“They said I do not have to answer to you.” A voice said from within the hood, I was surprised to hear the high voice of a child. Bu what horrified me was that it sounded… distorted; like I was hearing it come out of a deep well. The sound bounced off of my skull and set my heart pounding. Tendrils of fear and dread seemed to wrap around me, and I fought down the urge to back away.

Caterina’s hold on her sword hardened, though I could see that she was just as shocked.

“A child?” she whispered, raising her weapon. “What devilry is this?” she hissed.

The hooded figure laughed, but its voice had changed; now, it was like an old hag’s cackle. But it was layered with something, deeper… more menacing. If I didn’t know better, I would say it sounded demonic.

“Cesare will be very pleased indeed,” it spoke. But this time, its voice was that of a woman’s, only coming into her prime—not ravaged by age but no longer bound by youth. But again, there was something stillthere… something evil…

It’s hard to explain.

“And why is that?” Caterina asked, her eyes flashing dangerously as she stopped beside me, her posture tense and ready. I felt awkward just standing here, shifting my weight from one foot to another while Caterina and this… thing faced off.

“He has been looking forward to another whore to play with.” the cloaked figure said off-handedly. “His sister sometimes just fails to satisfy anymore.”

I made a noise of disgust, and the figure’s head snapped towards my direction. I gulped when I noticed a pair of brown eyes—warm and inviting like hot chocolate… so out of place in the imposing darkness this creature emitted.

And yet, staring into them, the strangest, most familiar picture crossed my mind: two dream catchers—emerald green and topaz yellow. They were wrapped around two chubby wrists.

“Well, well…” it said before raising its arms. I felt something tug at my chest painfully, snapping me out of reverie. I quickly switched to my third Eye, and I felt my jaw drop before stumbling backwards. My choked breath was the only thing stopping me from screaming my lungs out.

“What is it?” Caterina asked nervously, glancing back quickly before slowly making her way beside me, her sword still level to the cloaked figure. I felt her kneel beside me, and she helped me up. “What do you see?”

That demonic laugh echoed inside me again. I couldn’t even answer her. I scrambled to my feet, and immediately shoved Caterina aside. I spread out my own arms, trusting myself to know what to do when I absorbed the full brunt of the torrent of energy the figure had fired our way.

I raised my own arms as my third Eye was filled with black.

I screamed when I felt her power course through my veins—there was so much… I actually felt my heart burn at the sheer amount of it. I felt tears prickle my eyes as the pain in my chest became too much, and I got down on one knee.

Somewhere along that time, I felt something claw at my chest. And I realized that it was my own hands, clawing at my traitorous heart that pumped the pain throughout my bloodstream, setting my blood boiling and my nerves aflame.

Must… make it… stop…

Bouts of demonic laughter… an enraged battle cry… the brief sound of metal slicing through flesh—the sharp clank! of a sword being knocked aside… a moan of pain…

‘Move!’ I yelled to myself. I willed my third Eye open—I must have closed it in a vain attempt to block out the tsunami of energy the figure sent towards us. I forced the energy to back the fuck away.

The energy didn’t budge, didn’t stop assaulting me with surges of pain that left me teary-eyed and breathless, but I felt my Eye open through it anyway.

But I remembered the darkness, remembered that it was dark energy flooding my system… so I wasn’t surprised when my Sight was met with nothing but the black.

I can’t… fucking see!

…

Your only limits are the ones you impose upon yourself.

A deep breath. I gritted my teeth.

“Come on, Arnie…” I murmured to myself.

I imagined my Eye as a ray of clarity in the pandemonium that that cloaked bitch sent my way. I willed it to become a beacon, a lighthouse in the black night.

Please, please, please, please… let me see… let me see, let me help…

It heeded me, much to my surprise. The blackness that had swallowed up my vision retreated and, though I could still feel it hovering around me, choking my heart and sending surges of pain through my mind, it was easier for me to see and, therefore, to control.

“Back off!” I yelled. The wisps of energy obeyed, draining out of my body. And boy, did it feel like heaven.

I was pretty sure I moaned some time in between, but when I saw Caterina on her knees in front of the figure, clutching her chest with her eyes shut tight, I snapped back to focus.

I saw what the bitch—not Caterina, the figure in black—was doing. I watched in horror as she sent stream after stream after stream of negative emotions into the countess—Pain. Sorrow. Anger. Rage. Hatred.

Caterina was doing her best to block it out, pushing against the air as if that would stop the figure from feeding the countess all of those dark emotions.

Frankly, I was surprised that Caterina wasn’t dead yet… or at least comatose since her heart should’ve given out by now and why the hell am I just standing around here—?

“Nngh!” I grunted, sending the negative energy surrounding me back to that black-coated bitch. I willed it to become a tempest of darkness, charging it with my own stock of negative emotions, as I projected it towards her.

The black-coat stopped torturing Caterina just in time to block my own wave of darkness. I watched with my third Eye as the figure shot out its palms. The hurricane compressed into her palms, pressing against itself until it was nothing now but a tiny orb the size of a marble.

Then, as if flicking away an irksome fly, she sent it flying towards me.

Adrenaline coursed through my veins as I shot out my hands and spun around, willing the compact orb of energy to expand into streams. Torrents of energy surrounded my body like the rings of a dark planet. I sent it back to her—streams of black hovering in midair in a world of grey.

The figure retaliated, however, by crossing her arms together. The torrents of energy exploded against her, showering the gray world in bursts of black and gray.

But before I could retaliate, I stopped in fascination and horror as the energy began to condense around the figure’s forearms. They wrapped themselves around the woman’s forearms, forming what seemed to be like twin whips.

I gulped. The figure laughed and lunged forward, knocking me down with a kick to my chest and aiming the first whip for my face.

“Destruction!” she laughed as she lashed at me.

I screamed as I felt—or at least, I thought I felt—the flesh on my cheek sizzle, as if the emotional darkness her weapons carried were a physical toxin, a poison that marred my skin and burned through my bones.

She hit me again and again and again… and I could do nothing but scream as I felt my blood boil in pain and my flesh sizzle. A haze of pain had settled in my brain after the twelfth or thirteenth hit and I had stopped screaming by then, only sobbing every once in a while when she hit a place that had been hit previously, thus doubling the pain.

Finally, she stopped. I had stopped sobbing then, but the tears still flowed freely. My voice was hoarse from screaming. I tried to swallow but it felt like I was swallowing acid, and my throat was made of sandpaper. I winced at the effort.

The figure turned around. Through the fog of pain, I heard a muffled whistle. I vaguely heard the sound of armor clanking as I lifted a hand to wipe the tears away. Soldiers had gathered behind the cloaked figure—she was clearly the one ordering them around, but I couldn’t hear what she was saying.

She pointed to Caterina and then to me. Then, she pointed to one of the soldiers before sending him off with two soldiers in tow, dragging a half-conscious Caterina.

The figure in black followed them, but not without shooting me a smug, triumphant smirk. This time, I felt my blood boil with rage as I watched her leave my line of sight… my head hurt too much to follow her.

The remaining soldiers—a good twenty or thirty—gathered in front of me.

“Is she alive?” a voice said behind me.

“I don’t know… that strega must have done a number on her.” Another voice said before kicking me in the back, sending me face first into a puddle of what I sincerely hoped wasn’t mud… or blood... or both.

I tried to move, tried to sit up, but my arms gave way before I could succeed. A soldier laughed behind me. But it was a cruel laugh, filled with malice.

“She lives!” he cried, before kicking my side sharply. I groaned as I tried to shield myself.

“Stop…” I whispered, but the soldiers only laughed. I felt one soldier give an order, and they all quieted down. A brief fantasy flitted through my mind:

This is it, this is the part of the story where a bad guy would have a conscience and save the damsel in distress…

 I groaned weakly when I felt someone yank me up using my hair.

“Oh, but we’re just getting started, signora…” a man’s voice whispered in my ear. I felt a tongue lick a stripe behind my earlobe, and I shuddered in fear, their intent dawning clear as crystal.

No…

I felt hands grip me from behind as I was pulled backwards onto the—thankfully—still-clothed lap of another soldier. I heard the sounds of buckles being undone and metal dropping to the pavement. Gloved hands traced up and down my legs as I felt another spank me on the ass. Hard.

Let go…

I whimpered, but that only seemed to spur them on. I felt someone pull my robe off, and rough hands were trailing down my body, lifting up the scanty gown…

Please, stop.

I felt dust fly as a pair of pants went down. I was retreating, retreating into the darkest recesses of my mind because I don’t want this… I don’t want to see this… this can’t be happening to me…

A harsh voice whispered in my ear, “Are you ready, puttana?”

Fear and panic had laced its way into my veins and into my blood, dulling the pain. Adrenaline kicked in as I began to struggle against the soldiers’ hold on me and this can’t be happening… it’s just a nightmare… this can’t be happening—

“No!” I screamed. “Let me go—bastards!”

A sharp round of laughter rang from behind me before I was slapped hard across the face. I cried out. I felt one of the men grab and flip me on my back with a harsh hiss:

“We won’t take kindly to that, signora…” he said before I felt him position himself against my thighs, which were being held up one of his free hands.

“I said,” I whispered, letting my voice drop to a whisper as I felt fear trickle in. I would not give these bastards another reason to think I was scared—which I was.

I took a deep breath, and allowed myself to fall pliant—submissive as the men around me wooed me on as I placed my legs on top of the man’s shoulders. The soldier keeping me in place noticed this and smirked.

“Let. Me. Go!” I punctuated the last three words by suddenly tensing and snapping my legs shut on the man holding me down with as much force I could muster. He pulled away with a yell of pain and outrage. But that was enough for me as I rolled away and staggered to my feet, only to be pulled back by another pair of hands.

I spun around, and immediately spat at the soldier’s face before shoving my forehead against his nose. The headbutt wasn’t as strong as I had hoped, but it was enough to daze the guard into loosening his grip.

I shook it off easily and tried to run, but a flank of soldiers blocked my way. I retreated to the left but it was just the same…

They’re surrounding me.

“Oh, fuck…” I cursed before crying out. The soldier I had headbutted earlier had shoved me down and was now straddling me. He glared at me, hatred burning in his eyes.

“You will regret that.” The man growled in my ear. I shot out my hand and pulled at the soldier’s hair, expecting a full head of hair that I could pull at easily. But when I was met with the metal of the man’s helmet, I grabbed onto it without thinking and pulled it off before using it to bash the man’s head in with all of my might.

The man groaned before collapsing on top of me. I barely had enough time to congratulate myself before I was punched. Stars danced in my eyes for a few moments before I felt myself being pinned down and my legs being spread wide.

“Take it like a bitch, strega.” He punched me again. I groaned in pain, too tired to cry out. I felt himself position behind me and I struggled with renewed energy, weariness forgotten. I tried to kick but the soldiers holding me down only laughed and spat at me.

I felt tears slide down my cheeks as I sobbed and pleaded and oh, god, please… no, no, no, no, no, no…

Ezio!

I felt the soldier press against me and—no, no, no, no, no, no… I closed my eyes, waiting for the pain to come.

It didn’t.

In my despair, I barely heard the enraged roar followed by the sound of enraged cries of “Assassino!” “Get him!” ring through the throng of half-naked, half-aroused soldiers.

I didn’t want to open my eyes, but I could feel the righteous fury coming off of Ezio in waves as he neared, and it was charging me up bit by bit. I sent a quiet thank you to whoever or whatever was watching over me...

Or was it just pure, dumb luck?

Who the hell cares?

I heard the wind whistle behind Ezio’s sword as he stabbed and parried, countered and dodged… I could feel his energy as he fought the soldiers. Yet I could hear pained grunts as he fought; I heard tiny splatters from where I was lying, though at first I thought those belonged to the enemy.

But then I heard Ezio moan after a particularly tense lull in the battle before snarling and continuing the fight.

The blood was his…

Looking back, I don’t know where or how I got back my strength—maybe it was because of Ezio who was so close to me. His energy fed me like some sort of divine drug. I slowly opened my eyes.

Ezio’s breeches and white undershirt were covered in mud and blood. His side was bleeding and his face was pale, though his eyes continued to burn with rage as he lunged, impaling his sword on the soldier in front of him before pulling out and rolling away to evade the swing of a man behind him.

I continued absorbing Ezio’s heavenly drug-like energy, allowing it to fill me up as I tried to stand up. I staggered to my feet, clutching my side as I tried to open my third Eye. It responded immediately, filling my Sight up with tendrils of black in a world of grey. But Ezio’s golden light shone through it, a beacon of light in the stormy sea. His own tendrils of energy were surrounding him, the white ones battling away the black.

I could see a stream of light trail away from Ezio and lead right to me, filling me up with renewed vigor.

But then I saw Ezio fall, his golden light slowly diminishing as the Assassin collapsed beneath the combined blows of the soldiers. His flow of energy waned, and I severed it, afraid it was making him weaker than he already was.

“Stop!” I tried to yell, but as soon as I took a step forward, I collapsed. My head was pounding, and I immediately cursed the hangover-part of this energy-absorption process.

I groaned as I tried to process the scene happening in front of me, tried to take in Ezio being beaten to a pulp. His eyes were shut tight and his teeth were bared in a snarl as he tried to tamp down the groans of pain I bet he was just dying to let out.

I reached out a hand, willing the tendrils of energy surrounding the soldiers to come to me… to help me fight. They wavered, as if buffeted by a strong wind, but they didn’t rush towards me. I felt confusion and anger cloud my thoughts as I tried again, willing the wisps of emotion to abandon their hosts and come to me.

There was nothing.

“Let him go!” I cried desperately as I lifted my head, trying to catch Ezio’s eyes. But they were shut tight. I heard a bout of cruel laughter ring around me and I was suddenly pulled by my hair (what is it with my fucking hair?) and was deposited next to Ezio, who moaned as he tried to open his eyes.

I remember someone grabbing me from behind, but I couldn’t think straight through the rage and despair and utter helplessness that coursed through me as I took in Ezio’s battered form.

If he couldn’t save me, then who can?

I felt someone line up behind me and I allowed myself to retreat once again… retreat to the farthest corner of my mind because there’s no hope, no more hope…

But just before I let myself fall back into the sweet bliss of unconsciousness, I heard laughter, mocking and cruel, echo through me. That black-coat bitch was laughing at me.

I felt something inside me snap.

Fucking HELL to the no:

“Get away!” I yelled, snapping my eyes open. I felt my own emotions explode, my rage finally having an outlet through my powers:

Your only limits are the ones you impose upon yourself.

I let out a battle cry as I pushed the soldiers away with a quick pulse of Anger that surrounded me like a shield, a cloak from Despair. I let my heart reign free, shutting out my conscience that tried to tell me that these are just men following orders.

I let myself bask in the Confusion that I sowed in the hearts of these men. I watched with sadistic glee as they turned one another, their half-hard dicks still bouncing as they swung and stabbed and killed their own.

That scene was the last one I could remember before I felt my mind descend into chaos; my Sight was a blur, obscured by the tempest of emotions, both the ones I’m manipulating and my own.

I heard screaming. I saw fragments, bits and pieces of what I was doing—what I was capable of: I saw the soldiers’ eyes—the ones who were still alive and had snapped out of the Confusion I had sowed among them—open impossibly wide as they looked up at me… though I had no I idea when I had begin to tower over them but it doesn’t matter because how dare you… no more, no more, no more!

I could feel a sort of electricity surge through me, powering me up. But I was no longer in control, I let my instincts take control; let my thirst for revenge drive my actions as I felt the energy being released. I let it surge outwards to the weak hearts of these simple-minded fools.

I could feel the wind whipping around me, sending my hair flying but I didn’t care because you all must die. You are scum. You are filth.

I will make you all burn.

I let myself fall into a trance, let my body take full control as I took a deep breath, savoring the smell of Fear and Despair that lingered over the survivors. I let go of my grip on reality as I let myself float back into the bliss of unconsciousness.

“Control, child.” I heard a man’s familiar voice say. It lifted me out somewhat from the self-imposed trance I put myself in. It sounded oily and derisive, a familiar voice…

“Fuck you.” I said out loud, before closing my eyes and finally succumbing to the darkness behind my eyelids, uncaring of the death I let my body wreak.

Chapter Text

Lady of the Little Eagles

O~O~O~O~O~O

"Now I’m dreaming, will I ever find you now?”

"I think I’ll miss you forever like the stars miss the sun in the morning sky.”

O~O~O~O~O~O

Chapter 14: I Need Your Summertime Sadness

I’m not even going to try to explain how the hell I ended up there. And come to think of it, I didn’t even remember where the hell I had been before I ended up there.

Every time I tried to remember, all I came up with were flashes of pain. At the same time, those flashes were tinged with rage and anger and hatred and the urge to let it go, let them suffer, let them burn—

I backed up until I hit a wall behind me, trying to get away from those homicidal thoughts. See, this was the kind of thing that would get you landed in prison… or the electric chair… or the nuthouse.

What the hell…? I thought to myself. I shook my head once… twice—okay, a third time because never in my life have I thought thoughts like those. It was unnerving.

I stood up, ignoring the throbbing in my head and looked around; I was in a kitchen. It was nice, homey… with a wooden counter at the side with a small dining table in the middle. I could hear the muffled pitter-patter of raindrops above me.

I was in a corner backed up against a pantry, and I could see a doorway at my 1 o’clock. Beyond that, I could see a coat rack and a shoe rack. The floor was covered with an ornate Persian-style carpet that trailed out of sight.

I tensed. Where am I? I stood up fast, wanting to be prepared should I be in enemy territory (and there’s something I never thought I’d say), and cursed when my head hit shelf overhead:

“Goddamn son of a—!” I cut myself off when I heard humming come from my left. Panic seized, me and I backed up against the pantry again, curling into myself and praying that I wouldn’t be seen.

I saw a woman come out of another doorway—this time to my left, something I hadn’t noticed before. She was wearing a loose T-shirt that was a size too big for her. Her legs were peaking out of said shirt, and I noticed that they were annoyingly flawless, save for that small mark behind her thigh that was shaped like a dinosaur footprint that kind of looked like a birthmark that kind of looked like mine—

I looked up at her, and I gasped.

It was me… or at least, I thought it was me. It’d been so long since I last looked in the mirror. I noticed the woman’s face as she walked past me. She had shoulder-length black hair that had begun to curl at the ends, and she had brown eyes the color of melted chocolate. She was humming something familiar…

“I need your love, I need your time.” The woman in front of me sang.

Was that what I sound like?

I still didn’t get why Mario told me I had a good voice.

She had walked past my line of sight, so I had to crawl forward… yes, I crawled forward (my head hurt like a bitch, sue me) and I noticed a steaming bowl of chicken macaroni soup on the middle of the table. There were two soup bowls set up on the table, facing each other.

I ended up sitting on one of the chairs of the dining table, a hand cradling my head. The woman still hadn’t noticed me.

“When everything’s wrong, you make it right.” She continued to sing as she turned on the tap. I noticed the pile of dirty, unwashed pots, knives and other kitchen utensils to her right. She still hadn’t noticed me, which was odd in itself… but I had this weird feeling in my gut. Like it was telling me that this was real, this was happening…

But at the same time, I knew that this couldn’t be happening.

God, what a mess.

The woman in front of me continued singing as she started washing the pile of dirty dishes:

“I feel so high. I come alive. I need to be free…” she continued to sing to herself. I couldn’t help but be entranced with her. I mean, come on, it was like looking into a mirror: we shared the same mannerisms—she even does that weird head-bang-slash-hair-flip thing I do when an electro-techno beat break comes on in a song.

I found myself singing along with her.

Nah, I’m just kidding. I’m a freaking amateur DJ, what the hell did you expect me to do?

And that was why just as she was about to belt out the first stanza of Ellie Goulding’s “I Need Your Love”, I sang out:

“Kiss me hard before you go, summertime sadness.” I started to sing out, albeit somewhat faster to match the upbeat tempo of Calvin Harris’ instrumental. But I gasped and immediately covered my mouth when she began to sing the same thing I was singing.

“I just wanted you to know,” she picked up where I had left off. She had set up a sort of rhythm: swipe, swipe, swipe, circle-wipe, set-aside… swipe, swipe, swipe, circle-wipe, set-aside… swipe, swipe, swipe, circle-wipe, set-aside… like the way I used to do it back in New York.

“That baby, you’re the best…”

Fuck it. That is me!

“I got my red dress on tonight, dancing in the dark in the pale moonlight.” Throwing caution to the wind, I hummed along with her. “Done my hair up real big, beauty-queen style, high heels off, I’m feeling alive.”

“Oh, my God. I feel it in the air,” we sang together. “Telephone wires above are sizzling like a snare. Honey, I’m on fire. I feel it everywhere.”

“Nothing scares me anymore.” We continued to sing, but we were cut off when the sound of a door opening and closing echoed throughout the silent house.

The future-me didn’t turn around; instead, future-me cocked her head, as if she was relying on her ears to tell her what was happening behind her. I could hear the sounds of water dripping, barely-restrained curses mixing in with the muffled orchestra of the raindrops above our heads.

I saw future-me smile, but she didn’t turn around.

“Honey, I’m home!” a man’s voice called loudly. I could hear the grin in the man’s voice and future-me laughed.

“Really? Out of all the clichés you pick up from the sappy rom-coms Luke likes to watch, that’s the one you use?” she shouted back, still not turning around.

Who the fuck’s Luke?

I heard padded footsteps make their way closer to us, and I turned around. A man who looked like he was in his late-twenties was making his way towards future-me.

He was handsome… but there was something weird about his face. It was like it kept… shifting, I guess? For a moment, it looked like John Davidson (see: Tom Cruise’s height; cool, blue eyes that seemed to turn into a kaleidoscope in the light; lithe swimmer’s body that—rumor had it—housed a very nice four-pack), this guy I had a huge crush on in my sophomore year.

Then, it looked like Alex Rodriguez (see: Channing Tatum’s height; warm, hazel eyes; fucking dimples; a rugged body that still houses a delicious six-pack), this cute—okay, delicious—friend of mine I met while I was in college. He’s still hot though, but God must’ve been leading me on because the last time I met up with him, he was already married and had a baby on the way.

Then there came Jared Summers’ face (see: Misha Collins’ face; green eyes like sparkling emeralds; and plump, sinfully kissable lips), a regular in the café who became a friend of mine. Even now, I still remember his usual: a simple, caramel latte with a whipped cream finish.

Then came Ace Morrison’s face (you know what, just imagine a combination of Adam Levine and Jared Padalecki and you’ve got a pretty good idea of what Ace looks like), Jenna’s brother.

All of these guys… all of them were people I tried to go out with, but I was always too shy or too insecure—or just too me.

I watched future-me smile as Ace—Sean Rogers (floppy black hair, piercing gray eyes, runner’s build) wrapped his arms around her body. She sighed as she leaned against the man’s warmth. His wet clothes were making a puddle on the kitchen floor, and I noticed it was soaking through her clothes.

“You know you like it,” he whispered. He had a deep and husky voice. I saw future-me giggle, swatting at him playfully—wait, he became Nico Smith… then Sam Johnson… Dean Johnson.

Goddamn it.

She closed the running tap and she turned around. His face shifted again, and I gasped:

Grown-out hair… chocolate-brown eyes with tints of gold… lightly-bearded face… scar on the upper lip…

“Yeah, yeah…” she said, smiling before reaching up on her tiptoes to bring her lips to his. I saw the man—a man who freaking looked like Ezio—smile against her lips. He wrapped his arms around her waist, and he spun her around in a small circle before she pulled away with a small laugh.

“Dinner?” she asked, her own brown eyes staring into his own. He smiled cheekily and kissed her cheek before walking up to the cabinets and grabbing two glasses and two pairs of spoons and forks…

And fuck me; Ezio’s features were still there.

“No, no, no, no…” I saw future-me singsong. She skipped up to the man that looked like Ezio—because there was no fucking way that Ezio and me will get together in the near future—and pulled the plates away from him.

“You are going to clean up that puddle you left in the foyer and you are going to shower and get dressed before you catch a cold.”

The man raised an eyebrow. He opened his mouth but closed it again after a moment before he shook his head. “I’ll never get how you do it…”

“Women’s intuition, darling,” future-me said with a grin before kissing his cheek. I blushed at the nonchalant act of affection. She turned around and laid the plates down before setting the spoons and forks.

The man shook his head in wonder before walking back out to the foyer. I saw him shrug off his coat. He was careful to leave it hanging near the fireplace before he attempted to tiptoe away… probably into the bathroom.

“And –! Don’t even think about trying to run away!” The future-me shouted from the kitchen. I blinked. I didn’t hear his name… it was like something muffled the sound of her voice for a moment there. I turned back around to see her ladle warm soup in a bowl.

“The mop’s near the dryer and it won’t even take you five minutes. Get to it!”

I heard the man (I still won’t acknowledge him as Ezio fucking Auditore) grumble half-heartedly behind me and she laughed. “I love you!” she shouted to him.

I heard the grumbling stop after she said those words.

“How the hell did I end up with someone like her?” I heard him ask himself, his footsteps growing weaker and weaker until they faded into nothing. I vaguely heard the squelch of a wet T-shirt being discarded and the sound of water being wrung out in a sink. Then the footsteps drew near again, and I turned around to see him with a rag, shirtless.

Damn… I blushed, but I couldn’t look away. I watched the way his muscles moved with his strokes as he wiped the puddle on the floor clean. I could hear him whistling while he was doing this.

How the hell did I end up with someone like him? This thought echoed throughout my mind and I looked back to future-me, who had a soft smile on her face.

When I heard the whistling fade away, I watched future-me make her way to the foyer whose floor was now dry. I followed her. And from where I was standing, I could hear the sound of the man’s off-key singing wafting out of a closed door. It mixed in with the muffled sounds of water running.

I saw future-me chuckle, and she walked into another room. I assumed it was their bedroom because when she walked out, she was wearing a dry, new shirt.

She walked back to the kitchen, but she made her way past the sink and to the counter where she turned on a radio. She finished fixing the table just as the first song came on:

“It's a little bit funny, this feeling inside. I'm not one of those who can easily hide.”

Future-me smiled, both of us didn’t know the song… but for me, there was something about it that got my attention… and I could tell it was the same for future-me.

“I don't have much money. But boy, if I did: I'd buy a big house where we both could live.”

I saw future-me chuckle as she wiped her hand on the dishrag before moving over and settling down near the fireplace. I sat down beside her, and contented myself in watching the emotions play out on future-me’s face. I saw her notice the sopping coat the man put up.

She rolled her eyes, though I could see the fondness in them, before grabbing it. I followed her as she walked it out to the backyard—their shaded-with-a-rooftop backyard. The rain had faded to a drizzle as future-me wrung out the coat and then hung it out to dry.

She went back inside. I was about to follow her but she came back out a few moments later, bringing all of the man’s other clothes.

But even going through the notions, the song playing seemed to drown out everything else, and future-me didn’t have a hard time listening to it while she worked:

“So excuse me forgetting, but these things I do. See, I've forgotten if they're green or they're blue. Anyway the thing is what I really mean: your eyes are the sweetest eyes I've ever seen”

I saw future-me grin at this, though I didn’t know why.

“And you can tell everybody this is your song. It may be quite simple. But now that it's done, I hope you don't mind. I hope you don't mind that I put down in words.”

I saw her eyes become glassy as tears began to form.

“How wonderful life is now that you're in the world.”

Once future-me was finished hanging the clothes, she retreated to the couch. I followed her, settling down in the same spot beside her as I watched in awe and slight confusion as she wiped at the tears that were threatening to fall.

“If I was a sculptor—but then again, no. Or a girl who makes potions in a traveling show.”

I could see future-me lose herself in the song; she closed her eyes and drew her knees up against herself. She bowed her head and I knew that, like me now, she was quietly humming it to herself under her breath, trying to memorize the song by heart even though it was her—our first time listening to it.

Slowly, like watching clouds drift lazily across a summer sky, scenes unfolded before my mind’s eye: how future-me and the man with Ezio’s face met… their first date… their first kiss…

His proposal…

Their engagement…

“I know it's not much, but it's the best I can do.”

Their wedding…

Their first anniversary…

“My gift is my song, and this one's for you.”

Their apple-pie life…

I felt my heart soar and break at the same time. I saw the man walk back into the room, now clad only in boxers and a white T-shirt that clung to his muscles. He settled down beside her and I gasped when I felt him go through me… like I wasn’t even there.

I suddenly bolted to my feet. I felt my heart break as I was forcefully reminded of where I was… how that wasn’t me.

And it hurt like hell.

I pushed down the urge to cry as I watched future-me scoot up against the man. He wrapped an arm around her before pressing a kiss against her hair.

“Hey, dinner’s getting cold.”

But I could see that the man had noticed her misty eyes and the tear tracks on her face. He cupped her face, and she sighed contentedly. Before the man could ask her what was wrong, she cut him off with a kiss, wrapping her arms around him and hugging him tight. She deepened the kiss.

I didn’t bother stopping the tears anymore. There was something about seeing this, seeing what my life could have been like if I hadn’t been special… if I hadn’t been pulled into a world of Assassins and sensitives and—shit, that just made me feel weak inside.

Because only by watching them cuddle on the couch did I fully grasp the entirety of what I was giving up by being who I was.

“And you can tell everybody this is your song. It may be quite simple, but now that it's done…”

“I love you,” future-me mouthed against his chest. The man smiled and leaned down to plant another kiss on her forehead.

I saw future-me smile as she hummed last part of the song out along with the radio:

“I hope you don't mind, I hope you don't mind that I put down in words,” she sang quietly. Then I saw her stand up. She tugged the man up, too, a soft smile on her face. She led him back into the kitchen.

“How wonderful life is now that you're in the world.” She sang the last part out, slightly louder than before. The man looked up at her in awe, and I noticed with surprise that there were also tears in his eyes.

I could feel her love for this man in the way that she smiled at him—practically beaming. The man flushed in embarrassment.

“Don’t be embarrassed, Mr. Washboard…” future-me said, taking a sip out of the soup that had already gone cold. “I don’t judge.”

The man’s embarrassed flush disappeared, and he laughed heartily before digging in as well. “Well, good… it wouldn’t do for me to be the girl in the relationship now, would it?”

I felt more tears prickle at the corners of my eyes. I closed them tight, willing them to go away… but when I opened my eyes, everything was gone.

Chapter Text

Lady of the Little Eagles

O~O~O~O~O~O

"Tonight, we do it big and shine like stars.”

"So baby, come with me and be my ooh la la ”

O~O~O~O~O~O

Chapter 15: Crazy Ooh La La

When they disappeared, I felt empty.

I’d never felt anything like that before… and I sure as hell did not want to feel like that again. It was like my chest had this big hole in the middle. And instead of it being numb, it felt like it was burning from the inside.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry. But most of all, I just wanted to not feel anymore…

No more pain—nothing at all…

I tried to take a breath.

But I couldn’t.

I couldn’t…

What the—?

The pain in my chest was quickly replaced with fear because for a moment—but then it could have been an eternity—everything was dark… darker than the darkness behind my eyelids. When I felt my eyes open, I was greeted with nothing but black.

I was reminded of my prison, back when Ezio found me beneath the Vatican, and I felt panic build up inside me. I wanted to breathe… wanted to scream but I couldn’t. It was like my mouth was sown tight and my nose was clogged up.

I wanted to vomit, but I pushed it down as I struggled. I couldn’t feel my hands or my legs. I felt panic drowning me. I wanted to scream but the… whatever-it-was stopped me and if I could have opened my mouth I would have already vomited. If I could have opened my eyes, I would have been in tears.

Then, just as I thought things couldn’t get any worse, the darkness began pressing down on me; pressing down against my chest, and I felt like everything was on fire because the pain, it hurts!

No more, no more, no more—

I felt the heaviness recede. I felt it wash away like how filth was washed away in the summer rain and I gasped, gulping in as much air as I could. It tasted heavenly. Then, I retched.

If I could have moved I would have been on all fours, dry-heaving (or vomiting) like there was no tomorrow.

But I still couldn’t see.

I still couldn’t move.

I tried to open my eyes, but it was still pitch black.

But then, it was almost like I could see the darkness slowly grow lighter… if that made any sense.

I felt my body warm and I immediately opened my mouth to scream, expecting pain… crushed by the darkness… no, no, no, no—

But I felt a giant weight lift itself off of my body and my eyes were suddenly flooded with white. I made a sound between a shriek and a moan, before closing my eyes again.

I was about to scream when I remembered the warmth I was feeling… the heat from—

The sun… it’s the sun…

Oh, thank God…

But I didn’t open my eyes yet. I wanted to take in the glow of the sunlight piercing the darkness behind my eyelids for the first time in what seemed like forever.

I let my other senses roam: I could hear the breeze blowing, could hear the distant murmur of a crowd and the occasional tweet from a bird flying by overhead… I felt something prickle at my skin when I tried to shift, and I picked up the smell of freshly-tilled soil…

I opened my eyes, slowly this time, and I was greeted with a bright blue sky dotted with the occasional fluffy, white cloud. The heavens seemed like something out of a postcard, and I felt the corners of my lips twitch in a small smile.

So beautiful…

But then everything came rushing back to me—you know that feeling when you’re snapped from daydreaming, and everything just rushes back to you like a tidal wave? And because of that tidal wave of thoughts and emotion, it became hard to even think straight?

Well, I felt that. And all in the blink of an eye, I remembered…

Caterina…

The Villa…

Ezio…

That black-coat bitch…

I made that weird half-shriek-half-gasp sound again. I staggered to my feet.

Big mistake. I felt the ground spin beneath me, and I resisted the urge to gag again. I squeezed my eyes tight, and wrapped my arms around myself; gripping at the sleeves of the robe I was wearing to help me stay grounded.

Slowly, way too slowly, the ground stopped spinning. But when I let go of my arms, my knees began to wobble uncontrollably. I gritted my teeth and clenched them tight, willing my body to get it together. I focused on the sunlight warming me up—the way it wasn’t too hot against my skin—and on the way the breeze blew around me, cooling me down at the same time.

I took a deep breath.

Vast fields of green and yellow dotted with the occasional silhouette of a farmhouse… the looming figure of a great wall blocked the horizon from sight…

I took a step forward, but I felt the grass crumble to dust beneath the soles of my feet.

What—?

The grass, or the grass around me, to be precise, was black. Like… charred-from-flames-black.

I took a step back and tripped over myself, falling butt-first onto the dead grass. Ashes puffed up like spores around me, and I sneezed. I covered my mouth with my sleeve and I stood up, taking a deep gulp of air. The dead grass reached out for a few feet… and in a perfect circle, no less.

I slowly turned around, my eyes taking in but my mind not processing:

How? Was this… was this me? How the—?

“Actually, it was me,” an oily voice said from behind me.

I shivered then spun around, my eyes darting to see who spoke. There was no one there. I gulped.

“Who—who’s there?” I asked, mentally cursing myself for sounding shaky. I heard a chuckle come from beneath me. I yelped. I scrambled away from the spot of grass I had been standing on, tripping over myself again in the process.

“Poor child,” the voice said, though he didn’t sound sympathetic at all. I tried to control myself, tried to push back the fear that was clouding my rational thought.

I gathered myself, swallowing back bile. I stood up straighter, pushing my chest out and raising my chin in defiance. I still didn’t trust myself to speak yet, though. I still didn’t trust my voice to sound as confident as I pretended to feel.

“That’s the spirit!” the voice said. I could hear the laugh in its tone, and suddenly it wasn’t so hard to pretend I wasn’t taking any of his bullshit as even mildly funny.

“Who are you?” I finally said out loud. I mentally patted myself on the back for sounding so confident, so defiant even if the fear was still pushing against my façade of control.

A chuckle. “I applaud your self-control, mortal.” A breeze sent my hair flying in all directions. “You will need it.”

I felt something brush against my feet. But I ignored it, thinking it was just the blades of grass tickling at the soles of my feet.

“I was rather taken with your performance a few days ago; those soldiers never knew what hit them.”

“You’re not answering the question,” I snapped. I had stopped listening to his sarcastic crap after he told me that he had been taken with my “performance.” What kind of person enjoyed seeing a defenseless girl lose control of herself, ending up in the decimation of half an army?

A sharp tsk, tsk sound, “Your candor is amusing, child. But…” and here I felt a sharp pain pull at my legs. I looked down.

My eyes widened in horror as I saw vines bursting with fruit—grapes—erupt from the ground and wrap around my legs. They pulled at me with surprising strength, and I was suddenly on my back, struggling for breath.

“I believe it is here that I draw the line.”

I struggled against the vines. But they held fast, keeping me locked in their vice-like grip.

“Let me go!”

“Not until you pay your respects to me, child.”

“I don’t respect people who don’t respect me in return.” I spat out, not bothering to tamp down the rage in my voice. This man, or whatever-it-was, didn’t deserve my respect—didn’t deserve anything at all from me except for my foot up his ass.

The vines tightened around me, and I felt my lungs ache with the need for oxygen. Just when I thought they planned on squeezing the life out of me, they relinquished their hold. I gasped for air, clutching at my throat. I watched them as they sank back into the ground, leaving no trace of their being there except for the tangy smell of wine in the air.

“Hmm,” it mused. “You have strength…”

I turned around, my eyes darting across the acres of empty farmland for any trace of the speaker. I wanted to see him. I wanted to confront him so badly and scream in his face: who the fuck do you think you are?

“I am glad I chose you.”

That snapped me out of it.

“Wh-what? Wait a minute,” I said, putting up one finger in front of me. I knew I must have looked like a crazy person right now, talking to thin air and all, but this was the only thing that was keeping me sane right now—talking to myself was a norm back in New York… back when I had no one to talk to but my lovable dog… whose name was… was…

‘What was his name?’

Oh, God…

‘Why the fuck can’t I remember his name?’

My rage had disappeared. A weird sort of panic had settled inside me, taking root inside my brain and halting any other thought process.

Oh, my God… okay. Okay—it started with the letter… the letter ‘S’ right? Was it Sadie?

Sandy? No…

Sally…? No—

Sammy…?

Sammy…

Sa—

“Dominique,” the voice thundered. He wasn’t sarcastic or sneering anymore. His voice was as hard as ice now. It snapped me out of my internal dialogue, and made me take a few steps back. I quickly forgot about what I had been thinking about… even though I knew the answer had already been at the tip of my tongue.

Goddamn it!

I felt claws of pain wrap around my mind, preventing me from thinking anymore. I winced. I felt a sort-of heaviness settle itself in my chest, darkening the emotional atmosphere around me. I clutched at it and shut my eyes, fighting back the whimper rising in my throat.

And just like that, it was gone.

“Roam around for a bit.” The voice said. The hardness was gone, but there was something else—almost… caution? “Take a look at the city. Enjoy the sights.”

If I didn’t know better, I’d say it was wary of me, now—but why?

“What the hell does that mean?” I almost screamed. I listened to my voice carry out across the silent field, waiting for a response.

There was nothing.

The sun was now high in the sky. I could feel its rays heating me up. The back of my neck and my armpits were beginning to grow damp with sweat.

With a sigh, I jumped off of the patch of dead grass and hissed. Outside the circle of black, the field was scorching. I didn’t know how the—the thing managed to do that, kill the patch of grass and keep it cool under my bare feet.

I knew I should’ve tried to calm myself down and think of a plan of action before proceeding, but after everything that I had gone through—the dream, the voice telling me it chose me—I just couldn’t find it in myself to keep a cool head.

“Fuck, fuck, fuckity-fuck, fuuuuck…” I almost sang as I alternated between hopping and skipping. I made my way across the scorching field and hid under the nearest form of shade I could find: an empty hut.

It was nothing special; just four walls and a thatched roof, an empty cot, a bare fireplace, wooden cupboards, a chipped, wooden dresser and a wooden table pushed against the wall. But the stone floor was cool against my feet, and I sighed in relief.

I quickly snooped around for something to help my lack of shoes. I checked under the cot, in the cupboards and through the dresser before putting everything back—even though I was in a foreign country in a different era, I never forgot my manners.

I eventually found an old dress that was reduced to nothing more than shreds. I tore a particularly large piece of fabric into two and tied them around my feet. I hissed in pain at how sensitive my feet had become.

I wandered out back and found a pump at the back of the cottage with a pail half-filled with something I hoped was water. I made my way towards it with a barely-restrained whoop of joy.

“Oh, sweet fucking yellow penguins, yes…” I moaned as I dipped my hand in to find that it was water. Cool, refreshing water… I cupped my hands and splashed some onto my burning feet. I hissed and sighed in relief.

I dipped my hand in again to take a sip but I stopped halfway.

Damn my sanitary boundaries.

So instead of taking a sip, I splashed it onto my feet again. The strips of cloth were soaked now, but I didn’t care; I had a feeling my makeshift shoes wouldn’t last that long anyways.

I gazed out into the fields. In the distance, the silhouettes of farmers toiled in the mid-afternoon sun. Farther away, towers and city buildings rose up from the ground and made a craggy background composed of cement and shadows against the working farmers and the scorching fields.

I took a deep breath and began to make my way through the Sahara desert that was this god-forsaken field.

The moment I stepped off of the grass and onto the slightly-damp concrete, I had to push down the urge to sing.

The rags I had soaked through just a few minutes ago had gone dry in during my first twenty-or-so steps. My feet were burning, and the damp cobblestone was a relief against my burning soles.

I leaned against the first building I came across and wiped the perspiration beading on my forehead. I gathered my hair and lifted it up to let the back of my neck cool some—times like these, I wished I had taken up Trixie’s offer to get me a haircut, her treat.

I sighed at the breeze that blew off of the farmland. And though it was hot and humid, it was a slight improvement from the hot, still air that had plagued me during my trek—if you could call it that.

The breeze blew against me, sending the strands of hair I hadn’t managed to gather flying around me. My nightdress and robe were tattered and torn. Flecks of grass, mud, soot, and something that looked like dried blood were splattered across the fabric, a grisly abstract painting.

But even though I was out of the fields, the sun continued to bear down on me. I swallowed and realized how parched I was. I regretted not taking a sip of water from the bucket while I was out there.

Reluctantly, I leaned away from my position by the wall. Letting my hair tumble down by my shoulder, I began to attract the attention of the people milling around me. I must’ve looked like a mess; my hair tangled and wild, my clothes looking like I had just come from war—or a ridiculously rough and dirty (or kinky) orgy.

Another breeze blew against me; but instead of feeling relieved I flushed as I tried to keep the robe closed.

Goddamn it.

I was near the river when I heard them.

Their laughter reminded me of naughty children somehow, reminded me of the type of boys who would pour salt on a snail just to see it squirm and suffer for the fun of it. I was walking past the docks, a crowd-filled wet market looming in the distance, when I heard their barely-contained laughter.

Then I heard their footsteps. It sounded… off, though… like they were trying to muffle the sound of their soles thumping against the wood.

I risked a small glance over my shoulder, using my tangled, black mane as cover. There were five of them, all men. They wore simple dark clothes, but almost all of them wore masks. Their eyes shone maliciously though, and I was immediately reminded of how alike they were to naughty boys.

I quickened my pace.

They followed suit.

I tried to keep calm, tried to steady my breathing and rapidly quickening heartbeat. I swallowed and took a deep breath. But it was like they could sense my fear or something, because as soon as I took that breath, they laughed again, this time louder… as if they found my being scared funny.

I didn’t even bother hiding it. I broke into a run.

Their laughter didn’t fade; in fact it only seemed to grow louder as they also broke into a sprint. I could hear their feet pounding on the boards behind me. My breathing grew labored, and I immediately knew that I wasn’t going to make it.

I was at the foot of the steps of the marketplace when they caught me.

“Where do you think you’re going, signora?” a voice hissed in my ear.

I gasped when I felt them pull sharply at my hair. I felt something sharp press itself against my throat, and I pushed back the urge to swallow. The man holding the knife against my throat barked something to his comrades. Then he threw me down the steps amidst a chorus of gasps and frightened whispers.

I felt my throat close up when I felt their hands roaming me. They weren’t afraid to punch, slap, or kick me when I made even a whimper of fear—or protest.

I wanted to scream, I wanted to kick and bite away their harsh tugs and spiteful kicks as they rolled me around like a hacky-sack, but I couldn’t. It was like there was this lump in my throat that choked me, stopped me from saying anything—from breathing because at that moment, I was reminded of the Villa…

Of the fire…

Of the soldiers…

But it was when I felt a sharp blade glide against my collarbone, dangerously close to the strap of my nightdress, that I snapped.

“Don’t touch me!” I roared, feeling energy and adrenaline pump through my veins. I shot out my hand and grabbed the knife by the blade—I remember feeling vaguely amazed at how the blade didn’t cut at the skin of my palm—and used it to stab through the shoe of the man to my left.

I heard him howl in pain, but at that moment, I felt something tug at me from behind my eyes. It was like a warm hand on a cold night. It felt inviting… like it was telling me to lie back for a while, let it take control—though I had no idea what it was.

I wanted to say “no” to it, because I had a feeling I knew what would happen once I gave free reign to “it.”

And Lord knows the guilt that I’d be carrying around all day should I say “yes.”

But when I felt the dagger pierce the skin of my stomach, felt the blood pour through the silky material of the dress… heard the thieves laugh around me as they punched and kicked me while the crowd milled about, trying to ignore the public scene of torture—I realized that when it came to people like these, I really shouldn’t. Give. A fuck.

Take me away, Natasha Bedingfield… take me away…

~O~O~O~

I didn’t fall unconscious, not this time. Instead, it was like I was pushed into the back of my mind—fuck, did that even make sense?

Well, you know the feeling you get when you’re injected with anesthesia? The feeling of knowing everything’s there... but your body just felt too heavy that you couldn’t even begin to budge whatever-part that had been injected with the medicine?

It was sort of like that… except instead of the numbness that came with the anesthesia, it was the complete opposite—I was more sensitive than ever before.

The point was: I was still aware of everything that was happening around me. But it was like I was watching a movie from a first-person’s point of view… I could see everything that was happening, but I couldn’t do anything about it.

And to top it all off, I was even more sensitive than I was before. Everything was thrown into sharp relief; I could feel the heat of the sun on my skin, the smell of the river mixing in with the odor of raw meat wafting in the breeze, could hear the dangerous silence that had fallen over the crowd and the sounds of shock and fear that rippled through my attackers…

I saw their eyes, eyes that used to be filled with spite and malicious glee, but were now filled with confusion...

“It” was controlling me now… and I could feel its murderous intent burning within me like fire in my veins.

I remember my grandmother—my adoptive mother’s mother—giving me this book on Indian mythology when I was in the eighth grade. I had taken a liking to mythology—Greek, Egyptian, Norse, Japanese… you name it. I remember being surprised at her; she was a very devout Christian… I thought this was all some sort of weird joke (I never understood how old people’s sense of humor worked) until she winked at me and said:

“As long as you know in your heart that this isn’t real, and that it’s only through Jesus Christ will you achieve true salvation, I don’t see the harm in allowing you to pursue your interests.”

I remember feeling relieved that this wasn’t some sort of joke. But I never stopped wondering why she had a change of heart all of a sudden.

Well, the point is: while reading it, I came across Kali—the Hindu goddess of destruction. I read that she was the fierce incarnation of the goddess Parvati, who, in turn, is the motherly form of the Mother Goddess Gauri Jagadamba.

And the point is: Kali is the dark side of Parvati, who was a loving and benevolent deity.

And I would compare the thing controlling me to Kali, the goddess of war and destruction and death.

* * * *

They never saw it coming.

One moment, they were pinning me down with punches, kicks and cutting me with their daggers. The next, they were on their asses, staring up at me with me wide, uncomprehending eyes.

“You want me?” I heard myself roar. The moment I let the Kali side of me take over, I had automatically shifted to my third Eye. The gray world filled with the tendrils of human passion crackled with energy.

I noticed that, as I spoke, real storm clouds had begun to obscure the afternoon sky, blotting out the sun and turning the blank, turquoise canvas into a roiling mass of black. Through my Eye, it was just the same; a roiling mass of black veined with black and white flashes of lightning had replaced the slate-grey canvas of the sky.

I could see the tendrils of emotion oozing out of the thieves and of the crowd watching from below. The Kali-part of me summoned these tendrils, drew them closer to me to get a taste.

“What are you doing?” I yelled from where I was. “Don’t! You’ll only—"

I was cut off when I felt something spread over my face, almost like a mask. It felt smooth and soft… like velvet. I felt it spread around my head, then down to my chest. It sent sparks of warmth through me, and it made my heart flutter against my rib cage—and I meant that in a good way.

However, I was too busy drowning in the feel of the mask on my face to notice that the streams of emotion were already inches from my face.

“Holy sh—!”  I started yelling. I saw myself spread my arms, as if basking in some invisible light. I gasped and screamed when the tendrils of emotion began rushing towards me all at once. I shut myself out, preparing myself for the onslaught of scenes that was sure to come…

But they didn’t.

Instead, I felt the smooth mask that had spread over me pulse against my face and my chest. And slowly, it dawned on me:

The mask… it was like a condom for sensitives.

The mask allowed me to absorb the full blunt of the energy around me… but it protected my mind and my heart from witnessing the incapacitating onslaught of memories that would have knocked me out cold.

The Kali-side of me let out an elated cry, and the thieves around us backed away, fear quickly replacing the confusion on their faces. I couldn’t help but laugh alongside the demon controlling my body.

Vaguely, as if I was underwater, I could hear the screams of the men and women around me… could hear the anguished cries of children as fear began to fill up their hearts when they saw me: a strange woman with otherworldly powers, looking like a demon in her tattered and bloody clothing… with her messy, tangled hair and her bloodshot, eyes… with her crazed, manic laughter…

A tiny part of me wanted to stop this, at least so that we could give them time to run so that they wouldn’t be affected. But the larger, more dominant part of me—the one being possessed by the urge to wreak vengeance—tamped it down.

People caught in the crossfire are not of our responsibility…

“Here’s more than you can handle!” we yelled in unison. The thieves paled while someone in the crowd, a child maybe, screamed for her mama to find me! I’m here! I’m lost! Please, mama, I’m so scared! Help me—!

We laughed as we opened the floodgates.

Chapter Text

Lady of the Little Eagles

O~O~O~O~O~O

 “I’ll be sitting right here, real patient."

“This is transcendental on another level.”

O~O~O~O~O~O

Chapter 16: Come and Get E.T.

The air blowing through the open window at the end of the hall was a welcome relief as I stepped out of the stuffy room. The man inside was unconscious, but alive—I made sure to tone down the voltage. I took a deep breath, savoring the smell of the open city air—so unlike New York. I closed my eyes.

New York…

“Dominique!” I heard a voice call me, snapping me back to reality.

I opened my eyes. Carmen was making her way towards me, her free hand waving to get my attention while the other was busy trying to keep her corset from slipping down her chest. Her blonde hair was in disarray, and her muddy, brown eyes were shining.

All in all, she looked ridiculous.

But the image of her like that, blonde hair in disarray and eyes shining… it tugged at me, a ghost of a person from the future past. But I couldn’t remember shit.

I shook my head with a small smile as I stifled a laugh. I motioned for her to turn around with my finger. She gave up trying to tie on her corset with a huff before turning her back on me with a sheepish smile. The wind blowing through the window sent the smells of the city to us: smoke from the blacksmiths, the aroma of food from the vendors selling their products outside, the scent of the perfumes we use in our day-to-day lives…

Again, it’s so unlike New York.

She cleared her throat, once again snapping me from my daydreaming. She shuffled on her feet and kept her eyes down, as if she was trying to find the strength to say what she wanted to say—and was failing.

“Carmen,” I said with a grin before softening it. “What’s wrong?”

She stiffened against me, but took a deep breath and relaxed, letting the tension drain out of her body with a sigh.

“Would it be okay if we talked again tonight?” she asked. Her voice was soft, hesitant. I finished with the knots on the back of her dress and she turned around, her eyes shining hopefully.

I took a good look at the woman in front of me; her brown eyes—they used to be so dull—were now shining, alive. If we were still in New York, I bet Carmen would have been placed under the moody, angst-y type of stripper (if there was one) before. She used to wear her hair down, relying on her bangs to hide how she would still get flustered when a man touched her. But now, she would fully display her face, using her topaz locks to enhance her looks.

All of this, I noticed in a single moment. Then I blinked, before smiling reassuringly. I twirled my finger around loose strands of hair that had flown out of Carmen’s braid.

“Sure, why not?”

 “Nothing is provocative anymore, even for kids.” I hummed to myself quietly. It was Wednesday, that meant I was the one in charge of locking up for the night, of checking if there were any patrons left and—yeah; basically, just locking up for the night.

The year was 1500. And this might sound cliché, but it really shocked me that, according to the calendar, it’d almost been a year and a half since I ended up back in Ezio Auditore’s time. Not to mention the fact that he actually existed.

I would be lying if I said I didn’t miss home—New York, air-conditioning, a decent plumbing system—but this place, this time had grown on me.

“No room for imagining because everyone’s seen everything.”  It was like the world was… quieter, I guess?

Sure, there was still the noise of the crowd on a bustling, normal weekday when everyone’s out and about doing God-knows-what. But this was nothing compared to the rush hour and the late-night traffic that always seemed to clog the city that never sleeps.

“Question what the T.V. tells you. Question what a pop star sells you.” I closed the final door on the east wing of the crumbling building. There was also a window at the end of this hall, and it showed the dark, starry night of Rome.

For the first time since I was a little girl, I could actually just sit back and enjoy the sky without any phone calls interrupting me, no bills or taxes to be paid, no white noise of the city below me… just me and the crickets.

“Question Mom and question Dad. Question Good and question Bad.”

I’d been in the Rosa in Fiore for a year now. The details following the episode by the river were blurry, like I was half-asleep when it happened. But sometimes, random details would flash into my mind: how the wind had felt against my skin, or how the cobblestone had been rough and damp beneath the soles of my feet. I assumed I fell into a trance or something.

I had awoken up the next day in a hard, lumpy bed. A woman had been towering over me, her brown eyes raking over me as if checking if I had rabies or something. She had snapped something to someone behind her, and I noticed the other woman sort-of-but-not-really-but-almost cowering behind the woman above me.

The woman behind her had nodded and the Madam—for we called her that, even though it would have been more appropriate to call her the “Mother Whore”—had left, leaving behind the smell of her perfume which mingled unpleasantly with the odor of sweat.

My mind flashed back to the present. Before leaving my perch by the window, I felt around the corner of the wall for the dresser. Each wing of the building was littered with dressers; both used and unused—it was as if the Madam didn’t know what to do with them, and had decided to just throw them out in the halls.

“There were nights when the wind was so cold.” I managed to open one of the drawers and I fumbled around for a candle. I breathed a sigh of relief as I found one and lit it with one of the matches I always kept on my person ever since the 13^th of August, 1500, when I had learned the hard way that the brothel’s electricity had been cut off since Madonna Solari had stopped paying the bills.

An event I personally like to call: Light-pocalypse 1500.

“That my body froze in bed if I just listened to it right outside the window.”

The woman that had been cowering behind the Madam, Gianna, told me about how she had found me lying on the steps of the building. She thought me dead, at first. My feet had been caked with dried blood and my eyes had rolled back into my head. But she had noticed my trembling, and had rushed me inside to be treated at once.

“There were days when the sun was so cruel that all the tears turned to dust, and I just knew my eyes were drying up forever.”

I didn’t know which surprised me more: the fact that a whorehouse had an infirmary, or that a prostitute actually knew how to play the role of a doctor without it being related whatsoever to kinks in the bedroom.

“I finished crying in the instant that you left, and I can’t remember where or when or how.”

In the twelve months I had been here, it took me four of them to accustom myself to how things worked around here: which girls were responsible for handling this type of clientele, who kept record of the finances, those responsible for the maintenance of the cleanliness of the brothel (which, in my opinion, is doing a bang-up job—please note the sarcasm), etcetera… etcetera…

“And I banished every memory you and I had ever made.”

But it was Gianna who had acquainted me to the ways of the whore. She had taught me how to dress like one, how to act like one (at least in the eyes of the client), how to use my body as bait to lure men in like fishes caught on a hook…

“But when you touch me like this, and you hold me like that…”

The other girls had been very supportive: giving me tips on how to bite, how to lick, where men usually liked to be touched and to be pleasured—

I cleared my throat in the darkness.

That was an awkward Thursday…

I used the candle to make my way down the flight of stairs leading to the foyer. The candlelight sent a warm glow through the dark brothel, but the wind was chilly. I wrapped my brand new, cheap-ass robe tighter around me.

In the foyer, there was a door at the right of the stairs that led to a short hallway. At the end of that hallway was Madonna Solari’s office—or her own private, little, stripper’s paradise… whatever you want to call it.

But before that, there were two doors on each side. The door to my left lead to a bathroom (which, by the way, was in need of some very serious cleaning) and the door to my right lead to an empty room.

Or at least, it was once an empty room.

When I realized that I needed someplace private for my “talks” with the girls, Gianna suggested the unused room near the Madam’s office.

At first, I had been like: “Fuck no.”

But then again, beggars can’t be choosers.

Even from where I was, I could already hear Carmen’s nervous breathing and her humming—she had a habit of humming whenever she was uncomfortable or scared. I guess right now, waiting for me all alone in the dark, she was both.

It was a good thing Madonna Solari chose tonight to attend one of Juan Borgia’s “fabulous” parties.

Ugh, I can smell the sex already.

I was about to shut the door leading to the foyer behind me when I heard the front door creak open. It was quiet and slow, like the intruder was attempting to sneak inside.

He probably picked the lock on the door.

But sadly, that door was as quiet as New York on St. Patrick’s Day—which was not at all.

I turned around when I heard him curse in the darkness. I rolled my eyes and, shifting to my third Eye, flicked my free wrist. In the grey world, a tendril of black energy solidified behind the silhouette stumbling in the dark.

I felt its energy pulse within my veins—even though I wasn’t even touching it—as it morphed into a giant hand. It then proceeded to slam the door, loudly.

He yelped. And he made quite a ruckus as he whirled around, dropping something in the process. I heard the sound of glass shattering and the smell of kerosene filled my nostrils. I pushed down a cough as the man began cursing up a storm.

I clenched my jaw and resisted the impulse to growl. I didn’t need the entire fucking brothel to wake up in the middle of the night; the girls—and Carmen—would only end up in a panic and the Madam would only end up blaming us for allowing an intruder to break in.

I heard Carmen cut off her humming, and then a voice whispered through the door behind me:

“Dominique?” she said, her voice was shaky with fear. Call it another supernatural ability or whatever, but I swore that I could feel her shaking hands wrap around the doorknob as she struggled to find the courage to open the door.

I tiptoed over to the door and whispered through it:

“Shh…” I felt Carmen stop trying with the doorknob. and I heard her breath hitch before she exhaled in relief after I said:

“Don’t worry, I got this.”

I didn’t notice that the intruder had gone silent. I was just about to turn around when I felt the sharp press of a blade against my throat. I felt something warm lick a stripe up the side of my neck. I couldn’t stop the shiver that ran down my spine.

“Well, hello there.” His Italian accent was as thick as anyone’s… but I noticed the way he emphasized the “hello”. I immediately snuffed out the candle, relying on the my third Eye to see in the dark.

In the gray slate of my Sight, the tendrils of fear coming from Carmen seeped through the cracks of the door, enshrouding my Eye with her emotions. I instinctively shoved them away from me, and once my Sight was cleared, I spat at the man’s face.

“Go fuck yourself.”

Beside me, the man snarled a curse against my ear, and began to press the knife against my throat. I wasted no more time as I channeled Carmen’s fear into me; but this time, I was careful. I conjured the mask into place as I willed the tendrils of Fear to solidify around me, forming a sort of second skin—thick enough to deflect the blade the man had intended to use to kill me.

“What the—?” he yelled, too shocked to keep his voice down. His knife had flown out of his grip and had impaled itself into the wall opposite us, a few feet away. The spot on my throat where the man had pressed the knife against tingled, like I had been touched with static.

The intruder jumped back, but he fell on his ass with a yelp. I heard a sick, slicing sound… and I guessed he must have stepped on the shards of glass from the broken lantern.

“Leave now.” I spoke, looming over the man. “And take your half-hard, no-paying, cheap-ass dick with you.”

Through my Sight, I saw that the gray shadow that was the intruder was half-hard against the confines of his trousers. Wisps of Fear, Terror, Anger, and rapidly fading Lust were coiled around his silhouette.

I grabbed onto the fading curls of Lust and amplified it, weaving the dark passion into a tapestry of sex, fear, and overwhelming desire strong enough to sate even the horniest of rabbits.

I sent the wave of passion towards him with a flying kiss and wink. The man’s fear had dissipated into waves of confusion for a moment before the sea of Lust finally crashed into him. Slipping out of my third Eye, I saw that his eyes had rolled into the back of his head.

He collapsed in a heap on the floor, a few inches away from being impaled in the head by the largest of the shards of glass on the floor.

Flashing back into my third Eye, I conjured a slab of Grey energy—indifference—and used it to scoop the man up from the floor. In the color-blind world of my third Eye, the grey energy still freaked me out a little. It was neither positive nor negative in nature, neither black nor white. It was an invisible force—so even to me, it was like the man was floating by himself, being lifted up by an unseen hand.

I opened the door and sent the man flying out. I watched in amusement—a woman had to indulge at times, yes?—as he tumbled down the steps, his worn breeches doing little to hide the raging hard-on making itself known. He will get horny once he woke up, but he’ll know better than to come back to this whorehouse.

“And stay out!” I shouted into the night before slamming the door behind me.

Carmen didn’t talk about it, except to ask if I was okay. And I was secretly thankful for that.

Asides from learning the ways of the whore, I’d also been practicing with my—ugh, powers. Fine, I’ll say it, my goddamn, motherfucking X-Men-rate powers.

It feels so weird saying it.

It started out small at first and, coincidentally, it was when I was given my first “client”. I had used my ability to fill the man up with the Lust, and the eventual sexual Satisfaction, he needed without me needing to take another step closer to the bed where he had been lounging, his shirt and pants already discarded.

But then I had started training myself slowly… and let me tell you all: the X-Men montages of Jean Grey and Cyclops training with Professor X does not do it justice.

It had taken me months before I could properly channel one emotion into a person. It was significantly harder to pick out a specific emotion from the “emotional spectrum” and utilize it as a weapon instead of just bombarding my target with the spectrum’s entirety. But after trying and trying it on the clientele of the brothel, I had gotten the hang of it.

Slipping into my third Eye and pushing away tendrils of emotion to stop myself from being overwhelmed had been the easy parts to master, but to actually will the tendrils of black and white to obey me was something else entirely.

I eventually realized that manipulating the tendrils of emotion into powerful blasts and beams were much easier than controlling them into doing simpler things—for example: it had been easier for me to release that explosion (tee hee, “orgasm”) at the Vatican than it was for me to manipulate the tongues of passion to… say, close a door without slamming it off its hinges.

Identifying what emotion I was manipulating without absorbing the memories imbued within them was a little difficult. But I learned that it was just like trying out new food; I just had to get used to, and familiarize myself with, the taste of it without having to choke on it.

Conjuring the mask to block myself from the surge of memories from the emotions was easier than I expected it to be. If I were to compare it to something it would be like flicking a switch in my chest—if I didn’t want to feel it, BAM! It’s like I had an automatic condom in my head or something.

Manifesting the emotions into the physical plane had been easy. It was like… if I wanted someone to see the tendrils of emotion I used, it was like a switch would just go on in my head, this time. If I wanted people to see, then they could just see as simple as 1, 2, 3!

God, if only my life would be as easy flicking on a switch. A flick and BOOM! Everything’s back to normal.

But I knew that life didn’t work like that. Life’s a bitch. #RealTalk.

I made sure to shut the door to Carmen’s room quietly behind me as I made my way to my own room.

The brothel was quiet, and from the look of the sky, it looked like I only had a few more hours before dawn. But who cares? I’ll probably just sneak in a few hours of sleep during my “work” time.

After all, men didn’t care what their whores looked like as long as they got what they wanted in the end.

“I heard there was a secret chord that David played and it pleased the Lord.” I hummed. “But you don’t really care for music, do you?”

I’m sure you’re all wondering about what had transpired between me and sweet Carmen. Well, rest assured that she’s still alive—okay, bad joke. But seriously, we just talked.

Well, she talked. I listened.

“Well, it goes like this: the fourth, the fifth, the minor fall, the major lift…”

It had actually started out with Carmen—yes, dear Carmen. Dear, sweet Carmen… her history came crashing down on the both of us when she spilled about her life story: apparently, her mother had abandoned her in the alley near the brothel to die when she was a baby.

She would have died there, if she hadn’t been found by Brielle, one of the courtesans wandering the back alleys at night for clients willing to pay for quickies in the black of night before they returned home to their wives who were probably waiting up for them.

“The baffled king composing hallelujah.”

She had been so broken, so tired… she told me she was: “ready to give up.” I remembered being so scared because I thought she had been ready to kill herself, ready to just lie down and die.

“Hallelujah, hallelujah. Hallelujah, hallelujah...”

I remember panicking; I remember using my powers to dig deep within her heart, to find what broke her… to find that gaping hole and to try and use my gifts to help pull her away from the edge of that cliff.

“Your faith was strong but you needed proof. You saw her bathing on the roof.”

And I remember singing… I hadn’t even been aware that I was doing it; but all of a sudden, in the silence of the room, I heard myself singing out this song.

“Her beauty in the moonlight overthrew you.” I opened the door to my room—well, half of it was my room anyway. The other half belonged to Adriana; a woman with brown hair and slate-gray eyes that had an annoying habit of clicking her teeth when she thought no one was listening.

“She tied you to a kitchen chair. She broke your throne and she cut your hair.” Carmen hadn’t spoken for a long time after I pulled her away from that metaphorical cliff. And the silence in the room would have been deafening if I hadn’t been humming out this song to shatter the thick tension.

“And from your lips, she drew the hallelujah.” I didn’t know how, but the song became a lullaby. Carmen had fallen asleep beside me, so I had tucked her in her bed before falling back into my third Eye. I remember the feeling of extreme relief when I saw that the tendrils of Despair had disappeared: I had let out a large sigh before collapsing onto my knees in front of the bed, my heart aching for the woman in front of me.

“Hallelujah, hallelujah. Hallelujah, hallelujah…”

And from time to time, she would still ask me to sing to her.

My simple life of being a virgin whore was cut short when I saw the “Wanted” poster stuck to the windows near our building a few months later, tallying my stay in the Rosa in Fiore for a total approximate of two years and nine months.

I had been recently “promoted” to—what I would personally like to call— a “walker”. Walkers were the courtesans tasked with roaming the city streets in groups for potential clientele. Afterwards, they could either lure them back to the brothel for a “proper” session or they could take the men on by themselves.

I seriously preferred the earlier option.

Carmen had been promoted a few weeks before me but, according to her “group mates”, she was always too conscious… too reserved.

And I’d noticed that, in the world of prostitution, it was a dangerous attribute to possess—no one liked a tease—unless you’re one kinky, son of a bitch.

But after I got promoted, she had improved—but it had only been under the condition that I worked with her group.

But anyway, back to the story:

The day was warm, but not too hot, and for that I was thankful. The smell of fish, sweat from the vendors, and the not-so-clean-but-still-cleaner-than-the-Hudson river smell mixed together to form a new type of aroma that I liked to call: “Tuesday”.

We were standing in the middle of the bustling square underneath the shade of a nameless tree. Its branches were shorter than most, but it managed to shield us from the glare of the sun just fine. My clothes stuck uncomfortably to the small of my back and under my arms, and I could feel sweat rolling down the nape of my neck.

Men and women from different social circles milled about. The vendors around me were yelling and selling out their wares, and sometimes I would spot the occasional beggar moaning or pleading for alms. I would also spy the occasional thief pick-pocketing from time to time like it was nobody’s business.

And every time I saw one, I would remember a strange combination of pain and ecstasy—and I assumed it came from my trance time in the river.

The first poster I saw was pasted on the wall of a building in construction, on the second level of scaffolding a few feet away from where we were situated. I thought it was nothing at first, just a sheet of paper for some wanted criminal—probably wrongly accused, anyway.

But when I saw the sunlight shine on it, I saw one word in bright red, crossing out the face of familiar, hooded man:

Assassino: Morto o Vivo

My eyes widened, and I felt my heart pound traitorously against my chest. Instinctively, I reached deep within myself and summoned an invisible hand of Grey energy to tear the poster off the wall. I brought it to me, making sure to manipulate the movement of the piece of paper to make it seem like it had just been blown by the wind.

I must have been staring at it for some time because suddenly, Carmen was behind me, her chin on my shoulder.

“What’s that?”

I jumped, a noise that sounded suspiciously like a half-choke-half-yelp erupting from my throat. The people passing by us gave me weird looks, and I could feel the amusement and annoyance pouring off them.

“Nothing. I…” I faltered, staring at the picture of the hooded man on the “Wanted” poster. “I don’t know—”

“Pardon me, señora. Is something the matter?”

I jumped when I noticed the group of guards in front of me. All of a sudden, it was like I couldn’t breathe; my lungs felt small… too small. I clenched my fists, crumpling the poster. I tucked my hands behind me. I bowed, using the curtain of my black hair to hide the fact that I was gritting my teeth, my mind lost in the memory of fire and ash and pain.

I felt a hand on my shoulder, and suddenly Kali was pushing against me. Before I knew it, I was speaking:

“Who is this?” I asked, shoving the crumpled poster in front of the man’s surprised face. Immediately, a dark look crossed his face. His hand twitched beside his sword, and his mouth opened to speak. But even before the words were out of his mouth, my Kali-side was already whispering:

Lies… Liars… They’re all fucking liars. Demand the truth. The truth…

The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them:

“Si veritatem dico,” I barked, only realizing that I had spoken in Latin, my voice laced with power. The men in front of me jumped, shock apparent on their faces. I felt the girls behind me recoil in confusion and fear. Their emotions fed me like water to a thirsty man, and I pushed back the urge to just let go.

I needed information.

“Follow me.” I said, already sweeping away. Something must have snapped in the men’s minds, because I suddenly heard the telltale sounds of swords being drawn and maces being hoisted into position.

Without batting an eyelash, I summoned a nameless emotion to—you know what, it wasn’t even an emotion. It was more of a feeling, a compulsion. It took me weeks to master it. But I learned that, with the right mixture of emotions, I could make people feel like they had to do something.

Like for example: follow me back to the brothel so that I can squeeze out everything they know about Ezio.

I didn’t call it mind-control. My kind of thing was less precise… I couldn’t implant an idea or command in them; I could only make them feel like they should be doing something totally different.

Get the picture?

I summoned that nameless emotion, and filled the soldiers up with it. All traces of hostility vanished, and their minds were replaced with confusion. They didn’t speak up or fight back, though. And that was all I needed.

The men followed me back, the confusion radiating off of them was literally creating a forest in front of me. Their questions were clear: Why am I doing this again? Where am I going?

The courtesans had stayed behind, and I could tell that their shock still hadn’t worn off. I had left them behind, shooting Carmen an apologetic look and mouthing the words “I’ll explain later” before continuing my walk.

In no time at all, we were in an empty room inside the brothel. The foyer had been empty, though I knew that wouldn’t last long. I had ushered the men upstairs, and into my “workroom.”

I immediately spread out my hands, channeling power into my palms. The energy was intoxicating, like a warm burn in my veins. I shot out my hand and—through my third Eye—I saw tendrils of energy shoot out of my fingertips.

They latched onto the soldier’s foreheads like leeches, and I was immediately assaulted with feelings and memories.

“Assassino!”

“Get him!”

“Don’t let him get away!”

I gasped, pulling the tendrils away. The soldiers crumpled to the ground, their bodies trembling in exhaustion. I conjured a hand made out of Contentment in a daze, and used it to carry the soldiers down the steps and out the door. I threw them out into the street, their groans echoing behind me as I shut the door.

 “What is this I hear about you causing a commotion in the marketplace, Dominique?”

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes at the woman in front of me. Madonna Solari reeked of alcohol, and her dress was stained with sweat and wine and… what I can only hope to be saliva only—oh, fuck it, it’s cum. Her hair was all over the place, and her make-up was smudged in some places. She looked like the very definition of your stereotypical whore.

It had been two days since I “interrogated” the guards. My group mates still hadn’t approached me about it—even Carmen, though I could already feel the migraine coming on when she would ask. When I had come in to work the following day, they didn’t talk or ask questions. Carmen’s eyebrows had been raised, but I had patted her on the shoulder and told her that I would explain when I got the chance.

“I really don’t know what you mean, Madam.” I said, trying to keep the sarcasm out of my tone.

Maybe I’ll talk to her tonight if she’s free.

“Don’t use that tone with me, pompinaio,” she snapped, but her tone still held a slight slur. It seemed like alcohol still hadn’t quite left her system yet. I snorted in a very un-lady-like manner.

Well, fuck me, if it isn’t the whore calling the virgin the cocksucker.

“My apologies, Madonna Solari.”

No, I’ll tell her right now. I bet she’s just dying to know what—

I was cut off when a hand slapped me across the face. My head spun with the force of the slap, and I fell off the chair with a surprised scream. My cheek stung where the Madam’s hand made contact, and pained tears were coming out of my eyes. The floor felt rough against my side, and when I reached a hand to wipe away the tears, I realized that my mascara had become runny.

“Don’t use that tone with me, pezzo di merda!” she spat, her eyes were slits now, and her morning breath stunk of alcohol. I felt my eye twitch, and I had to grit my teeth to stop the flow of curses from coming out of my mouth.

“Madam, for your own safety: please don’t ever do that again.” I said through clenched teeth, forcing my voice to sound calm even though all I really wanted to do was to scream at this bitch to go fuck herself in the ass with a big, black dildo—

She laughed, her drunken eyes dancing in malicious glee.

“Vai a farti fottere, puttana!” She spat, throwing an empty bottle of wine at my direction. I rolled away, but the bottle that broke a few meters away still managed to spray me with glass shards as they pierced the skin of my back.

Damn this dress to the bowels of Hell! Motherfucking piece of—you know what, fuck this shit.

“You asked for it, testa di merda!” I yelled back, staggering to my feet, wincing when I felt the shards dig against my back. They seemed shallow, and for that I was grateful. I saw red and, without having to switch to my third Eye, I channeled energy into my hands. I grinned when I felt the crackle of power in between my fingers.

You fucking piece of—!

I was just about to fire at her when the window beside the Madam shattered. The woman screamed, and I saw a flash of metal glint in the sunlight. Instinctively, I channeled the crackling pulse of energy from my palms and into the whole of my body. The knife meant for my stomach ricocheted off me and embedded itself in the wall to my left.

“Help me! Help!” she screamed as she staggered away from the man. “Aiutatemi! Aui—” her cries were cut off when the thief knocked her out with a well-placed punch to her temple. Her body started to sag forward before the thief threw her over his shoulder in a fireman’s hold.

When the man looked back at me, it was like he was surprised that I was still standing alive. His face was masked, but his eyes raked me up and down… almost appreciatively before he jumped out the window with the Madam on his back.

“Wait!” I hobbled to the window, the shards in my back making each movement painful. I hissed when I reached behind me and pulled out a particularly large, bloody, glass splinter.

“Dominique!” I heard Carmen yell from below me. Her voice was pitched higher than normal. If I had been in front of a mirror, I would have seen myself pale. The color drained out of my body as cold fear replaced the stinging pain on my back. I swallowed back the fear-vomit that threatened to burst out of my throat, and I ran out the door, the pain in my back forgotten.

My heart was pounding and a heavy feeling, like a leaden snake, settled itself deep within my stomach.

“Help me!” she yelled. My eyes widened and I unconsciously bared my teeth in a snarl, the power inside me already begging to be let out.

Five thieves were dragging her away by the feet, and I could tell that they were greatly amused by how she would grab at the carpets until they tore or how she clawed at the floorboards until her nails broke and her palms were covered in splinters.

Carmen’s hair was a mess, and her face held a black eye. Bruises were already beginning to bloom across her back. The thieves wore dirty pieces of fabric to hide their faces save for their eyes, which glinted cruelly in the morning light.

“Cry all you want, madonna,” One of the thieves crooned, sliding a knife down against Carmen’s exposed leg. She screamed and I wanted to scream too when I saw the blood trickling out of the wound and onto the floor.

“No one can save you.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, you fuckers!” I snarled. I could feel Confusion, Anger, Rage, and Hate pouring out of the men in front of me. I grinned at my arsenal. I channeled those emotions into me, using their feeling to fill me up with power as I willed their darkness to manifest into flames of red and black.

“What the—” the men holding Carmen said in horror as they dropped her. She scrambled away with a cry and ran to hide in the room beside the Madam’s office—our room.

With a roar, I sent the tongues of fire at them. I didn’t wait for them to go down completely as I ran past their writhing forms and out into the open city. I shut the door behind me. For a moment, my heart became heavy at the idea of leaving Carmen alone.

But then I heard the distant scream of the Madam and the familiar laugh of the thieves in the distance. All thoughts of Carmen’s feelings fled me as I ran into the crowd, already switching to my third Eye. In a last minute take-over of my conscience, I sent Carmen a tendril of white energy, hoping that that would be enough to calm her down until I got back.

In the distance, I saw the Madam’s fading silhouette wreathed in black and gray being carried away by a cloud of darkness. I followed them, keeping my eyes trained on their forms. I shoved people out of my way and left behind a white cloud of Apathy to compensate for my rudeness.

Eventually, I saw them disappear into a ship. I quickly shut my second Sight off and ran the rest of the way.

In hindsight, I should have noticed the familiar, white-hooded figure on its way to the same ship from the opposite side of the docks.

Chapter Text

Lady of the Little Eagles

O~O~O~O~O~O

"As your shadow crosses mine, what it takes to come alive.”

“The world is ours, if we want it."

O~O~O~O~O~O

Chapter 17: We Found Your Heart A Break

By the time the boat had come into full view—and I realized that it wasn’t really that big of a boat—Ezio was already boarding it, a pouch in his hand.

How the hell did he get there so fast?

“Dominique!”

I turned around, surprised. Carmen was weaving her way through the crowd; her blond hair was tucked in its usual braid. I could see that the wound on her leg had stopped bleeding—it must’ve only been shallow, then. But the scab was a dark, ugly thing against the back of her thigh. I became thankful for the way our skirts were designed: a bit short in the front, a longer train in the back.

“Carmen! What are you—?”

“Lucia was with them.” Carmen said breathlessly, but her eyes were hard… and I realized that I did not like that look on her. I felt my own eyes widen as Carmen’s words sunk in—Lucia had not returned last night. It would’ve been normal, but something just hadn’t sat right with me. And I could see that I was right.

“How do you know?”

“A few minutes after you left, a white-hooded man came asking for Madonna Solari.” Carmen explained, her hard eyes staring grimly into my own. I winced internally. “Lucia came running and told the man everything.”

“Okay…” I said, willing myself to calm down. “Carmen, I’m sorry—”

“You will tell me of this later,” she cut me off. I hung my head. But I stiffened when I felt her wrap her arms around me.

“But you are forgiven.”

I relaxed in her embrace, and returned the hug. I squeezed her tightly one last time before pushing her back at arm’s length.

“I will.” I promised before glancing back at the ship. Ezio was still conversing with the men, and I saw that one of them was holding the Madam captive with a knife at her throat. I turned back to Carmen, my calm façade belying the energy buzzing within my veins.

“Please return to the brothel, Carmen. I will explain everything soon.”

By the time Carmen had disappeared in the crowd, the knife was already slitting Madonna Solari’s throat.

“Ah, merda,” I groaned as the woman fell dead at the feet of the thieves, her fearful face slack in its death mask. I never did like her… but with no one to head the establishment, the brothel would be forced to close, and then where would I be?

I was snapped out of my “I’m-annoyed-at-the-murdered-Madam” rant when evil laughter rolled out of the ship. From where I was standing, I could see that the thieves that had taken the courtesan were now surrounding the white-hooded man—Ezio, their blades drawn. I saw anger and malice pouring off them, their laughter an echoing sentiment to their dark nature.

The assassin was pillar of calm in their midst. I saw that he was tense, but I also saw that his posture betrayed nothing more. He drew his sword, the metal screeching against the assassin’s scabbard. Ezio made no move to attack; instead, he settled into a defensive stance, his sword at the ready.

The thieves never knew what hit them—the moment one of them lunged, the assassin quickly side-stepped, all the while using his sword to slice the man’s side open before plunging it straight into the thief’s back. The body fell limp onto the deck.

But Ezio didn’t wait; he immediately feinted to his right, and stabbed a man in the chest. The thief’s arms shot out as if to jump back. But with wide eyes, he fell dead.

Even though I should’ve been used to the sight of Ezio fighting—even after all this time, the feel of the X-Box controller in my hands as I played Assassin’s Creed never faded away—I still couldn’t help but watch in awe, complete with the jaw-drop-eyes-wide face.

“Assassino!”

“Get him!”

Uh oh.

I whirled around. In the distance, masked men were swarming in from the rooftops. From where I was, I could see the cold steel of their blades glinting in the afternoon sunlight. Rage and malice poured off their bodies as they landed a few feet away from the gangplank, their presence sending the stragglers that had come to watch the assassin scattering.

I knew immediately what I had to do.

“Hey, motherfuckers!” I yelled reverting my speech to English (I noticed that my voice had retained an Italian accent, much to my pleasant surprise). Already, I felt the energy flowing in my veins. This time, though, I wasn’t afraid to let it manifest around me. I saw the thieves’ eyes widen when they saw the pulsing streams of black and white dance around my body.

“Come and get some!”

~O~O~O~

It was almost over before he knew it.

They were clueless, these men… they didn’t expect their opponent to be this capable with a blade. And that had been their downfall.

With a small grunt—damn my age—he blocked a heavy swing made by one of the two remaining slave traders. The man swung again, but this time Ezio was ready for him; he parried his strike and drove the sword through the man’s chest and cocked his gun. Barely flinching, the pistol fired, ensuring the death of the man impaled on his blade and at the same time, pushing him off it.

The remaining thief gave an audible gulp, and Ezio couldn’t help but give a feral grin. The assassin watched in amusement as the remaining thief found his courage and lunged with a battle cry. The assassin didn’t even bat an eye as he stepped to one side, while at the same time drawing out his sword. The blade sliced clean through the thief’s side with a satisfying shchrrink!

Ezio sheathed his sword and took a step back, trying to find a pocket of clean air that didn’t smell of blood and sweat. He sighed and made his way over to the body of the thief who had held the Madam captive. Ironically, his body was lying on top of hers, as if protecting the poor woman.

Ezio snorted mentally at that before proceeding to loot the man for his hard-earned (read: pick-pocketed) 2500 florins.

The moment he withdrew his hands from the thief, however, sharp cries of “Assassino!” and “Get him!” pierced through the dead calm that had settled over the boat.

Ezio rolled his eyes, and readied his hidden blade.

The first guard was clumsy, his footsteps loud and imprecise—but Ezio knew that he was trying to sneak up on him, to catch him unawares. He smirked as he felt the blade shoot out of his sleeve with a silent schlink!

‘The man will not even know what—’ Ezio thought was cut off when he heard the footsteps cease. With a confused furrow of his eyebrows, he whirled around, blade at the ready.

He did not expect to see what he saw:

He did not expect to see Arnetta fighting against the Borgia guards… with what looked like tentacles made out of smoke. Or at least Ezio thought it was smoke. It looked too transparent to be solid, yet too opaque and flexible to be made out of any liquid he has ever heard of. Bodies of slave traders surrounded the woman, and Ezio realized that they must have been captors’ reinforcements.

He also did not expect to see the Borgia guard that had been sneaking up behind him being held aloft ten feet in the air by a solid, smoky tendril of black. The man’s mouth was open, but no sound came out. Ezio realized with a slight roll of disgust in his stomach that the man’s eyes were rolled into the back of his head.

After a few moments, the smoky appendage flicked the soldier away like someone would an irksome fly; the man was in the air for a few moments before he thudded against mast of the boat with a sickening crunch, his body falling onto the deck with a dull thud.

Ezio drew his attention back to the woman fighting; she was—it was hard to describe. A thick cloud of black that occasionally pulsed with flashes of white surrounded her body. Ezio also noticed that one of her eyes was black while the other was white.

He shivered underneath his assassin garb—even though he’d seen it before, the sight never failed to make him shudder.

Dominique was standing with her back against the wall of one of the buildings lining the wharf. Ezio watched as she conjured more tentacles of black from the cloud that was surrounding her form. It both fascinated and frightened the assassin to watch the witch—the “sensitive,” as she preferred to call herself—summon phantom tendrils of black to wrap around the attacking soldiers. She would lift them up, leave them hanging in the air for a few moments, and then throw them against a building, where they would slide down unconscious but—to Ezio’s slight dismay and relief—alive.

But melee-wise, Ezio noticed through his expert eye, she was rigid and slightly uncoordinated—her clumsy dodges and exaggerated sidesteps reflecting her inexperience. She would dodge slashes and sidestep lunges, and then she would retaliate with a quick burst of power from the cloud surrounding her, pushing the attacker away and leaving him dazed—just long enough for Dominique to cocoon the guard in a tendril of black, lift him up, and then deposit him unconscious.

Then suddenly, archers were firing with cries of “Get the strega!” and Ezio’s heart was sent a-pounding when one of the arrows impaled itself to the wall behind Arnetta, a few inches away from where her head had been.

Ezio gritted his teeth as he readied his throwing knives. He counted four archers in all.

‘This would have to do.’

~O~O~O~

It was when the archers started firing their goddamned arrows did my control start to slip.

What the he—holy shit! That almost HIT me!

I had thought that once the thieves were dealt with, I could safely retreat into the shadows of a nearby alley and make my way back to the brothel unnoticed, but noooo… it just so happened that a roaming patrol of Borgia guards had seen me take them out and had called for back-up.

And it just so happened that a Borgia tower was nearby.

Damn it—whyyyyy… I moaned to myself. The guards were easy pickings though, but their numbers—it was like half of Roma’s population had turned into deadly guards overnight. There were too many of them. Even though I constantly absorbed their own energies to reserve my own, that took focus and—

Unghhh!

I felt the darkness—the Kali within me fight for control, and I immediately forced myself to split my mind: one focused on the task in front of me and the other fighting to control the beast inside.

I felt sweat begin to dampen my forehead. My limbs grew heavy with each swing of my arm, with each step to dodge a careless swing—and I knew I was tiring. The shallow gashes on my back from the broken glass weren’t helping because though some of the wounds had already scabbed over; they would break and bleed easily with each wrong move I made.

More arrows. I made sure to keep moving, made sure that I never stayed in one place long enough for the archers to lock on me. When they shot at me, they would miss.

But then again, Luck can be an unfaithful son of a bitch.

It was numb at first, the area where the arrow whizzed past my arm—it didn’t skewer it, it just grazed the skin, leaving behind a long but, hopefully, shallow gash that burned.

I gritted my teeth and pushed back a scream of pain and rage as I willed the thick construct that surrounded me—that served both as a cloud of defense and a base of offense—to grow in height. The thick, black cloud that was surrounding me obeyed, transforming into the crude outline of a dome.

Immediately, arrows began to clink harmlessly against my shield like rain pattering on a roof. I grunted when I felt five guards begin to pound on the layer of energy I had erected, their swords and maces pounding against the ether.

I was panting now, the effort of keeping Kali at bay and maintaining the dome of energy left me breathless, as if I had run for miles. Even with the energy I absorbed from the previous guards, the ones now lying unconscious but alive, maintaining these constructs required focus and a tremendous amount of energy on my part.

Add that to the occasional pulses of energy I had to release to push away any soldier that would manage to slip past the tentacles (which, by the way, required control since I didn’t want my mini-power-surges to blow up half the wharf) and to the concentration required to push Kali down…

I wasn’t going to last long.

Can’t… hold… out…

~O~O~O~

Ezio realized with a sinking feeling that Dominique’s strength was fading.

The fight had been going on for about fifteen minutes, and Ezio noticed that Arnetta’s limbs were getting heavy with each swing of her arm, with each step to the side. The assassin could see the sweat gleaming on her pale skin, and the way her moist, pink lips had parted in a small ‘o’ as she began to pant.

It was when the arrow shot past her, grazing her arm, did Ezio notice the shards of glass still embedded in her back. The assassin snapped out of his stupor—a woman fighting with otherworldly powers sure can distract a man—and ran to the scene, his throwing knives at the ready.

‘One.’ An enemy archer went down to the side with a groan as the throwing knife embedded itself to the hilt in the man’s stomach.

‘Two.’ Another archer down…

‘Three—oh…’Ezio stopped in his tracks. He was a few feet away from the fight, but the guards paid no attention to him as the writhing, cloud-like thing that surrounded the woman began to grow in height. Flashes of white continued to surge through the growing construct, and the assassin realized that the “sensitive” had erected a protective dome around her.

Ezio stopped to gaze in awe at the shifting safeguard. It stood a few feet higher than the assassin, the curve of its peak just brushing the edges of the buildings nearby. Tentacles continued to whip at the guards attacking, but Ezio noticed the way they would withdraw to the dome whenever archers’ arrows would breach the defense.

Ezio knew he had to stop the attack… or at least thin out the attacking guards. He counted ten more at least; the assassin guessed that the commotion must have attracted the soldiers stationed nearby.

‘The captain, find the captain.’ The assassin’s mind focused on that as he scoured the attackers for the telltale plume of the Borgia captain’s helmet. The man’s thoughts dulled into white noise as he devoted all of his concentration on finding the captain, weaving through the mass of attacking soldiers and killing those that noticed him so as not to alert the others. Once the captain was eliminated, the Borgia tower would be open to sabotage and then—

“E-Ezio?”

The man almost dropped his sword. The voice… it sounded like Dominique’s. But at the same time, it wasn’t. It reminded Ezio of danger, like the calm before the storm. It echoed around him, but somehow the assassin knew that she talking to him and him alone.

Ezio was careful when he answered: “Dominique?”

“Ezio—argh! R-run!” she faltered. Her voice sounded distorted, as if he was listening for her through the bottom of a deep well. The dome, Ezio realized with horror, had shattered. He could see Dominique backed against the wall, her eyes shut tight and her lower lip trembling.

But then the woman opened her eyes; the black and white was slowly being encased in veins of gold.

“Flee to the water. To the—” the assassin didn’t give her time to finish. Once the command registered to his brain, he immediately dove for the water just as Dominique exploded in a burst of white light.

~O~O~O~

It had been his energy that alerted me to the fact that Ezio was near.

And if he was near, then that meant that his fight was over.

Right?

And that meant that it was time to end my fight, too.

Right?

One of the soldiers managed to shatter another portion of my shield. I quickly retracted more of my starboard appendages (listen to me: starboard appendages… I feel like a goddamned sailor) and used them to patch up the leak.

My breath was coming in pants, and my black hair had long since tumbled out of its braid.

“Just one more push…” I whispered to myself. Already, I was digging deep within myself, mustering up as much power as I could without releasing my focus on keeping Kali at bay when—

CRACK!

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. Fuck, fuck, fuuuuuu—!” I screamed as the dome shattered.

But that wasn’t the worst part; it was suddenly like someone charged at me with a battering ram. My chest hurt, and the pounding of my heart was like a hummingbird’s wing-beat beneath my ribcage.

“Get her men! Get the bitch!”

Panicked, I lashed out; the tendrils of my power washing over the remaining soldiers, and I felt them falter. But maybe they had developed a sort of resistance to it, because they didn’t stay down; instead, they slowly managed to make their way towards me, weapons at the ready.

If it was possible, my heart began to beat even faster—for a moment there, I thought I was going to have a stroke.

I backed away until I hit the wall behind me, the bricks hard and unforgiving against my back as I looked into the cold eyes of the advancing soldiers. I cast out my senses, relying on my powers as I looked for a power source… when I picked up on a familiar aura that sent a tingle down my spine.

“E-Ezio?”

The man was still there, and his energy was calling out to me like a drug. I heard myself growl, and I gasped at the sound that erupted from my throat. With a grim sort of acceptance, I realized that with my energy depleted, my focus on keeping the demon at bay had faltered, allowing it to come over me without me even knowing it.

“Dominique?”

His voice…

The promise of the death of these men was something I never knew I would want so badly.

“Ezio—argh! R-run!”

The demon reminded me of the snake at the Garden of Eden as it tempted Eve to take a bite out of the Forbidden Fruit. It told me that I had all this power, this limitless power… and that I could use it and that it would never run out.

At the cost of the lives of all the people of Roma…

Maybe it was going to be a one-time thing (hopefully), but for now—

“Flee to the water. To the—”

I welcomed it.

~O~O~O~

The explosion didn’t make a sound—or perhaps that was just the water muffling it.

The guards were all groaning, but the assassin knew that they were out for the count. Ezio hauled himself out of the water warily, his hidden blade drawn out as he edged toward the sizzling heap that was Dominique.

The woman made no sound, no movement as the man approached. Even though her clothes were sizzling and her hair was messed up, it still managed to form an odd sort of halo around her face. Her arms were spread eagle-like on the ground, and her legs were tucked together.

For Ezio, she looked like a bizarre angel that had fallen out of heaven and had fallen asleep on the muddy ground.

The man took a good look at her—a widow’s peak framed by raven black hair, faintly sun-kissed skin, chapped, pink lips… the assassin knew she wasn’t the prettiest by far, but she was something.

And Ezio was nothing if not a gentleman.

The assassin withdrew his blade as he knelt down beside the unconscious woman. His arms were already wrapping around her when he realized that her eyes were wide open. The man jumped back, his normally stoic brown eyes wide with surprise and wariness.

Ezio noticed the glazed over look in her brown eyes. Her mouth had slightly parted, and the assassin could hear the puffs of air escaping the woman as she exhaled. He was just about to settle his arms around her again when he saw the light reflect off a teardrop that had trailed down the side of her face.

The assassin frowned as he knelt beside the woman. More tears were streaming down her face now; her glassy eyes open faucets. Ezio could hear the hiccups coming out of her parted lips, and he couldn’t help but caress her face when he saw her close her eyes.

~O~O~O~

My heart was on fire. I couldn’t breathe. The world was dissolving, falling apart around me, as I stared at Kali, the beast—no, the demon inside me. I had underestimated its anger. Its hunger would not be sated; it demanded to be filled by the death of the people around me and be fed by their fear and despair.

I didn’t know where she—it had come from. It looked like me; heck, it was like looking into a mirror. But at the same time, I knew it wasn’t me. I had never seen my lip curl like that. It looked so… evil; there was no other word that could describe it. Or the way its eyes looked like bottomless pits sucking me in. Its skin looked the same as mine, but the veins running beneath it were prominent. They were purple, web-like things, and I resisted the urge to gag. Its hair was black like mine, but it seemed to writhe against its head like a thousand snakes.

It was looking at me, and a fire was burning in its eyes. I could feel it pushing against me, against my control—somehow, in the corner of my mind that retained logic; I knew that she wasn’t real. I knew that she was just a hallucination, a manifestation of my mental state personified by stress and fatigue from overexerting myself in the battle.

But what she stood for, what she was to me… that was real.

And God help me, I was scared to death.

I felt someone caress my face, and it was only when I realized I had started crying.

You’re not real…

I closed my eyes.

I won’t let you be real.

Chapter Text

Lady of the Little Eagles

O~O~O~O~O~O

"Show me how you make a first impression.”

“Are you hiding from me somewhere in the crowd?"

O~O~O~O~O~O

Chapter 18: Slow Down, Where Have You Been?

I woke up to the sound of voices:

“What are you doing in Roma?” I heard a familiar voice say. His voice was muffled, but I could hear the fear laced into his voice as he said: “Has Firenze been attacked?”

Ezio…

“No,” another voice answered. It was a woman this time. She sounded familiar, too. “Or, rather, I do not know. We did not go to Firenze.”

Claudia…

“Why?” Ezio’s face asked. Disbelief colored his tone that time. I tried to stand up, but the sudden pain that flared up my back made me hiss. I felt a cool hand settle upon my shoulder, and I jumped.

“Ssh, it’s only me.” Carmen whispered. I sagged in relief, and her hand slowly eased me back onto the couch I had been lying on.

“What happened?” I asked. Carmen bit her lip, and it was then I noticed how swollen her black eye had gotten, noticed the bruises that were wrapped around her neck, and anger burned within me.

Those motherfuckers.

“You saved Messer Ezio,” Carmen replied. I noticed the way her eyes flickered between the door leading to the balcony a few feet away, where the voices were coming from, and me. “He carried you back here. I stitched up your back while he went outside to speak with signora Claudia. But the assassino has been outside for quite sometime now.”

“Where is Madonna Solari?” I heard the panicked voice of a woman ask. It sounded like Adriana.

“She’s dead,” Ezio replied curtly.

“Merda,” Adriana said, her voice deadpan. At the same time, I heard Carmen mutter the same thing under her breath. I chuckled.

“Help me up, Carmen.” I said, trying once more to sit up. I fought back the groan that threatened to escape me when the pain at my back flared back to life. Carmen’s hand tried to push me back down.

“No,” Carmen tried to say. But I guess she knew that dissuading me would be pointless, because aside from the gentle push, she didn’t try to stop me further. “Signora Claudia told me to give you your rest.”

“I’m fine,” I insisted. “I need to talk to them.”

“But signora Claudia said—” Carmen began, but when she saw the look on my face, she cut herself off. She sighed.

“Very well.”

When we stepped out of the shade of the brothel and into the warmth of the midday sun, the first things I saw were the two Auditore siblings glaring at each other. Three courtesans stood a little ways away, looking more than a little bit lost. I bit back a smile.

Maria, on the other hand, was glaring at her son. Her arms were crossed, and her eyes were boring into the assassin’s own. There was fire in her eyes, and I was reminded of a similar woman who lived in Firenze—one who once had a loving husband and four beautiful children.

I was reminded of the Maria before… before the death and the tragedy.

As Carmen helped me take baby steps, Maria’s gaze fell on us:

“Dominique!”

The two siblings halted their glaring match. The gazes of everyone present fell on Carmen and me, and I had to stop the flush that threatened to rise to my cheeks at the sudden attention everyone was giving me.

“Hello, everyone.” I said. I was still leaning against Carmen heavily, but luckily the gentleman in Ezio shone through because he was at my side in an instant. He took me from Carmen’s arms and led me to a nearby bench.

As soon as we settled down, with me leaning heavily on Ezio, everyone followed suit:

“Adriana, Gemma, Eleonora.” Their names fell easily from my lips. I didn’t have trouble pronouncing their names anymore like I did in my first few months here. “Are you hurt?”

“We are fine, Arnetta,” Gemma said. Her blond hair was falling out of its bun, and her make-up was a bit smudged. But other than that, I didn’t see any other wounds or bruises. They must’ve been away from the brothel when the slave traders attacked. “And we have you to thank for that.”

“If it weren’t for you,” Eleonora spoke up. “The slave traders would have gotten away with kidnapping Madonna Solari and Carmen.”

“Not to mention the box of florins stashed away in the Madam’s office,” Adriana said. I smiled at the three of them.

“What matters is that you’re all safe,” I said. I adjusted myself in Ezio’s arms to get a better look at him. “And you? How are you faring?”

Ezio grunted. “Eh, I could have defeated them myself.”

I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, right. Are you an idiot? Did you not notice the Borgia tower towering beside the ship?”

Ezio tensed behind me. But before he could say anything, Maria and Claudia’s eyes shot to the assassin behind me, a note of warning in both of their glares.

“Ezio…” Maria warned. I felt the assassin cringe behind me, but he relaxed nonetheless. I stifled a chuckle.

An awkward silence descended upon the group. The only sound that permeated the atmosphere was the sound of the crowd bustling below us. In the distance, I could hear merchants advertising their wares. Birds chirped at the trees nearby.

I cleared my throat:

“So!” I said in an overly cheerful voice. The man behind me jumped a little, and this time I winced at the feel of his robes rubbing against the still delicate skin of my back. My smile turned to a grimace as I continued: “What did I miss?”

“I will be running this brothel from now on,” Claudia said. Her voice was hard and challenging. I felt Ezio tense behind me again.

“Yes, she will.” Ezio’s spoke through gritted teeth. I felt his voice vibrate against my back, and normally I would shudder at the feel of such things—I mean, a hot man’s voice being deep enough to send vibrations down your spine… that’s kind of hot.

But right now, I only winced some more.

“What’s wrong?” Ezio asked, drawing me away from his person.

Before I could answer, Carmen fired back: “I do not know, maybe it is the skin you are aggravating on her back that is still hurting from her fight earlier. I am not sure… just a hunch, though.”

With the assassin behind me stunned into silence, the only thing that could be heard was my and Claudia’s laughter mixing in with the midday crowd.

“So what’s happened with the two of you?” I asked Maria and Claudia later on, that night. Carmen and the other courtesans had already fallen asleep. The world was silent save for the chirping of the crickets and the lapping of the waters of the river nearby.

“Ezio sent us back to Firenze after the attack on Monteriggioni to protect us,” Claudia began. “But we came back to help.” She crossed her arms.

“Why can’t he see that?”

“Your brother can be quite… hardheaded at times.” Maria reasoned to her daughter. I mentally scoffed at that. “Let us give him time. I’m sure he will come around.”

Claudia gritted her teeth, but didn’t say anything else.

“How about you, Dominique?” Maria asked me. “What have you been doing? Why, it must have been… oh, how long has it been? Since we last saw you?”

“Too long, I’m sure.” I answered with a grin. “Me and Caterina were inside the Villa when it collapsed, but something came and pulled us out.”

“What was it?” Claudia asked her curiosity piqued.

“I have no idea,” I replied honestly. “But when I woke up, it was to Caterina fighting this woman—this dark woman. I didn’t know who she—that was, but I knew for a fact that it was like me.”

“Someone from the future?” Maria asked, her fine eyebrows rising.

“No… well, I don’t know about that. But she’s someone who can do what I can, only meaner and nastier. And she works for the Borgia.”

“Merda,” Claudia cursed. I nodded grimly.

“She knocked me on my ass, literally. She beat me within an inch of my life. But…” Flashes of my rape and my losing control flew through my mind. I fought back the shudder that threatened to make itself known.

“I escaped.” I eventually said. “And the thing that saved me from the collapsing Villa spirited me away to Roma, as well. I’ve been with the courtesans ever since. I’ve learned their ways, learned the ways of the whore on the streets… but I survived.”

“Oh, you poor child,” Maria said, and I could tell that she meant it. I appreciated her sympathy, but it didn’t affect me like I thought it would. Feeling sorry for myself hadn’t gotten me anywhere before. I learned that it was okay to regret, to look back and pity myself. But only so long as I kept fighting at the end of the day—that I didn’t give in.

“I lived, though.” I said, putting on a proud smile. “I also managed to train my powers. I’ve developed them, done well with them over the past few months. It is because of it that I do not need to surrender my vagina to desperate men seeking company.”

Claudia let out a snort of un-ladylike laughter. “So you are still…?”

“Yep,” I said. “100 percent virgin, pure as the mother of God.”

“Not with that language, you are not.” Maria shot back. We all laughed.

We talked a little more after that, months of separation providing plenty of topics to choose from. But eventually, the two women had to retire, their journey taking its toll on them. Claudia helped me back to my room. But just as she was about to leave, I called out to her:

“Claudia?”

She turned back. “Yes?”

“He still loves you, you know.”

Silence. And then—

“It is just so hard to tell these days, no?”

I nodded in the dark. “He is so consumed with revenge for the family he lost… that he forgot about the family he has left behind trying to avenge the ones who are already gone.”

Claudia remained silent. But then her retreating footsteps and the sound of a door closing told me that she had already left.

When I fell asleep, I fell asleep to the sound of the crickets chirping and my own aching heart.

The renovations took around three months, but the result was definitely worth the nights filled with hammering wood, banging metal, and the dust that constantly clouded the interior of the building. And that had been on the best days.

“Wow,” was all I managed to say once the construction crew had left.

“I know.” Carmen said, an awestruck expression on her face.

“What do you think?” Claudia suddenly appeared behind us, a satisfied grin on her face as she surveyed the façade of the brothel with a keen eye. “Not too shabby, eh?”

“Indeed.” Carmen nodded in assent.

“Can we look inside?” I asked, excited. Carmen and Claudia laughed. The latter nodded and, together, the three of us walked inside.

* * * *

Only three weeks had passed since the renovations were completed, but business was already booming.

Word was spreading quickly throughout Roma about the new and improved brothel, and civilians and men with power alike have stumbled through our doors looking for company. Customers steadily trickled through the entrance like tap water these days, and Claudia was eventually forced to dedicate a group of courtesans to keeping men entertained in the foyer until a room would be available for use.

And apparently, word was also spreading about me… the “gypsy” courtesan—the woman who “can make a man come without even having to touch him”.

I didn’t even bother trying to pull the plug on that piece of gossip. If that meant more people flocking to the brothel (and as long as I didn’t get caught), then I wasn’t complaining.

“How can I help?” I asked Claudia one day. I had just finished my fourth guy that day. Because of my powers, I was able to satisfy more customers than the average courtesan, and I didn’t even have to break a sweat.

The only thing that I had to be careful with was the time it took for me to take care of my men—satisfying them too quickly would make them suspicious. I had to draw out their pleasure, make them climax at the average pace. I had to give them the illusion that they took their time enjoying themselves.

Some of the more “considerate” ones would actually ask me if I enjoyed it, too.

I’d only smile and say: “It was delicious.”

And if sometimes that would prompt a second round, then that only meant double the charge. Which meant double the earnings.

Claudia laced her fingers together on the counter, a thoughtful look on her face. “Actually, there is something that you can help me with…”

* * * *

And that was how I found myself standing on the docks, a few feet away from a Borgia tower, separated by a few measly feet of water—water that I couldn’t cross because goddamn footbridges weren’t invented yet.

Claudia had tasked me with gathering information about the whereabouts of Caterina Sforza. She told me that all of her girls were already working on gathering info from their clients. What made my assignment special was that I was to leech out information from someone with position within Cesare’s militia.

And what higher position was there than a captain?

Oh, captain, my fucking captain.

There was a thick, wooden pole jutting out from the edge of the water in front of me. But other than that, there was no other way for me to get to the other side.

Well, fuck my ass with a spoon.

There was no other way. I was going to have to jump.

And before my overthinking, paranoid brain could even think about the worst-case scenarios that would most likely occur if I went through with that, I went for it.

I jumped.

My foot caught on the surface of the pole just fine. But before I could balance myself, I felt my skirt rip at my feet—the fabric had caught on the wood when I stepped on the pole.

With a scream that I was sure echoed across the river, I fell into the water.

“Hey! You there!”

I felt my heart begin to pound. I knew how to swim, but I was in a world where the only person who knew how to swim was Ezio—the assassino.

Think of something brain!

“Help me! Help!” I yelled, feigning distress.

What the fuck are you thinking?

“Oh, help me, please!”

“Signora! Grab my hand!”

The gloved hand of a soldier thrust itself in front of me and I grabbed it without hesitation. The man pulled me up with strength that surprised me.

If Ezio dealt with people with this amount of strength on a daily basis…

“Signora, what were you thinking? You could have drowned!”

The concern in the man’s voice surprised me, as well. It was like he actually cared about the prostitute who fell in the river.

Well, that was a surprise.

I tamped down the urge use my Eye and take a peek at this man’s heart. His kindness genuinely surprised me—I’d never met a Borgia soldier with a good heart before. Why should this man prove any different?

I feigned stammering: “I-I’m sorry. I…”

I looked up at the guard in front of me through my eyelashes. He was middle-aged, probably around his late forties. He wore the armor of the Borgia militia—a dark red plume jutting out of his helmet, black sleeves lined with dark red streaks, steel-gray armor plates protecting his person, and the crest of the Borgia emblazoned on the metal. His halberd was tucked behind him, the blade pointing downwards.

But despite the foreboding attire, I could see the crinkle in his eyes, and the lines at his cheeks indicated that he was smiling underneath that annoying helmet. He nodded encouragingly.

“I was trying to get to the other side. My younger brother works under the captain here and I wanted to check up on him.”

The lie fell from my lips easily. I’d watched enough TV shows to know the signs if someone was outright lying, and that never failed to annoy me. Lying was just like telling the truth—except that it wasn’t.

Damn, I’m such a bad influence. Kids, don’t try this at home. Always love your parents and never lie to them as much as possible.

There, now that that’s out of the way…

“Well, why didn’t you just ask for help?” The gruff voice of the soldier asked in disbelief. “One of us could have escorted you there, nessun problema.”

“Would you have?” I asked. A note of accusation crept into my tone and I cleared my throat. The guard looked like he had been slapped, but a look of understanding dawned on him. He chuckled darkly.

“We deserve that.” He took my arm in a firm, but gentle grip and led me away from the docks. “Come now, signora. I will take you to your brother.”

It was only when we were standing in front of the two Papal guards watching the door did I register what he intended to do.

“Oh, no… mister,” I tried to talk past the anxiety that was beginning to shake my voice. “You don’t have to do that.”

Like, you really don’t have to do that…

“Nonsense,” the soldier said. The two guards stationed in front of us were looking at me weirdly. Like: What is this dripping-wet whore doing here? Why is a soldier with her?

“Alfonso!” The guard to my left said, the soldier beside me stiffened. “What are you doing here? Get back to your post!”

“And take that whore with you,” the second guard to my right said. They laughed, and I felt the soldier beside me—Alfonso—tense.

“She wishes to see her brother,” Alfonso said in a clipped tone. The guard to my right raised an eyebrow.

“And so? What of it? She can wait at the whorehouse like all of the others.” The guard to my left said.

“Unless her brother is one kinky bastard, eh?” the second guard’s eyebrows wiggled suggestively. They laughed, and Alfonso blanched beside me.

“How could you even—?” Alfonso began, but I cut him off when I gently pulled my arm away.

“Let them be, Messer Alfonso,” I said. I sent the soldier beside me a reassuring smile. “I can handle them.”

I saw three pairs of eyebrows rise at the same time. It would have been funny if my heart hadn’t been pounding. It didn’t matter if I was capable of kicking all three of their asses. I was still stuck in the middle of three highly-trained soldiers of the Borgia militia. That thought alone was pretty intimidating.

“‘Handle them’?” the soldier beside me asked. I felt his hand inch towards his halberd. But before he could grab it, I flicked my wrist at the man. The hand that had been reaching for the weapon dropped, and a glassy look came upon the soldier’s eyes.

“Leave now, please.” I said. Alfonso nodded, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He turned around and made his way back to the other side of the docks. Once or twice, he shook his head as if trying to shake a way a thought or to clear his mind. But I would only double up the dose of my power on him.

Once he was out of sight, I turned to look at the two men in front of me. They had their weapons at the ready, their eyes narrowed into slits as they looked at me up and down. I must have been quite the sight: a courtesan, dripping wet, with her hair tangled and spilling from its bun and her make-up running down her face.

“What did you do to him, strega?” the guard to my right hissed. I felt Kali thrum with satisfaction from within me, the sensation sending tingles down my spine. I allowed a wolfish grin to slide on my face as I shifted into my third Eye.

“Something that will pale in comparison to what I’m going to do to you.”

* * * *

“Where is Caterina Sforza?”

The Captain, Valentino da Siena, was an unimpressive man—though he looked like a proud warrior. He wore the color scheme of the Borgia, red and black, and his steel-gray armor plates glinted off the light of the midday sun. His cape was white, an immaculate backdrop to the Borgia coat of arms that was emblazoned on it.

But the man himself was anything but a warrior. Even now, as I held him hostage using the tendrils of Fear that were just oozing from the captain, he cowered in his seat. His fear manifested as misty coils of black and red mist. I vaguely realized that my Eye was now able to see the emotions in color.

But that realization was shoved at the back of my mind when I realized that red tendrils that were entwined with the man’s fears were filled with images of the Borgia.

This man is afraid of the very people he serves. Pitiful.

A whimper escaped his lips when my question registered in his mind, and I rolled my eyes.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that.”

He swallowed, as if trying to work past a lump in his throat. I leaned in closer. Then—

“Blegh!” I screamed when I felt his saliva splatter across my face.

“Go to hell,” he said. His eyes burned with hatred, but his fear didn’t abate. If anything, it seemed as though his fear only intensified. Smirking, I sent the sudden surge of Fear through me and into the ropes binding him. The captain winced when he felt his bonds tighten, and I would have laughed if not for the spit on my face.

I wiped away the spittle with a growl that wasn’t entirely my own. I felt Kali shift restlessly within me and I let the unearthly sound of her anger resonate through my body.

“But we’re already here.” Kali’s voice bled through my own, altering the sound of my voice. The resulting cacophony sounded demonic, even to my own ears. The captain whimpered once more and I felt something wet register through the tendrils of mist. He had wet himself.

“Pathetic.” Kali was still bleeding through the connection, and I felt a sudden rush of power.

Allowing the demon within me to work with me instead of it fighting for complete dominance… the feeling was intoxicating. It was like taming a wild horse—but Kali was so much more than that. She was a tempest of power, a raging inferno that would not be sated until the world burned. There was something so inebriating about working with the demon with me, a deal with the devil.

But I was the one in command at the moment. And that thought alone sent a thrill through my veins.

“I’m going to ask again,” I-slash-Kali growled. “Where is Caterina Sforza?”

* * * *

“Caterina will be moved to the prison within the Castel Sant’Angelo a week from now.”

Claudia looked up from the papers in front of her, a fine eyebrow raised. I plopped down on one of the two cushioned chairs in front of the elegant, mahogany desk where the younger Auditore was working. I blew away a strand of hair that had gotten loose from my bun as my eyes swept over the room.

Claudia had done well redecorating Madonna Solari’s office. The air, which had always reeked of sweat and perfume mixed together before, now smelled of flowers and the open air (courtesy of the new window balcony Claudia had asked to be installed behind her).

“And how did you come by this information, Arnie?” She asked. There was no note of accusation in her tone, only pure curiosity. “I have my girls working the cardinals and a few Papal guards. Where did you get your information?”

“A Captain,” I said. Claudia noted the sly grin on my face and rolled her eyes.

“Arnie,” she said, feigning a warning tone. “What did you do?”

“Nothing!” I laughed. “I just… asked nicely…?”

Claudia laughed, too. “Why do I not believe that?”

“Because I never ask for anything nicely without a threat to cut off a man’s balls mixed in.” I answered cheekily.

“Pazza,” she said fondly. I chuckled before letting out a deep sigh. I was about to ask her how she was when I remembered something.

“Oh, I almost forgot!” I exclaimed. I stood up slowly, Claudia following my movement with a curious look in her eyes. “I want to show you something.”

“What is it?”

“Come with me.”

I led the younger Auditore to the balcony behind her desk. She followed me, a questioning look in her eyes when I told her to stay by the doorway.

“You might get blown the wrong way.” I said as I shifted into my third Eye.

“‘Blown the wrong way?’” she repeated. “What do you—?”

But before she could finish her question, I had already jumped off the balcony.

The wind felt heavenly against me, the misty coils of the construct I had attached to my back sent chills throughout my spine as the water raced closer to me. In just a few seconds, I would be making the perfect dive—

I felt my breath catch in my throat when I stopped just a few inches away from the water, the tips of my hair already breaking the pristine surface of the river. Around me, the water rippled as I worked to keep myself in the air—

“Arnie!” I heard Claudia scream. I heard her footsteps race towards the edge of the stone balustrade, but before her head could lean over the edge, I flapped my wings once. The water erupted below me as I flew upwards, showering the woman below me in a light drizzle of river water.

I heard her gasp, and if I were a bird I would have preened at the awestruck look on her face as she looked up at me.

“Are those... are those wings?”

I nodded. “What do they look like?”

“They are beautiful,” Claudia whispered. Her tone held reverence, and I saw her shuffle forwards, a hand held out as if to touch them. I was still floating a few feet off the balcony, but I settled down in front of her when I saw her move towards me.

“They are like a dove’s,” the woman whispered. I felt the construct tremble beneath Claudia’s fingertips as she traced the edges of the misty appendage. “White and pure… like starlight.”

But as she held a feather in between her hands, she gasped. Her eyes fluttered close, but her grip on the feather did not loosen.

And then—

“Oh, Arnie.” Claudia opened her eyes, and I was surprised to find them misty with tears.

“What did you see?” I asked gently. I let the construct dissipate into the ether as I took Claudia’s hands and led her back inside.

“I saw… I saw Ezio.” She spoke gently, as if she didn’t want to break the hallowed silence that had descended upon the both of us.

“I saw us in Firenze. I saw us eating dinner together at the old villa—my old home. I saw my father and my mother… my brothers, Federico and Petruccio… I saw them all.” She paused to wipe away a stray tear that had fallen.

“Arnie… how did you…?”

“I…” I trailed off, not meeting Claudia’s eyes. I didn’t want to lie to her, but I also didn’t want her to know about the voice—not yet.

“I was… reminded.” I said haltingly, staring at Claudia’s hands. “I was reminded by… an old friend that the only limits that I had were the ones I imposed upon myself.”

“You are not an assassin, little Eagle.” The man’s oily voice echoed in my head. He had appeared to my just as I was about to try and perform a leap of faith to escape the burning tower (courtesy of moi).

“You are the Mystic, She Who Will Fight The Adversary. You are not limited to the extremes of the emotional spectrum. You are not bound to other’s passions. But most of all, you are not bound to the earth. Think, Arnetta. Think and spread your wings, little Eagle.

“Spread your wings and fly.”

“But what did I just see?” Claudia broke through my reverie. I felt her hand grip mine and I started, my eyes flying to meet her own. “Why did I see that? And before… you asked me what your wings looked like. Why?”

I stayed silent, staring at our conjoined hands as the sounds of the brothel and the midday crowd permeated the silence in Claudia’s office. But the woman in front of me didn’t push, and for that I was glad.

“I believe… it is because of the emotion that I used to weave my wings together.” I said carefully. “When I took out the Captain, I channeled his fear into the wings I used to fly here. That was how I got here so fast—fear grants power, no matter how volatile it may be.

“But when I made the constructs here, I drew on something much more powerful—much more beautiful. I drew on Love.” And here I squeezed our hands gently. “I drew on your love for Ezio, on Maria’s love for Ezio, on Carmen’s love for her new family…”

I trailed off here, not knowing if the next thing I was going to say would be warranted or not. But when Claudia gave me an encouraging nod, I continued:

“And on my love for all of you.”

It was only when Claudia hugged me did I realize that I was already hiccupping, the tears streaming down my face smudging the make-up that I had re-done after my little fiasco at the river.

“We love you, too, Arnie.” Claudia said as we drew apart.

“All right, enough of this chick-flick crap.” I sniffled, trying to disperse the sappy feels that was just oozing from the both of us. Claudia tilted her head:

“‘Chick-flick?’” she repeated, confused at the term. I laughed.

“Never mind,” I said. I cleared my throat. “Now, I believe we have some business to attend to with dear brother Ezio. Shall we get going?”

Chapter Text

Lady of the Little Eagles

O~O~O~O~O~O

"It’s like the darkness is the light.”

“She’s a beast."

O~O~O~O~O~O

Chapter 19: Dark Horse In Disturbia

“What have you discovered?”

Before the assassin had entered, all four of us—Claudia, La Volpe, Bartolomeo d’Alviano, and I were lost in our own thoughts. Claudia had her arms crossed, her right hand supporting her delicate face as her brow furrowed in thought. Bartolomeo and La Volpe had been murmuring to one another, with the latter’s head hidden by the omnipresent hood. Bartolomeo had his hands to his hips, a thoughtful expression on his scruffy, bearded face.

I stood beside the younger Auditore, my own arms crossed. I had changed out of my dripping-wet clothes and into a similar attire, fit for a walker—with a pale red, low-cut, strapless top and a skirt that was short in the front designed to show my legs and trailed at the back. My hair had been braided back into its bun, and I had re-done my make-up before leaving with Claudia.

As soon as Ezio entered and asked his question, however, the mercenary leader spoke first:

“The bastardo Cesare is in the Castel Sant’Angelo with the Pope.” He moved to stand beside me, and I didn’t miss the way his eyes looked me over up and down.

“My spies tell me that the Apple has been secreted to someone for study,” La Volpe said. I turned to look at him. “I am working on determining his identity.”

And Claudia’s turn…

“Caterina will be moved to the prison within the Castello next week.” She said, hardly batting an eye. I smiled at her, and she sent a small smile back.

“And what of you, Arnetta?” Ezio’s sharp voice cut through me, and my eyes suddenly shot to his own brown orbs. “What are you doing here?”

“She is with me,” Claudia said to my defense. “She was the one who discovered Caterina’s whereabouts by interrogating a Borgia captain.”

“A captain, eh?” La Volpe repeated, raising an eyebrow as he appraised me.

“How did you manage to defeat him?” Bartolomeo’s disbelieving voice shot up. I looked up at the mercenary beside me, a fine eyebrow rising.

“Do you really want to know?”

Before the man beside me could answer, Machiavelli already beat him to it:

“No.” Then he looked at all three of the guild leaders—the Courtesans, the Thieves, and the Mercenaries. He nodded, a satisfied glint coming into his eyes. “Bene. So the Castello it is. Roma will heal quickly with Cesare and Rodrigo gone.”

Are you sure about that? I wanted to ask him. But before I could, Ezio spoke up:

“Only if the opportunity to assassinate them arises will I take it.”

Five pairs of eyes shot towards him, including my own.

“Do not repeat your mistake in the Vault.” Machiavelli warned. “You must kill them now.”

“I’m with Machiavelli, Ezio.” Bartolomeo agreed. “We should not wait.”

“Bartolomeo is right,” La Volpe said. His eyes were boring into the assassin’s own, as if daring the Auditore to contradict him.

“They must pay for Mario’s death.” Claudia’s voice was hard, her words sharp and precise. Her eyes were hard, as well, and I saw the resolve in them—the want for revenge.

But Ezio’s eyes betrayed nothing, even as he said: “Do not worry. They will die.”

He started to walk away.

“You have my word.”

* * * *

“I’m coming with you.”

Ezio was just finishing up with the architect when I spoke. And by the stiff set of his shoulders as he was turning around, I could already tell what he was going to say.

“No.”

“I’m not asking for your permission.” I said. I put my hands on my hips as I stared up at the man coolly.

I had to go with him—I didn’t want to wait this fight out in the shadows. I wanted action… I wanted to do something. I wanted those Borgia bastards to pay—more than that, I wanted them crushed.

Wait a minute… since when did I actively start picking fights with armies and Popes?

The assassin gave me a once-over, his eyes calculating as he took in my attire and the way I held myself. Apparently, it seemed that he didn’t find whatever he was looking for, because he turned his back on me and began walking away without a word.

I spluttered. Who the fuck does this man think he is? Anger made my blood, and I felt indignation made my hands itch to punch something. But it was only when I heard the door close a few feet away did I realize something:

Who cares what he thinks?

I suddenly felt stupid, standing in the middle of the assassin hideout, seething at a man who literally meant nothing to me. What was I thinking?

I laughed out loud—an honest-to-God, straight-from-my-belly laugh. I heard the sound resonate throughout the hideout, and I sighed at how real and right it sounded.

“Time to kick some Borgia ass.”

Something’s not right…

I scoured the whole of Isola Tiberina to see if Ezio had already left for the Castello, but just as I was about to cross the bridge leading off the island, I saw Ezio standing in front of a newly-renovated art merchant’s stall, a small map in hand.

I thought about tapping the assassin’s shoulder from behind, and I imagined the shock or surprise that would register on his face. But just as I was about to take a step towards him, I heard the sound of metal clanging.

“Come test this steel! Quality blades, honest craftsmanship!”

I looked to my left: a blacksmith was selling its wares nearby.

A better idea came to me. I went over to the man endorsing his wares and took out the small pouch of florins I kept stashed in between my boobs.

(What? There were no pockets on me and it was way better than storing it in between my legs. That would have been way more uncomfortable.)

“A set of throwing knives, please.” I told the blacksmith. He cut off his yelling and looked at me up and down. I rolled my eyes—what was wrong with people? Was it so weird to see a prostitute ask for a set of knives?

The man smiled, but it wasn’t the good type of smile that I expected. It was an indulgent smile—a smile that said: “That’s cute, honey.”

“Hmph,” he smirked. Then he looked away and began yelling again. “Come! Quality blades at just the right price!”

I admit that I stood staring at the man for a good while, my jaw hanging open at the utter nerve of the blacksmith. My bag of florins was still clutched in my hand. I spluttered. I felt Kali hiss from within me, and I subconsciously tamped her rage back.

“Hey—.” but then I felt someone bump into me, tearing the pouch of money from my hands. The thief looked back at me, his eyes raking at my form up and down before he gave a long, drawn-out wolf-whistle.

“Hey!” I yelled. I felt a blush creeping across my face because of the stares the crowd was giving me as I began to run after the thief.

We didn’t even get that far; the thief, a man whose black hair that peeked out of a dirty bandana framed his scarred face, turned to look at me. And promptly began laughing.

He stopped running in the middle of a square that lead to one of Tiber Island’s bridges, and he took out a knife.

“Come on, signora.” He sneered, waving his knife around threateningly. I heard a woman scream, and the crowd milling around us slowly began to back away, their eyes following the knife. My bag of florins was tied to his belt and its contents jingled with each move he made. But when his threat registered to me, however, I laughed.

What the fuck, Arnie!

“You wouldn’t want to fight me, bastardo.” I said, raising my arms and stretching. I heard my joints pop, and I gave a small sigh at the feeling. I felt Kali hum within me at the promise of a fight, and I couldn’t deny that I wanted to see this idiot’s head at my feet where it belonged.

… What the actual fuck?

The thief laughed, and he lunged. I jumped back with an elated laugh, switching to my third Eye in the process. The world had just faded into its black and white counterpart when the thief turned to face me.

“What the…?” the man trailed off, his eyes widening. I saw tendrils of Confusion and Fear begin to ooze off the body in front of me, and I smiled wolfishly.

“Give me back my purse, figlio di puttana.” I sang. I didn’t even have to slip into my Kali-voice. The thief trembled and hastily began untying the cord around his waist.

“Here! Take it! Take it!” He dropped the bag at his feet and got to his knees. “Mio Dio, just let me live!”

The man didn’t stop trembling as I stepped forward and picked up the pouch. I turned off my third Eye as I crouched in front of the man. But when I righted myself and stepped back one, two, three steps—

“Demone!” he scrambled to his feet and stumbled back, pointing at me with a trembling finger. “Demone!” Then he ran away.

The crowd reacted at once. Some of the women began running away in terror, screaming at the top of their lungs while the more delicate ones fainted on the spot. The men began whispering to one another:

“Demone? Her?”

“Why, she looks as if she couldn’t even harm a fly!”

I didn’t bother defending myself. With a grin, I turned my back on the crowd and made my way back to the blacksmith. The man who had been yelling out his wares minutes ago was now the one hammering away on the anvil. Another man sat quietly beside him, away from the heat of the forge, wiping the sweat off his brow.

“Get your money back, signora?” the first man asked, not looking away from his work.

I smiled, and this time I let Kali bleed into my voice as I said:

“Yes, thank you, signore.” The two men jumped and looked at me, but I had shifted into my third Eye again. Fear began to materialize as tendrils of pale red this time, and I felt a surge of satisfaction to know that that was my doing—they were afraid of me.

No…

“Now, about those knives…”

“Arnie!”

At the sound of Ezio’s voice, my eyes snapped towards the assassin who was now standing behind me.

“What are you doing?”

“Asking for something that is rightfully mine,” I growled at the assassin. Kali was still bleeding through my connection, and I grinned at the sight of Ezio jumping back, his Hidden Blade making an appearance with its signature schlink!

I laughed, and I heard the sound echo off the river. The crowd had stopped passing by us and was slowly backing away from the both of us, their eyes wide with fear.

“What’s wrong, assassino?” I asked, baring my teeth in a cruel smile. “Do not tell me that after all of the sins you have committed, you are shocked to find the devil herself standing in front of you?”

I heard more screaming, and the crowd, as one, began surging away from the scene at once. They looked so funny, like ants fleeing from the threat of death—because that’s just what all of those humans were, right? Ants swarming God’s green earth… they didn’t even deserve the clothes on their backs, much less the coins on their person.

What is happening to me?

There was silence. I saw Ezio being surrounded by tendrils of black and white—fear, anger, confusion, concern, worry—

“Who are you?” he asked. I heard his gun cock threateningly as he tensed his hand, but at his question, I tilted my head to the side, confused at the question.

“What do you mean?” I asked, genuinely confused. “I am Dominique Arnetta.”

“No, you’re not,” he said. He gestured with his free hand to the two men cowering behind the counter of the blacksmith shop, the fear oozing from them making their forms almost invisible behind the forest of tendrils I could see through my Eye.

“I’m… not?” I said, my voice breaking at the last word. Ezio took a step closer, and I heard someone—no, something roar from behind me. I turned around, my eyes wide, trying to look for the source of the sound.

But when it roared again, I realized that it was all in my head. Kali was roaring from inside me. Kali was roaring. From inside me.

Kali!

I gasped. Immediately, I turned off my third Eye and backed away from the blacksmith’s shop. When I felt my butt hit the stone balustrade behind me, I sat down.

“Oh, God…” I said, at a loss for words. After promising to myself that I wouldn’t let the demon within me be real, I actually let it take control—and I had enjoyed it!

Flashes of the terrified faces of the thief and the two blacksmiths swam through my mind. I raised a hand to my face, noting the way it trembled. I held it up to the sun, and I felt a strange sort of clarity clear through the fog of confusion and fear—Was that me? What did I do? Oh, my God, I gave in, I gave in, I gave in—that had fallen over my mind.

Silence… save for the sounds of the crowd milling about, their whispers and murmurs a thick blanket that made me deaf to anything else. And then…

“That was me,” I said, my voice emotionless. I looked up to see Ezio standing in front of me, his blade withdrawn once more into the fabric of his robes. His face was emotionless, but I didn’t need to use my Eye to see that the man was drowning in a sea of emotions—confusion, despair, and concern…

“No, it wasn’t.” Ezio said as he knelt in front of me. I was still looking at my hand in wonder because this is me. I’m doing this. Not anyone else, not anything else.

But as Ezio’s words registered to me, I put down my hand and looked at the man in front of me.

“How could you possibly know that?” I asked quietly. Disbelief and anger coursed through me, the weird combination only serving to fuel the tears that were blurring my vision. “Who are you, that you would know that?”

When the assassin remained quiet, I adjusted myself so that I was facing him. The man’s eyes were staring into my own, his lips a hard line on his bearded face. My heart was pounding and honestly, I felt a little breathless.

“Am I your friend?” I scoffed. “I doubt it; you have not treated me as such ever since I came here.”

I fisted my hands into the fabric of my skirt. “Leonardo, Claudia, Maria, Carmen… all of these are the people who have grown on me, people I have grown to love here.

“But you? You are away, chasing after the people who have done you wrong—and I admire you for that! Do not get me wrong. But by doing so, you turn your back on the moments you could have spent with your sister who misses you, and your mother who mourns the time when she still had Ezio, her son… not Ezio, the assassin.”

The tears were streaming down my face now, but I didn’t move to wipe them away.

“I want to go home, Ezio.” As soon as I said it, I wanted to take it back—but I realized that that was the truth. I was tired of fighting. I was tired of having to smile for Carmen. I was tired of looking at Claudia and seeing her heart yearn for Ezio, her brother. I was tired of always having to pace myself when using my powers to prevent myself from decimating half the population of Roma. I was tired of fighting against Kali. I was tired of this battle.

Beating bad guys in video games was one thing. But doing it yourself? I thought it would be awesome to fight side by side with your favorite character. But I realized too late that fighting in wars led to nothing but death and tragedy.

I was tired of it. I wanted to go home.

“I want to go home. And I know that by helping you, I’ll be able to do that.”

I felt Ezio take my hands in his, felt his rough, callused palms wipe away the tears and the runny mascara that was trailing down my face.

“Take me home, please.” I sniffled. I hated myself for sounding like a child, but it was how I felt. I was tired of third Eyes and Borgias and Templars and Apples of Eden. I wanted to go home—

“Then I will help you, signora.” He cupped my face in his hands, and I looked deep into his eyes. I was surprised at the warmth within them, but I found the will to smile at the feel of his hands cradling my face.

“I will help you get home.” 

Chapter Text

Lady of the Little Eagles

O~O~O~O~O~O

"I’ll chew you up and I’ll spit you out.”

" No, it's much better to face these kinds of things with a sense of poise and rationality. ”

O~O~O~O~O~O

Chapter 20: I Write Sins, Not Bubblegum Bitches

I sat on a plush chair facing the room where Ezio had left me in. The Assassin’s hideout was huge—and I didn’t believe it at first when he told me that this was just a converted storage room.

My brain kept replaying the scene over and over again like a broken CD. Everything in my head was thrown in sharp relief: the ache of my muscles as I ran after the thief, the pleasure at seeing the thief’s eyes widen when he realized that he was talking to the devil herself—

“How are you faring, Arnie?” Claudia’s questions snapped me out of my reverie, and for that I was grateful. But I didn’t know what to say.

I’m hopeless. I’m stupid. I’m weak. I’m a monster. I can’t do this. I’m tired. I want to go home. I’m sick of fighting. I’m sick of monsters. I’m sick of demons. I want it all to stop—

“I’m fine,” I finally said. But Claudia just raised an eyebrow, and I felt a strange mixture of relief and annoyance that the younger Auditore was way more perceptive than her brother about the inner workings of the heart.

“No, you’re not,” she points out. But she doesn’t sound accusing, only concerned. I flash a tired smile towards her.

“I know.” I sigh. Claudia didn’t say anything for a while, and I found myself drifting again. My mind flashed to the faces of the blacksmiths this time—the way their eyes had widened, the way their lips had trembled, the way their hands shook when they slid the knives to Ezio…

Ezio…

The assassin had led me back here after he had promised to help me get home. We had walked the short distance to the hideout, and I internally winced when I noticed that the cobblestone streets were nearly deserted.

He had his arm looped around my waist the whole walk here—it sounds pretty awkward, and it should’ve been awkward, actually. But… I don’t know. I guess I didn’t feel like feeling that time because of everything that had just happened.

What’s wrong, assassino?

Do not tell me that after all of the sins you have committed, you are shocked to find the devil herself standing in front of you?

Good God, I actually said that shit.

I sighed. And there was something else, too: See, I didn’t know why, but I remembered every single minute of our walk: the coarse fabric of Ezio’s assassin robes against my skin, the solid warmth of his arm around my waist, the strength behind the appendage as he supported me all the way to the door. I could smell him too—sweat and iron and musk.

If I had been myself back then, I would have either wrinkled my nose, or breathed in deeply.

“Arnie.” I heard someone call my name again. I looked at Claudia, who was now sitting in front of me. My hands were in hers, and she was rubbing comforting circles on them. I didn’t know how long she had been doing that, but I felt guilt and shame well up inside me.

Here was Claudia, someone who had been through her own demons—being bereft of a father and two brothers in one day, being deprived of a functioning mother for years, losing Ezio to vengeance, being torn from her home and thrust into unknown territories twice… I was being unfair. I had to put on a smile for her.

But I’m so tired of being strong for people.

But that was it, wasn’t it? Before I became strong for other people, I had to be strong for myself.

But I just want it all to stop. I don’t want to be strong anymore. I just want to go home.

I shook my head and put up a smile. Thoughts like those were gates for the beast within me, ways for it to pour its influence into my own thoughts… I had to stay vigilant.

Well, shit. I had my work cut out for me, then.

“Hello, Claudia,” I said. My smile turned more genuine when I saw the worried lines on Claudia’s forehead fade when she saw my smile.

“Are you back?” she asked. Her grip on my hands tightened, and I took a shaky breath.

“For now? I believe so.” I barely managed to get out the “so” before I had an armful of Claudia Auditore.

“Good.” I heard her say, her mouth so close to my ear. I felt a jolt when I noticed the shake in her voice, the quiver in that one word. I had gone Maria on her. I had almost gone Maria on her.

A small part of me, the self-absorbed part of me that was tired of dealing with shit and was sick of caring about what other people needed from me, shouted: “Who cares?”

But the bigger part of me (at the moment), the part of me that did care, the part of me that sort of sucked up to what other people needed from me, shouted louder: “I do.”

So while Claudia was busy trying to stop the tears from falling, I wrapped my own arms around her. She stiffened, but I felt her grip on me tighten. I pulled her away, and I noticed the mistiness in her eyes that she was trying to blink away.

“I guess my whore days are over, huh?” I asked, trying to make her tears go away. The woman in front of me smiled, though her lips still trembled.

“It looks like it, si,” she said. I stood up and stretched; turning on the spot to take in the room we were in at the moment. I tilted my head thoughtfully.

“Do you know if the assassins have any clothes to spare?”

* * * *

The female assassin’s garb was significantly different from the guys’ attire.

“What’s with the corset?” I asked while Claudia was tying the maze of knots on my back.

“It will match your vambraces,” the woman answered from behind me.

“I had no idea that assassins used their fashion sense,” I commented off-handedly. Claudia closed the corset and I sucked in a breath, trying to get used to the sudden constriction surrounding my diaphragm.

“You’re a special case,” Ezio’s sister murmured. “Now hold your arms out. It’s time to fit the cape.”

It took around half an hour, but when Claudia was finished with me, I had to suck in another breath when I saw the woman staring at me from the mirror we found in one of the rooms.

“Oh, wow…” I murmured in awe.

The first thing I noticed when I tried moving around was that this outfit had a lot of layers. The first thing Claudia had put on me was a smoky gray dress whose lower skirt was fitted just like a courtesan’s, short in the front slightly longer at the back—except that the cut didn’t reach the floor this time. It reached just below my thighs. She had tied a thin leather cord around my waist, followed by a red sash.

The corset came on after the dress. It was leather too; the corset itself clung to my form and fanned out just a little to form a very short train, reaching just below my buttocks. Straps ran over my chest to secure the cape that covered my right hand. Fur-lined leather vambraces and greaves were attached to my forearms and legs, and my feet were put in steel-toed, leather boots.

All in all, I looked like one badass assassin bitch from hell.

“Try on the hood.” I heard Claudia say, a pleased lilt in her voice.

When I raised my hands, I was surprised to find that—despite the pressure of the corset on my stomach—I could move about easily. I did my hair in a simple bun and raised the hood.

“Magnifico,” Claudia whispered as I turned to face her.

“It is beautiful.” I whispered back, afraid to break the awed silence that had descended upon the both of us.

“Indeed,” a new voice spoke from behind us. I turned around, and even though I tried to stop it, a blush bloomed on my face. La Volpe smirked as he appraised me, his eyes roaming over my new outfit.

“It suits you, madonna,” he nodded. But then his smirk fell away, and his face grew serious as he said: “Come with me. The contessa has returned.”

La Volpe turned and walked back to the foyer. Claudia and I shared a look before following him. Caterina was sitting on the chair I had been sitting on before, her white nightgown soiled and dirty. There were bruises on her arms and neck, and the left side of her face was swollen. But other than that, she looked okay.

“Her leg and hip are injured, ” La Volpe reported as he moved to the door. “I will look for a dottore to attend to her.”

“Where is Ezio?” Claudia asked before I could, a note of apprehension in her voice.

“Still at the Castel,” Caterina said through gritted teeth. Claudia’s eyes narrowed as she took in the state of the countess, and normally I would be joining her. But when Caterina said that Ezio was still in the Castel, an image welled up from the back of my mind—a figure in a black coat wielding tentacles of dark energy.

What if she was there?

A cold feeling washed over me, and I suddenly found it hard to breathe.

Ezio wouldn’t stand a chance.

“I have to go.” I said abruptly, cutting off Caterina’s explanation of what has transpired on her side ever since she was captured.

“Why?” Claudia asked in surprise, turning to look at me. “If this is about my brother, he can handle himself.”

“Arnie,” Caterina asked carefully when she saw the look in my eyes. “What is the—?”

“That black-coat bitch,” I growled. I only registered the realization that dawned in Caterina’s eyes for a brief moment before I turned my back on the both of them and ran up the stairs, and out the door.

 The wind was cool against my skin as I opened the door.

I went out through the rooftop entrance of the hideout, and it gave me a clear view of the whole of Tiber Island and the towering infrastructures miles from where I was standing. Turning from where I stood, I saw the Castel Sant’Angelo in the distance.

“I am inside you,” I heard a voice hiss from behind me. I turned around, but there was no one there.

“Destruction incarnate!” I heard someone laugh, but I was the only one on the rooftop. “That’s what you are—what you are capable of becoming.”

It was the thing inside me—Kali. It was Kali. It was the demon within me. I felt fear trap me in its tendrils, flooding my mind’s eye with visions of the other-me. The other-me that was filled with darkness and rage, flooding Rome—and eventually the world—with pain and sorrow, darkness and passion… it was real.

There was no denying that any more.

I let it become real—no, scratch that. It was real the second the Apple reached out to me—touched me. I only gave it a body and a voice.

“I know,” I sighed. “But I don’t want to be.”

“You have no choice!” the beast within laughed again. “I am you.”

“Just because you are me doesn’t make me you.” I said to the wind, and it felt so good to just say the truth to the world, even though the entire world couldn’t hear shit. “I am who I am. And I know that I am not you.”

“You cannot fight yourself!” the demon roared. I laughed.

“I’m not.”

And with that, I willed the energy around me to shift and manifest into wings. With a massive flap of my new appendages (they seemed bigger than what I had conjured back at the brothel), I soared off to the Castel.

When I crossed the Tiber, I glimpsed the vague outline of my wings on the reflection of the water. They looked like eagle wings, wide and magnificent, pulsing gold in the afternoon sun.

And I swear that if I had any doubt that hope was counted as an emotion, then these wings were physical proof that Hope was legit.

* * * *

Ezio was a killing machine.

Even from up here, I could see the blade of Ezio’s sword glint in the sunlight as it stabbed and parried, deflecting off steel and metal, sinking into flesh and bone. He was a white devil.

But then again, I could be one, too.

I landed on one of the rooftops lining the square that greeted the bridge leading to the Castello.  The archers that were stationed were positioning themselves a few feet in front of me, a line of red in my field of vision.

“Hey, dickheads!” I yelled. The soldiers barely had time to turn around before I swept my wing in a wide arc, the energy solidifying into a physical appendage that glowed with the brilliance of a thousand suns.

The soldiers fell screaming, and before they even hit the ground I was already leaping after them.

“Assassino!”

~O~O~O~

“Assassino!” a woman’s familiar voice called.

Ezio turned around quickly, surprise registering on his face before it was replaced with exasperation. He pulled his sword out of a Borgia guard, the blade gleaming crimson in the light of the afternoon sun. He let himself relax for a moment—the soldiers he was fighting were too engrossed in the show Arnetta was giving them.

And Ezio couldn’t blame them: Arnetta wore an improvised version of the regular assassin garb, outlining and defining her already curvaceous form. Her eyes were ghastly orbs of black and white, but they shone with a radiance of some sort. The white eye looked as though it was forged of starlight, while the black eye glowed like it was made of pure obsidian, reflecting the light of the sun. Golden eagle wings sprouted from her back, each wing spanning a good eight feet.

“What are you doing here?” Ezio yelled. “You need to heal!”

“I am healing!” Arnetta yelled as she landed in the middle of the square. The wings glowed golden, brighter than a thousand suns. But the warmth the assassin could feel emanating from the golden appendages were familiar, almost like…

The Apple’s.

“Kicking butt is therapeutic!” was all Ezio registered before the soldiers were rushing at him once more. But the men didn’t even reach him before Arnie’s wings melted to form whips of golden energy attached to her arms. Ezio watched in awe as she swept away the soldiers swarming him with a wave of her arm.

The soldiers were returning to their senses now, rallying to the bridge and charging in groups to try and surround the both of them. Ezio saw a good fifteen of them surrounding Arnie while eight of them locked steel with the assassin. His eyes narrowed as he deflected a soldier’s blade and stepped forward. The Auditore shoved his palm up the soldier’s jaw and, with a resounding bang, shot the guard dead.

“Pazza!” Ezio spat out as he deflected another soldier’s thrust.

~O~O~O~

I felt so alive!

The soldiers were countless bowling pins of red, and I kept getting killer strikes. The whips were extensions of myself, arms of gold that wiped out the enemy from a distance.

When the guards managed to slip past the tentacles, I let go of the golden appendages. But instead of letting them dissipate, I controlled them with my mind, letting them fend off the guards from a distance while leaving my arms free.

Using my hands as focal points, I fired bolts of white energy from them. Any soldier hit with my energy would collapse on the spot, their eyes rolling back into their heads as I “overcharged” their hearts. It wouldn’t kill them, but I knew that it would leave them out for the count.

Two soldiers managed to slip past the tentacles and charged towards me. One of them lunged forward with his spear, aiming for my stomach. Immediately, I coated myself with the same golden energy I had used for the tentacles. The spear bounced off me harmlessly and, before the soldier could recuperate, I projected the energy outwards, pushing the man back, back, back… and into the water.

The second man was lighter on his feet, and I jumped back with a small laugh of exhilaration when he swiped at me with a dagger.

I felt something push at me from the back of my mind, and before I could stop myself I fired a beam of energy towards the soldier who had swiped at me, laughter still pouring out of my lips. But the energy was different this time—the golden light was tainted with black, and the man flew back a good two feet before ending up in the dirt, eyes white and his nose bleeding.

I didn’t have to go over and check to know that the man wasn’t breathing anymore.

No!

“I come when there is carnage.” The demon laughed.

“Well. Fuck. You!” I screamed, furious, as I pushed back more of the Borgia militia with beams and bolts of untainted golden energy, the adrenaline pumping through me laced with fear—fear at the threat that was looming above me: the threat of losing control to the demon. Some men fell screaming into the water, while others were pushed into walls and were knocked out cold.

A horse neighed from behind me, and I turned around. A soldier was charging towards Ezio with his sword raised. My eyes flew to the assassin, who was busy fighting off three guards, all of them possessing either spears or halberds.

“No!” I cried out as I fired a bolt of energy towards the charging animal. The soldier fell off his saddle with a scream as the animal trampled on him in its fright.

I sent a small tendril of calm in the horse’s way before urging it away from the scene.

I breathed a sigh of relief.

And that was when the explosions started.

“What was that?” Ezio yelled in question as he deflected a hit from a war hammer.

Another explosion. The sound echoed over the sound of metal clashing and people screaming, and suddenly the soldiers were retreating:

“Quick! Back to the Castello!”

“That is our cue!” Ezio yelled over the din. “We must leave! Now!”

I nodded and made to follow him when I suddenly felt the air pressure around me drop, making my ears pop. Without really about it, I erected a dome of golden energy around Ezio and me.

Just in time, too—because at exactly that moment, a large beam of black energy collided with the shield. I winced at the sudden onslaught of darkness, but I only gritted my teeth and pushed back harder.

When the onslaught ceased, I hesitantly put down the dome, letting it dissipate into the ether. Ezio sucked in a breath from beside me when he noticed the black figure standing in the middle of the bridge leading to the Castello.

“Who is that?” he asked me, unsheathing his sword once more.

The figure laughed, its distorted voice carrying over the cobblestone. “Long time no see, Dominique.”

“Bitch,” I spat out. I felt the Kali within me writhe against my control, and I felt myself start to pull down my walls to let her back inside to end this bitch—

There it was again, the temptation of letting it consume me and taking this bitch out once and for all. At first, I thought that that was only me—my want for payback. But I guess along the way, my drive for revenge had mixed with the demon’s bloodlust. We had become one, in a sense.

Well, not this time.

“Perish!” I heard the black-coated bitch yell as she fired more beams of darkness. Ezio rolled out of the way, but I only smirked as I gathered up my own energy. The energies of the populace, not to mention the charged emotions heavy in the air left behind by the soldiers, were more than enough.

With a grunt, I sent my own beams of energy towards the figure, intercepting the volley. The explosions in mid-air were loud and resounding, pushing me, Ezio, and the figure back.

“How do you like me now, bitchachita?” I screamed as I summoned a cloud of energy above me. The white cloud was fluffy, streaks of gold running across the construct like veins. With my fingers aiming, I sent bolt after bolt of golden energy towards the black-coated figure.

I heard the figure snarl as it dodged the onslaught: jumping, rolling, deflecting… sometimes, she would try and get a shot at me. But they were easy to dodge, and I would laugh at her feeble attempts.

Finally, the figure tripped on her feet on the crumbling cobblestone, knocking her down and making her hood fall off. I raised my finger and summoned one last bolt of energy, the biggest I could, and aimed for her heart.

Time seemed to slow down as the figure—a woman stood up. When her face registered in my head, the cloud abruptly faded into nonexistence as I took a step back, fear and confusion making my limbs heavy as though they were leaden weights.

“C-Carmen?”

…

…

…

I don’t understand… Wh-what is happening—?

The woman—no, it wasn’t Carmen. It couldn’t be—laughed. She held her arms out, as if basking in the warmth of some invisible sunlight.

“Nooooope,” a child’s voice drew out the syllable as the air around her fizzed and popped. Through my third Eye, I saw that she was charging the very air around her with energy, making it volatile and unstable.

Almost explosive…

“You’ll be well-done!” She screeched.

“Ezio, move!” I cried as I jumped back, a blast of black energy incinerating the place where I had been just moments ago. The assassin followed suit, his robes flying behind him as he dived out of the explosion’s radius.

“Nnrgh!” I grunted as I channeled Ezio’s golden energy into my own body. I steadied my stance before stomping my foot, willing the power within to radiate off me in seismic waves. All around us, the cobblestone rippled as if in a mirage. The floor exploded, decimating the area around us for a few hundred yards. I cocooned the assassin with grey energy, and pulled him towards me to protect him from the blast.

Through heavy eyes, I saw that the bitch had gotten down on one knee, her joined hands pointing towards the ground. I belatedly realized that she was nullifying the golden energy coming towards her with her own dark energy. The destruction skirted around that motherfucking cunt-brick, and continued on its path until stopping just before the bridge ended.

The bridge was completely decimated, the picturesque cobblestone almost completely reduced to rubble. The balustrades were gone, with only the air separating the floor from the river flowing beneath us.

Panting, I erected a dome of crackling white energy around Ezio and me, and promptly began swaying on my feet.

“Arnie!” Ezio grunted as he caught me. He pulled me towards his chest, and I groaned, lethargy beginning to creep up on me. You know that heavy feeling you get on a particularly bad day? That feeling when you’re too drained to do anything else except stay in bed and wallow in your own miserable thoughts? Well, that was exactly what I was feeling.

“Where is she?” I said once I managed to catch my breath. Ezio looked up, and his eyes narrowed as he tried to peer through the energy.

Ezio gasped, and I heard the signature schlink! of his Hidden Blade as he unsheathed it.

“She is right in front of us,” he whispered to me. I tensed and, before I could stop myself, held out my hand. The dome glowed brighter for a second before exploding into one massive particle beam, with Ezio and myself standing unharmed in the middle.

When I felt satisfied that there should be no one alive left in front of us, I let the beam dissipate and put up another dome—all in the span of a millisecond.

Laughter, deep and demonic, echoed around us.

“That’s cute,” it was an old woman’s rasp that spoke this time. The black figure was behind us this time, and I felt a bout of nausea when Ezio spun the both of us around, his Hidden Blade at the ready.

But the figure didn’t do anything except to raise its hand and touch the dome of white energy.

I expected it to fly back—I charged the dome with enough energy to send that bitch flying halfway across Roma. But I was shocked to find that she didn’t… and I was even more shocked to see the cunt tightening her grip.

Cold fear trickled down my spine when I saw black veins begin to creep out of that twat’s fingers. It looked like something out of the Discovery Channel—a disgusting virus invading a host, a parasite. The black veins were spreading throughout the dome, and I could see the way it was turning my own energy against me through my third Eye. Our safeguard was becoming our prison.

“No.” I growled out as I took a step forward and put my own hand on the dome. I felt the energy crackle beneath my palm, the fucker’s black energy already working to push me back. But I tamped down the pain and concentrated, closing my eyes. I pushed at my mind, imbuing my will into the remaining uncorrupted energy to push back against the virus.

I heard Ezio suck in a breath behind me, and I opened my eyes. Tendrils of white were spreading out of my hands, as if they were wisps of moonlight burning away the black of midnight. Darkness and Light clashed in the energies of the dome, and I felt a thrill of adrenaline burn away the tired ache in my muscles when I realized that I was winning.

“You bitch,” the woman on the other side of the dome spat out. I gave a breathless laugh.

“Not so tough now, are you?” I laughed out, though it sounded a bit hysterical. I pushed harder, and I heard the bitch gasp.

“Yippee ki-yay… you stupid, fucking cunt.” I laughed, and I pushed one last time—

“Yes, yes, yes!”

A demonic voice… but it was different from the cunt on the other side of the dome. It sounded like…

“No…” I whispered. Ezio’s grip tightened around me.

“What is it? What is the matter?” But I barely heard him. Visions of the blacksmith and the thief and the people at Isola Tiberina flashed through my mind, breaking my concentration. I heard the witch on the other side laugh manically as her darkness came swarming back with a vengeance.

“No, no, no… I didn’t let you in!” I cried out into the fading gold. “I didn’t let you in!”

I was sobbing now, my hand slack against the energy. Through my tears, I saw that the dome was almost completely black now, and Ezio was shaking me. His voice was begging me to do something, but it was as if I was hearing him through water.

“Arnie!” Ezio shook me harder. “Find strength! Fight it! Lean on me! Lean on me!”

I was pretty sure he was babbling nonsense now, anything to get me back on my feet and get us out of there. But the last thing he said… the one about leaning on him. It struck a chord within me.

Lean on me!

Suddenly, I found the strength to push one last time.

And push I did.

Chapter Text

Lady of the Little Eagles

O~O~O~O~O~O

"A face like heaven catching lighting in your nightgown."

"I’m in the details with the devil, so now the world can never get me on my level."

O~O~O~O~O~O

Chapter 21: Miss Jackson Knows What You Did In the Dark

 I was getting tired of being lost in my own head.

I mean, come on: I was all for deep thinking about the mysteries of life and the paradoxes of the universe when I was this close to falling asleep or whatever, but even I had to draw the line at “discussing shit with demon-self”.

My legs turned to jelly after I gave that final push on the bridge leading to the Castel, my knees hitting the blood-soaked cobblestone as I collapsed. Without the heat of the battle, I felt the cool air caress my sweat-dampened skin. The sun had fallen behind an ocean of grey clouds, and I shivered.

“I am you,” someone whispered from behind me. I didn’t even bother turning around—it was the demon.

I didn’t even bother answering, my mind’s eye lost in the image of the black-robed bitch flying backwards. Her face—Carmen’s face was one of shock, her eyes widening before rolling back into her head as she flew into the building across the square. The sickening crack of her skull hitting the hard concrete echoed across the square, and I knew that she was dead.

The light that burst from my hands right before the dome shattered was the brightest I had ever conjured. “Divine” energy—the Apple’s energy… I didn’t even bother trying to think of any other explanation. I lived in a world where Assassins and people like me could destroy people with a wave of my hand. If the Apple decided to make an appearance in this fucked-up world that had become my life, then who was I to question it?

Vaguely, I heard Ezio ask me a question. But I couldn’t make out the words his lips were forming. Staring at the unmoving heap across the square, my mind echoed the words I had spoken at the roof of the assassin’s hideout:

“Just because you are me doesn’t make me you.”

What a load of horseshit.

And even further, back at the wharf when I was helping Ezio fend off the slave traders and Borgia soldiers that had amassed like an army of death, I remembered my words when I saw the demon inside me:

You’re not real. I won’t let you be real.

But it was never up to me, was it? It was the Apple—that divine piece of shit was what got me into this whole mess.

“You give it too much credit, girl.”

The voice… it was the same voice from my dreams. The voice that spoke to me in that while I was in the darkness, the voice that spoke to me in the outer fields of Rome, the voice that gave me wings.

I didn’t blink, didn’t speak. But I knew that he wasn’t here in the physical sense. Like all of the other spiritual shit that had been popping up in my life like daisies, he was in my head. Irritation made me want to grit my teeth, but it was when I remembered that I already had an intruder inside my head. Annoyance and irritation were useless emotions. I gave a mental sigh and asked:

“What is your name?”

Silence. And then his name:

“Bacchus.”

“Typical. I’m losing my mind and my patron god reveals himself to be the god of madness.”

Laughter rang in my head, mocking and piercing.

“Patron god? You flatter me, mortal.”

Ezio and I were sticking to alleyways, away from the eyes of the guards and the archers patrolling the rooftops. Around us, the sounds of the late afternoon crowd permeated the air. I could hear the harsh panting of the man beside me, and I was suddenly aware of his hands around my wrist.

“Pay attention, Dominique.” His voice snapped me back to the god inside my head.

“What do you want?”

“You are progressing just as planned,” Bacchus said. “But something is growing within you, something I did not intend. And like a weed in the garden of life, it must be uprooted at once.”

“What the fuck are you—?”

“What is happening to you, child?” he cut me off. “What is this demon within your mind?”

I didn’t say anything, too stunned to even think. And then—

“What the actual fuck,” I deadpanned.

~O~O~O~

They were nearing a plaza when Arnie collapsed, a shocked expression falling on her face.

Ever since her episode at the Castel, she hadn’t spoken a single word. Her eyes were brown, blank orbs staring at nothing, her lips sealed shut as if sown together. Her hair was coming out of its bun, straggly curls framing her pale face.

The both of them had started off running as they rushed to escape the scene of the battle, with Ezio pulling at Arnie’s unmoving form. The woman had fallen to her knees, her eyes trained on the unmoving heap that was the sorceress. Ezio had gotten down beside Arnie, his hand gripping her arm:

“Arnetta, are you alright?” the assassin had asked. The woman beside him didn’t speak, but he saw her lips tremble. Distantly, the sounds of soldiers approaching pierced the still air, and Ezio cursed.

“Get up, we have to get out of here.”

While Ezio had made his way around the crowds milling about, he noticed the way the people’s eyes narrowed in suspicion as he passed by them. Some would whisper and point discretely towards the both of them, while others would stop and blatantly stare.

The assassin had rolled his eyes, shoving past those who would bar their way.

But now…

“Arnie!” Ezio shouted in surprise. He fell down beside her, a puddle soaking through the metal of his greaves. But when she didn’t speak, the assassin didn’t even hesitate as he scooped her up in his arms. He ran, his pace hurrying to a jog as the sound of soldiers grew nearer.

Ezio looked at her face again, watching as it slipped into its blank look once more. She was not the most beautiful woman Ezio has ever had the pleasure of meeting, but the image of her with eagle wings, vanquishing soldiers with a wave of her hand… Ezio couldn’t deny that she had been beautiful.

But she was beautiful the way a new blade was beautiful, the way it gleamed in the sunlight—the promise of the death it could unleash. She was beautiful in the way a rose was beautiful, a rose mounted upon a stem littered with a thousand thorns.

Ezio still couldn’t get the image out of his head: the explosion of white that shattered the golden dome and sent the black-robed strega flying to the opposite side of the square. Even from where they had been standing, Ezio had heard the crack! of her bones against the concrete wall.

Arnie’s eyes had been orbs of black and white, but he noticed the way the white eye seemed to fluctuate—it had grown dimmer, as if a storm cloud had begun to obscure the brightness of the eye. But the assassin saw it only for a brief moment. After the explosion, Arnie had fallen to her knees, the blank expression slipping on her face as the pupils of her eyes faded back into existence.

The assassin didn’t even want to think about what that meant.

They hadn’t even left the plaza when they were suddenly cornered, the vigilantes aiding them losing the battle against the armed Borgia militia.

“Cazzo!” Ezio spat as he turned on his heel. He cursed again when he realized that all the exits and alleyways were blocked. The assassin couldn’t carry Arnie up the nearby ladders—the soldiers would swarm them before they would even make it halfway up.

And then the vigilantes were lying dead in a pool of their own blood a few feet away, twisted faces their final death-masks. The assassin put Arnie down beside an empty stall and, unsheathing his sword with a snarl, began fending off the soldiers.

“Come on, bastardi! Come on!”

~O~O~O~

“You’re asking me?!” I felt my lips start to tremble. “You did this! You… You trapped me here. Because of you, I’m millions of miles—hundreds of years away from my home! Your Apple put that demon in me!”

Silence again. But when he spoke, his voice was cold… colder than anything I’ve ever felt before:

“Heed me well, mortal: we brought you here for a reason. I doubt it is beyond your comprehension, but do not let your ignorance and close-mindedness cloud your judgment. Time itself is on its way to becoming entropy incarnate. You are the Mystic, the one who will stop this from happening.

“We did not create the demon lurking within the shadows of your mind. That, mortal, is all your doing. Humans were created whole—not shattered or broken, but whole. The beast within you is of your make, borne of the fear and bloodlust you refuse to acknowledge.”

I couldn’t speak, but my brain—the part that yearned to understand—spoke for me:

“What fear?”

“You are under the illusion that you are always under the threat of losing control. You believe that you must always be under control. For should you let yourself fall victim to the very passions you hold dominion over, you would become something monstrous: a beast.

“You created something inside your mind—a manifestation. An entity. It is borne of this fear, given life not by the Apple, but by your own power.”

I did the mental equivalent of spluttering. “So what you’re saying is that the demon in my head… I did that?”

“You are powerful. You say your powers have limits. I say: it is limitless.”

I felt a heaviness leave me, and I knew the voice was gone.

Then like a door opened in my head, my mind’s eye was suddenly filled with myself—only I knew that it wasn’t me. Its skin was too white, its smile too malicious. Purple, web-like veins ran across its ivory skin. Its hair was like a thousand, writhing black snakes on its head. Pools of obsidian were where its eyes should have been.

I sighed mentally. “You were right.”

Kali laughed. “I told you so.”

I didn’t know what to do next. “So should we hug or—?”

And then Kali was rushing towards me. I barely had time to gasp when she jumped, her hands forcing my mouth open and stuffing her demonic body down my throat.

I opened my eyes.

~O~O~O~

Archers suddenly appeared on the rooftops surrounding the square, their crossbows aimed at the assassin as he stabbed and whirled, hacked and parried.

Ezio gritted his teeth as he readied a smoke bomb. Right now, getting away was their top priority. Reduce notoriety. Reestablish anonymity.

Ezio was just about to throw down the bomb when Arnie was suddenly beside him, her eyes glowing black and white, brighter than ever before. She did something that made his blood chill to the core:

She screamed.

It was a horrifying, demonic scream. Arnie’s mouth opened twice its normal size, her jaw seemingly unhinging from its socket. The scream itself was like the wail of an infant lowered a tenfold, layered with the sound of metal screeching.

The soldiers in front of the assassin fell down, their eyes rolling to the back of their heads as their hands dropped their weapons. Ragged screams burst from their lips as they clawed uselessly at their ears. When they fell down, hopefully merely unconscious, blood trickled out of their eyes, noses, and mouths.

The archers on the rooftops also dropped their crossbows in pain, but they did not collapse like their brethren on the ground. Ezio was already pointing his crossbow at the nearest soldier when Arnie held out her hands. Black spear-like appendages shot out of her fingertips and latched on to the men, two on each bolt.

The woman raised her hands, lifting the men into the air. Ezio saw their heads fly from side to side, spit frothing at their mouths. With sickening cracks, they grew limp in Arnie’s hold, blood mixing with the spit in their mouths. The soldiers broke their necks.

Ezio sheathed his crossbow. But just as he was about to turn to Arnie, she was already in front of him. Her brown eyes shone like polished mahogany, and Ezio smiled at that.

“Better?” he asked sarcastically. Arnie laughed lightly, and the assassin couldn’t deny that the sound was something beautiful.

“Yep,” she said, grinning.

~O~O~O~

Ezio put his fingers to his lips, and he whistled. The sound rolled off the mostly empty plaza, and a few seconds later a horse cantered out of nowhere, whinnying and ready for riding.

Oh, God, that sounded so wrong.

“Arnie.” the assassin called out as he hopped on the saddle. “Hop on!”

“Why?” I asked. “Aren’t there other horses I can ride?”

“Maybe I just want you on my lap,” Ezio said, his scarred mouth curving into a smirk. “Have you ever thought of that?”

My mouth literally fell open. Here was a guy—a tall, dark, sexy, Italian guy who was probably the most dangerous man in all of Italy… and he was flirting back! I’d flirted before, but no guy had ever flirted back. I mean… what the fuck was I supposed to next?

My face burned as I muttered:

“Bastardo.”

“Eh, you love me.” The assassin said nonchalantly as he pulled me up. I nestled in front of him, my fingers coming up to run through the stallion’s mane. Before I could stop myself, I rubbed up against the man behind me. Ezio sucked in a breath, and when I stared up at him, his shocked brown eyes reflected the wicked smirk on my lips.

“Ride, assassino.”

We rode for a while, the buildings towering around us shifting and changing. The sun was already starting to peek out of the clouds, which were awash in grey and red. The late afternoon air was getting chilly, and I leaned back into Ezio to get warm.

We hadn’t even reached the bridge leading to the Isola Tiberina when we stopped in behind a low building. Ezio carefully made his way down from the saddle, and I saw him adjust his breeches with a small clear of his throat. I giggled, and the assassin sent me a dark look before striding to the herald nearby. Realization dawned on me.

Riiiiiiight…

The pouch was already in the herald’s hands when I noticed a flash of red disappear around the corner. Curious, I urged the horse to a walk to get a closer look. The flash of red belonged to a man in a blue suit, his bearded face soaked in sweat as if he was a sinner in church. His eyes darted around as he walked past stalls and through crowds—it was then I noticed the piece of paper hurriedly rolled up and tucked into a pocket behind him.

A corrupt official, I realized. I didn’t even blink as I held up a hand. Slipping into my third Eye, I saw tendrils of Rage and Sorrow coalesce into a gleaming bolt of energy in my hand. It crackled with energy in the gray world of my Eye, but when I turned it off, it was like I was holding air.

With a smirk, I shot the bolt of invisible energy at the man. He didn’t even see it coming; one minute he was walking, and the next…

He was a frothing, bleeding, twitching mess on the ground within seconds.

Cue the screams.

And cue the—

“Arnie!”

Ezio was suddenly beside me, his eyes taking in the dead official on the other side of the—

“Did you do this?”

I nodded sheepishly. Ezio sighed.

“Well, it seems I have removed enough attention from myself. It is time to head back.”

Ezio jumped up and positioned himself behind me without another word. But before he could take the reigns from me (and before I could even think about it), I turned around and planted a small kiss on the man’s bearded cheek. Ezio’s eyes looked down on me with surprise, and I fought down the blush that threatened to bloom across my face.

“Thank you,” I said with a smile. Ezio’s face lit up with a smile of his own, and I felt Ezio give my shoulder an appreciative squeeze.

“Any time, Arnie.”

Chapter Text

Lady of the Little Eagles

O~O~O~O~O~O

“I could live without you.”

“And for some reason I can’t explain, I know Saint Peter won’t call my name.”

O~O~O~O~O~O

Chapter 22: Viva La Dilemma (part I)

“Ezio…” Caterina’s voice trailed off—her slumped posture showed her weariness, but the relief in her voice was obvious. But the assassin didn’t grace her with his usual charming smile; instead, his eyes were hard as he asked:

“Where is Machiavelli?”

Caterina’s eyes fell, and her voice was much more subdued when she answered: “I could not find him.”

La Volpe appeared from behind one of the pillars, and I could tell that he was irritated. “I brought the Contessa here.” His eyes scanned the room. “Where is Arnie?”

“I’m here.” I spoke up, stepping out of the shadow of the archway leading to the exit. The heads of everyone in the room shot up to look at me, and I gave a small wave.

“Hello, La Volpe.” I said, looking at the thief with a small smile. I nodded once to the woman being tended by the doctor. “Caterina.”

“Arnie,” she said. She hesitated, as if she was gathering courage. And then:

“Arnie, I—”

“Caterina.”

Machiavelli’s voice cut Caterina off mid-sentence, and I saw her take a deep breath to calm herself.

“Care to tell us where you have been?” the thief asked accusingly. I crossed my arms and leaned against the doorway, retreating back to the role of the observer.

Machiavelli sounded slightly confused when he answered: “Looking for Ezio.” He looked at said assassin, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. “What of Cesare and Rodrigo?”

“Cesare rode off before I could get close to him,” Ezio said, his eyes calculating as he stared into the scholar’s own. “And Rodrigo was somewhere else entirely.”

“That is odd,” Machiavelli said at length. “Rodrigo is usually at the Castello.”

“Very odd indeed.” La Volpe put his hand to his chin in thought, his eyes boring behind the philosopher’s back as he paced.

“What a waste,” Machiavelli said, his eyebrows scrunching together in annoyance. Then, remembering the recent prisoner Ezio had just rescued, the diplomat turned to look at Caterina. “No offense.”

“None taken.” She didn’t even bat an eye.

Ezio spared a sideways glance at the countess before directing his statement at Machiavelli: “With Cesare gone to Urbino, we must build our forces.”

“I thought we intended to strike now?” Machiavelli asked, the accusation in his words making his question harsher than intended.

“Impossible,” Caterina piped up from her seat. “Cesare commands a massive army in Romagna. You would never reach him.”

“I say we work here. In Roma.” Ezio’s voice spoke finality, but I could tell he was still trying to get Machiavelli’s approval on the matter. “Erode the Borgia’s influence while restoring our own. And, in fact, I want to begin right now.”

I pushed myself off the wall and started walking towards the assassin; my footsteps light as I tried to make myself as small as possible. I ended up standing beside him—his faithful shadow. Machiavelli’s eyes widened when he saw me lurking behind the assassin, but he barely had time to voice out his sentiment when Ezio was speaking again:

“Volpe, bring Bartolomeo and Claudia here. Machiavelli, meet me outside.”

Ezio began walking towards the exit, with me trailing behind him, when his eyes fell on the doctor patching up Caterina. “Take care of her.”

“What is she doing here?” Machiavelli asked as he followed. I saw his eyes narrow in scrutiny as he took in my new outfit and the blood and dirt that stained the fabric.

At the same time that I said: “Don’t worry, I’m going.” Ezio spoke: “She’s with me.”

“Wait, I am?”

“Where are you going?”

Awkward silence… and then:

“Yes, you are.” Ezio said quietly, and I was surprised when I felt myself blushing.

“Well, thank you, kind sir.” I said, trying to push away the genuine gratitude in my voice as I mock-curtseyed. “I’m not going far. I just need some air to clear my head.”

I made my way up the stairs leading to the rooftop exit with a “Holler if you need me!”

Before the door closed behind me, I heard Machiavelli ask Ezio: “‘Holler’?”

I stood on the roof for only a moment before, with a running start, jumping off the ledge.

Before I could stop it, a scream tore itself out of my throat despite the grin on my face. Heart pounding against my chest, I summoned the tendrils of energy surrounding the assassin’s hideout and willed them to me, fashioning them in the shape of wings. With an elated whoop, I spread them, letting an updraft carry me back into the heavens.

The sun had peeked out of its cloud cover, showering the buildings below me with its radiance. Up here, the air was cooler, but this time I didn’t mind. Still flying, I undid my hair from its bun and let it flow behind me, the black tail of a lethal predator of the skies.

I spread out my arms as I flew around the island and the Tiber, letting the wind play with my hair. I made sure to fly low and fast, so that no one would see the human attached to the wings. My speed sent droplets of water flying, and I giggled despite myself. In the reflection of the water, my wings were murky blobs of red and black. That made me stop.

Red and black...

I flew around the island again, stopping underneath a bridge. I lowered myself a few more feet… until the tip of my boot could just touch the water’s surface.

To be honest, until now, I don’t know what my wings had looked like. They could have been eagle wings… but I like to think that they had been phoenix wings—so I’m sticking with that.

Tendrils of Anger coalesced into ruby feathers layering the middle portion of a wing—it was the first thing I noticed because of the way it pulsed. It was like it was alive, pumping energy throughout the construct. Darker shades of red were darker shades of anger—malice and bloodlust and all that happy stuff. Maroon feathers fanned from the blood-red ones, making up the majority of the wing.

Black feathers, as black as Kali’s eyes, formed the outer layer of feathers. Dark emotions gave the construct its shape, the black tendrils forming the overall shape. Overall, the wings looked like that of a dark phoenix’s.

“Dark phoenix…” I murmured to myself.

But the sun chose that time to shine on the water, its rays making the crystalline surface explode into prisms of color. Despite the radiance, I could still see the dark wings sending ripples across the river. But something was glowing in the middle of the wings, something white and very, very bright.

“Oh my…” I gasped. There were white feathers hidden underneath the darkness, their glow casting the shadowed water beneath me in a halo of light. Even then, staring at the constructs that were keeping me aloft, I knew that these wings were something special. They meant something, even though I didn’t understand what that meaning was at the time.

I laughed at myself, the sound bouncing off the concrete of the bridge before zooming off and flying back to the sky.

When the crisp of the heavens surrounded me again, I decided to take a look around Roma.

Just my luck that the first thing I noticed was a woman being harassed by a group of soldiers.

“Woah, woah…” I muttered to myself as I lowered my altitude. The woman was dressed up in the garb of your regular, lower-class citizen. Her face didn’t stand out; she looked like someone that could blend in with a crowd without even trying. There was nothing distinguishable about her features—just your everyday, poverty-stricken, Roman citizen.

That made me sad for some reason.

By the time I landed on the rooftop of the building behind her, a guard already had a sword to her throat.

“Woah! I yelled from my perch. I crossed my arms, letting my wings dissipate into the ether. “What the fuck is going on here, gentlemen? Leave her alone!”

“Oh? And what are you going to do about it, puttana?” a soldier shouted from below me, sarcasm laced in his words. There were four of them in all, counting the one who held the woman at sword-point.

“Maybe she wants a turn too!” Another soldier yelled.

I actually laughed at that.

“I bet you all a sack of florins that I will be able to kill each and every one of you without you landing a single swipe at me.” I jumped down from the building, willing tendrils of invisible energy to carry me down gently.

The men’s eyes widened at that, but before they could say anything, I directed my next question at the woman: “Do you want in?”

“It would be my pleasure to see you put these men in their place,” she said. I laughed again at that. I saw the fear in their eyes as they unsheathed their swords, the way their blades trembled in their grips. The soldier holding the woman captive tightened his grip on his sword, and she winced.

“Drop the sword, bastardo.” I said unblinkingly, staring into the eyes of the woman’s captor. Sweat was dripping down his face, and I felt sorry for the woman he was holding captive.

“Make me,” he spat out. I saw his wrist tense, and I knew that he was about to slice that woman’s throat clean open—

“Okay.” Then I snapped my fingers. Immediately, the captor dropped his sword and began clutching at his chest, choked noises erupting from his throat.

“It’s the strega!” the soldier to my left screamed. I gave him a sideways glance before asking the woman:

“Are you hurt?”

“No. But I have been better,” she muttered, rubbing at her throat.

“Give me five minutes.” I held out my hands, willing Confusion and Fear to solidify as sparks purple energy.

“Scratch that: make it two.”

* * * *

“Are you really the strega these soldiers spoke of?”

The woman had settled down with her back against the cool stone facade of the building where I had landed a few minutes ago. She was clutching her sword close to her as she looked at me up and down. I didn’t pay her any mind as I sat down besides her, drawing my knees up to my chest. The bodies of the soldiers were safely stashed away behind the building, leaving us free to talk.

“Depends,” I replied. “What have they been talking about?”

“They had started taunting me with words,” the woman explained. “They let slip about the newest member of the Borgia clan, their newest ‘weapon’, a soldier had called her.”

“Her?”

The woman nodded. “Apparently, she had come from a distant land—farther than any map has ever charted… or so the guards said.

“The guards described her as a witch—a sorceress with the power to enslave the mind and shatter a man into pieces with a single look.” She gave me a pointed look, and I held up my hands.

“Hey, I did not shatter you.” I countered. “That counts for something.”

The woman was silent, her eyes narrowing as she stared at me. But eventually she said: “The guards described her the most powerful weapon the Borgia have ever crafted.”

“Well, I am not she.” I assured the woman. “I am a good strega… like Glinda from the Wizard of Oz.”

“Who is that?” the woman asked, her head tilting in confusion. I mentally face-palmed myself. I forgot. My pop culture references were useless here.

“Never mind.”

“Arnie!”

Both of our heads turned to catch the assassin making his way towards us. His eyes were narrowed, and his Hidden Blade was gleaming underneath his white robes.

“Hey, Ezio.” I said, giving him a small wave.

He stopped in front of us, and his head tilted in a way that made him look like a bloodhound sniffing the air. When he spoke, his voice was tense: “The air smells of blood.”

“The bodies are in the back,” I said. The assassin gave an exasperated sigh, but he nodded.

“You are the assassino!” the woman beside me said in shock. She scrambled to her feet, her eyes wide as she took in the man in front of her. She clasped her hands together and bowed her head. Her eyes flew to my own:

“You are friends with him?”

I hesitated in answering that. Ezio’s eyes bored into my own, and I gave a noncommittal shrug.

“More or less.”

“She saved me, messere,” the woman spoke up. Ezio focused on her, sheathing his blade. “She took down the guards who were harassing me.”

“The liberation of Roma has begun,” Ezio nodded.

The woman turned to face me. She bowed her head. “I still breathe thanks to you.” Her next words were directed at Ezio: “What skill I have is yours, if you will have me.”

I smiled and gave a small whoop. “What’s your name?”

“Emiliana Santi,” she answered. Her head was still bowed.

“I shall call you Emily,” I said. “And Emily, I believe I owe you a bag of florins.”

I opened my third Eye. Pushing aside Emily’s gasp, I grasped at the fading tendrils of Fear that lingered the square and used it to pick up the small bags of florins attached to the dead soldiers’ persons. They flew in the air, landing on my outstretched palm.

“Shall we divide the spoils?”

* * * *

After telling the woman to go to Isola Tiberina and find Machiavelli, Ezio whistled for a horse.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“To search for more recruits,” he answered. “Will you come with me?”

I grinned. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Ezio walked through the streets silently, his eyes scouring the citizens for any trace of discontent. I rode behind him, my hair back in its bun and my hood up. From time to time, I would switch on my third Eye to observe the tide of emotions swirl around us—see if there was something there.

There was the general discontent that oozed from the populace, but that was a result of the Borgia’s overall influence over Rome. There was nothing we could do about that right now.

While we were walking through a crowded avenue, a man sidled up beside Ezio’s horse. I thought he was just a part of the crowd around us, but something about him made me tense up. He was close… too close.

Before I could voice my concern, the man was already ripping the pouch of florins from Ezio’s side. Ezio gave a shout that said somewhere along the lines of “Hey! Give me back my money!” and began galloping after the thief.

“Ezio, wait!” I cried as I urged my horse into a gallop, too.

From way in front of us, the thief gave a terrified shriek and began running faster, shoving people out of the way. Ezio and I barely gave them any reprieve, knocking them down with our steeds as we pursued the bastard.

The thief stopped in front of a dead end, a low wall separating him from the river running behind him. Ezio dismounted and made to tackle the man, but he climbed onto the wall and jumped. Ezio righted himself and leaned over the wall. The thief was jumping on the thin poles jutting out of the water.

“Hey! Stop!” Ezio yelled as he jumped after the man. I stopped behind Ezio’s horse and dismounted, running to the low wall to see what was happening. The thief had already made it to the other side of the river, Ezio steadily making his way closer.

“Damn it!” I growled. I spied a ladder leaning against the building beside me, and I began to climb it. On the other side of the river, I heard the sound of a blade colliding with stone.

“Cazzo!” I heard Ezio spit out.

When I finally reached the top of the building, the thief was already on the rooftops, with Ezio running on the wooden terraces lining the shabby buildings. I saw him round a corner, and he was gone from my line of sight.

I gritted my teeth and quickly summoned wings. The air whipped around my clothes as I soared over the river easily and, landing on the building where the thief had been, I looked around.

We had ended up in the more decrepit part of Rome, the buildings around us falling into shambles. There were few people walking around here, and those that were had their heads down as if they didn’t want to be noticed.

There! Ezio and the thief had ended up in a mostly empty avenue, with the assassin hot on his heels.

I didn’t even have to wait. A few short minutes later, Ezio had the thief pinned to the ground.

I gave a sigh of relief. I floated down in an empty, isolated alley, and I let my wings dissipate into the ether.

“Catch him yet?” I asked when I walked out of the alley and into the empty avenue. The assassin was grinning triumphantly as he held up his pouch of florins.

“Si,” he answered smugly. I rolled my eyes, but it was then that I noticed the small pool of blood behind the building to my left, partially hidden by the shadow of a taller building.

“Ezio.” Something in my voice must have tipped Ezio off because he dropped his smile at once. I pointed towards the trail of blood, and the assassin turned. He inhaled sharply before striding towards it, unsheathing his Hidden Blade in the process.

I followed him. Once the man had reached the puddle, he crouched. The blood was still wet, and it trailed into an alley before turning a corner. The assassin began walking, his Blade at the ready. I trailed after him, taking care not to step on the trail.

When we reached the end of the trail, the first thing I noticed was the body of a blonde courtesan leaning against the wall, her stomach sliced clean open.

The ground dropped from under me, and I swear I felt my heart stop in my chest.

“No…”

“Who did this?” Ezio asked, the shock making his voice numb. There was another courtesan leaning over the dead one, her make-up messed up because of the tears. Her sobs were loud and painful to hear, but at Ezio’s question, she stood up and screamed brokenly:

“That monster, Malfatto!”

“Did you see him?” the assassin asked.

“That way!” the woman pointed. Ezio was off running before my brain could understand what had happened. The woman collapsed in front of her dead friend and began weeping again:

“Oh, Mina. I told you not to come out here…”

Her voice was barely there. But at her words, it was like coming up from underwater after being submerged for so too. I breathed in sharply and deeply.

“Her name was Mina?” I asked, my voice hoarse and broken.

The courtesan nodded, tears still streaming down her face. I got to my feet shakily, and laid a hand on the sobbing woman’s shoulder.

“I am so sorry,” I whispered. I meant it. “May she rest in peace.”

The woman didn’t stop crying, but I had had enough of the death of innocents. I drew my hand away and summoned wings. I took to the skies, and I didn’t have to look at my reflection to know that my wings were black, blacker than night.

I soared above the buildings, my heart pounding in my chest as my head whipped around, looking for this Malfatto. I spotted Ezio running below me, and I switched on my third Eye. His energy was a golden beacon even from so high up. I followed him from above, high enough that any guard looking up would mistake me for a raven or a crow.

I pulled back my hood. From so high up, I could see everything clearly a few miles away. Several blocks away, I spied a figure wreathed in black and red, lurking within shadows of the crumbling architecture. He mingled with the citizens, but his evil heart gave away his true intentions.

That must be him…

Fury made my fists clench. All around me, in the slate-gray world of my third Eye, black tendrils began to cloud my vision as my own emotions began to cloud my Sight. I turned it off, and with a scream that sounded almost like a long, drawn-out sob, I dove for him.

~O~O~O~

The man was in his sights, mingling with the crowds like he was a harmless doctor. Ezio gritted his teeth as he prowled closer.

The killer looked up at the sky, then he stumbled back with a terrified shout. He ran.

Confused, the assassin stopped and looked up.

At first, he didn’t understand what he was looking at: it looked like an eagle descending from the heavens. But it was too big to be an eagle… and an eagle’s wings didn’t look as though they had been woven from black fire.

And what was that thing in the middle? Its arms were outstretched diagonally, its fingers curled into deadly claws. Its hair was floating and writhing around its head like a thousand snakes. The flames of the firebird surrounding it mostly what the figure was wearing. But from what Ezio could tell, it wore… it wore—

It wore the clothes of an assassin.

“Arnetta,” Ezio gasped.

As she drew nearer, people began to look up and point. Whispers permeated the air around the assassin, and he snapped back to his senses when he heard the firebird that was Arnie screech, much like a demented eagle.

Her screech set off a chorus of screams from the crowd, the people scrambling out of the path of the beast.

“No!” Ezio yelled as he ran after Malfatto. The murderer had almost gotten away, disappearing behind a corner. But Arnie could still see him, as she rose above the buildings and flew ahead of Ezio, her ebony tail “feathers” trailing behind her.

Ezio pumped more energy into his legs. Once he rounded the corner, he came upon a dead end. Malfatto was trapped, surrounded by the crumbling facades of the buildings around him. He stared at the assassin a couple of feet away, his mask hiding the expression on his face. But Ezio didn’t need to see his face for him to know that the murderer was petrified with fear.

Another screech echoed around them. Large gusts of wind buffeted the alley, and then Arnie was in front of them. The firebird was gone, but Ezio saw the way her skin glowed red as if she had been dipped in the light of the setting sun—as red as blood newly shed.

“N-no, w-w-wait…” the killer behind the mask whimpered, but Arnie didn’t say anything. Ezio watched as the woman stalked closer, and the man fell on his knees. He whimpered, but the assassin noticed a hand that had begun straying to his pocket.

Arnie was a foot or two away… a short leap’s distance. Ezio saw the glint of the syringe as Malfatto readied it. But before he could warn Arnie or throw the knife he already had prepared, the killer was lunging, the syringe aimed at Arnie’s heart.

“NO!” Ezio yelled. He threw his knife, even though deep within him he knew that he had been too late.

Ezio watched in cold horror as the needle pierced Arnie’s chest. But shock replaced his horror when he saw the needle shatter upon impact, as if the woman’s clothes were made of metal, not cloth.

“So you like slicing whores open?” Arnie thundered. Malfatto was trembling now, and he turned his back on the woman as he began clawing at the unforgiving brick walls trapping him, screaming all the way.

Arnie didn’t even hesitate; she whipped out her arms, and large-scale versions of her hands shot out and grabbed the killer by the legs. They lifted him up and forced his legs apart, the killer screaming all the while.

“Let me kill you like one!” She screamed. Blades of red solidified around her, and she sent them flying towards the screaming man.

Ezio looked away.

Once the screaming stopped, Ezio looked up again: the tattered remains of the murderer was still held by the giant hands, his clothes and some parts of his skin hanging loose. Ezio felt vomit rise up from the back of his throat and, too surprised to stop it, he only managed to rush to a nearby empty barrel before his stomach contents made themselves known.

The assassin was shocked with himself. He, who had claimed the lives of numerous people, vomiting at the sight of… of—

The body looked like something left behind after a pack of dogs had had their fill. Ezio forced back the vomit that threatened to come over him again and got to his feet shakily. Arnie was on her knees in front of the body as well, and Ezio could hear her dry heaving.

The assassin made his way to the sensitive, and crouched down beside her. Tears were streaming down her face, and her hands were covering her mouth.

“You know what you have to do,” Ezio said, placing an arm around the woman’s shoulders. She was trembling, and at Ezio’s words she stiffened.

“I… I-I can’t,” she whispered. Ezio’s heart broke for her, and he pulled her to his chest. He spoke over her sobs:

“He must be laid to rest,” the assassin whispered into her hair. Arnie trembled against him, but he felt her take a deep breath. He released her, and he watched her stand up shakily. She took another deep breath; her lips shone red as blood.

Then with a shaking voice, she said:

“Che la morte ti dia la pace che cercavi. Requiescat in Pace.”

May death provide the peace you sought. Rest in peace.

Ezio stood up after that, his eyes boring into Arnie’s own brown orbs. They were hard now, the tears drying as determination fought back the disgust and sorrow she must be feeling in abundance at the moment.

“What a ruthless killer you are,” Ezio commented. There was a hint of sadness in his tone, and Arnie laughed at that. But like the assassin, her laugh was sad.

“Thank you.”

Chapter Text

Lady of the Little Eagles

O~O~O~O~O~O

“I feel like I could lose my mind.”

“I used to rule the world.”

O~O~O~O~O~O

Chapter 23: Viva La Dilemma (part II)

Ezio whistled for his horse and, once his stallion had arrived, mounted it.

“Are you coming?” he asked from atop his horse. I was still looking at the body—or, at what remained of Malfatto. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and shook my head.

“I… No,” I said. I looked up at the assassin; the man had look of understanding on his face, and I realized that Ezio must have felt the same way when he killed for the first time: this feeling of disgust and shame and guilt, all gift-wrapped in satisfaction.

There was no doubt that I enjoyed his death, but the disgust that welled within me—disgust at myself—was something I should have expected. But I didn’t.

I wasn’t a cold-blooded killer. I wasn’t Malfatto.

“I will meet you back at the headquarters,” I said. Ezio nodded, but just as he was about to ride away, I called out: “And Ezio?”

He reared his horse back to face me. I walked up to him and, using my powers to lift myself up, I wrapped my arms around him. The position was slightly awkward, with most of my front pushing up against his side and my face against the coarse fabric of his hood… but we made it work.

“Thank you again,” I said against the fabric. Ezio hugged me back, and I tightened my grip on him.

“You’re welcome.”

* * * *

The moment the horse was out of sight, I grew wings and I flew out of there like a bat out of Hell.

“Stupid! Stupid!” I yelled to myself. The sky was a brilliant gold now, the sun taking forever to set. I hated, hated, hated myself for letting myself get so carried away. What the fuck was wrong with me? That wasn’t me. That couldn’t be me—

I stopped myself right there. Yes. Yes, that had been me.

I froze, my wings flapping only to keep myself aloft. The air was gentle around me, but my mind was moving a million miles an hour, trying to hang on to the brilliant revelation that there is no other-me, there’s only one me in the whole, entire world. And I was the one who killed him.

Bacchus said that Kali was born of my fear of losing control. She had been an entity; a parasite that I made that ate away at my mind through my fear of losing control.

And here I thought that after deep-throating Kali I’d be through with this bullshit.

But that was just it, wasn’t it? I would always be under the threat of losing control. My fear wasn’t unwarranted.

So what changed?

Kali wasn’t a being anymore; there were no more mental pushes, no more voices whispering at me to let go and let everything burn. Kali was just a memory, a bad dream that I had chosen to bury under thoughts of you don’t exist anymore. You’re not real anymore.

Wasn’t she?

I gave a frustrated sigh.

But if Kali still existed, then maybe she had become nothing more than a name to a state of being; a name to an “alternate personality” that I would slip into under extreme emotional duress.

(Note: Malfatto)

Fuck. Now, I had multiple personality disorder. Wonderful.

“I feel so enlightened!” I cried sarcastically to myself. I let a self-deprecating chuckle escape me as I took off flying, allowing myself to get lost in the ocean of the clouds.

Looking back, I don’t deny that killing him had been a little satisfactory. Disgust, shame, and guilt were there, yeah…

But did he deserve it? Yes! Was his death too gory than what was appropriate? Probably.

I didn’t deny that. He deserved to die.

I sighed. If I were still in New York, I would have been thrown in the mental hospital first thing. Being psychic was one thing, but being psycho was another.

Words surfaced from the recesses of my memory. It was a picture I had seen on my Facebook wall (it seemed so long ago). A pale woman with long dark hair, a benign smile on her blood-red lips… but there had been something in her eyes: a spark of cold, hard madness.

Normal is an illusion. What is normal for the spider is chaos for the fly.

I sighed.

Oh, well… time to head back.

With the wind in my ears, I headed back to the general direction of Isola Tiberina.

The island was already beginning to spread out below me, the warm-colored cobblestone soaking in the sunlight, when I sensed something different. I switched on my third Eye; the air was still the same, still a shifting tapestry of black and white. But below me, a clear, stream of blue snaked through the charcoal landscape of my Sight.

The energy was familiar—clear, and pure. I drew it to me and, absorbing it, I shuddered. It was like a cool drink of water after a long day’s work. I hesitated for a second, but I eventually turned my back on the Tiber and began following the blue energy.

It led me to a nondescript building not too far away. The door was plain mahogany, no ornate carvings or fancy statuettes to indicate that a person of prestige lived there.

But the blue trail seeped through the cracks of the door, and before I could think about it further, I had already switched off my third Eye, lowered my hood, and knocked.

“Uno momento!” a voice called from behind the wood. I breathed in sharply, my fists closing around the fabric of my skirt reflexively.

No…

The door opened, and my eyes fell upon an old friend.

“L-Leonardo?”

He had let his beard grow out, and there were definitely more wrinkles on his face than the last I saw him. But he still had that twinkle in his eyes and that same brilliant smile. He was still Leonardo.

After a bone-crushing hug on my part and a few stray tears from both of ours, the artist took me by the hand and led me to a fireplace nearby. Two chairs sat facing the hearth, and we took our places next to each other. The mere notion of us sitting down in front of a fireplace, of facing each other with tired smiles and countless stories on the tips of our tongues… it was like nothing has changed.

I half-expected Leonardo to start asking questions about my origin and for me to answer laughingly because of the man’s open enthusiasm and curiosity.

“How are you in Roma, Arnie?” Leonardo asked. “How are you here… in front of me?”

His fingers were clasped together in thought, and his eyes were bright with curiosity, the promise of an unsolved mystery. If this were someone else, I would have crossed my arms and bowed my head to hide my face. But this was Leonardo… and even though I’d only been with the man for a few months before I was spirited away to Il Vaticano, it was like I had found something with this man.

I sighed.

“After my disappearance,” I explained. “I woke up in Ezio’s arms at Il Vaticano. He, along with his uncle Mario, had come to face the Pope and regained the Apple of Eden. We escaped the building, but guards surrounded us as soon as we stepped outside. That was the first time I used my powers in combat.”

As a demonstration, I held out my hand and focused Leonardo’s energy onto my palm. I willed it to manifest, and within moments I held an orb of white flame.

“Amazing!” exclaimed Leonardo as his eyes watched the tongues of fire dance on my fingertips. I grinned at him before snuffing them out.

“We rode back to Monteriggioni…” I started again. I told Leonardo everything, and it felt amazing to let the words—my stories flow out of my mouth. Sometimes, I would get carried away and I would describe a particular scene in detail, the feelings that had coursed through my veins. But I saw that Leonardo didn’t mind, and I couldn’t be any more thankful.

“Ezio described that after I lost control at the Castel, I had gone catatonic. He had to carry me halfway to Assassin headquarters before I could stand on my own again. And when I did, I wiped out an entire squad of Borgia soldiers first.

“But the weird thing was: my body may have been catatonic halfway to HQ, but my mind was active. I had been talking to someone, the one who put me here. He called himself Bacchus.”

“He must have been another god,” murmured Leonardo. “One of the likes of Minerva.”

“I guess so,” I hummed. “What about you, maestro? What brings you here?”

At that, Leonardo’s posture seemed to cave in on itself. His eyes grew hard and dark, and I resisted the urge to pull my chair closer to him.

“Not long after you left, soldiers stormed my shop in Venezia and took me under Cesare’s orders,” Leonardo explained. He rubbed at his wrists absently. “He forced me to create war machines, weapons that he would use to make all of Italia bow to the name of the Borgia. I refused at first. But…” Here, his hands trailed to his chest, and they gripped at the fabric there.

“But then he called her.”

“Her?”

Leonardo closed his eyes and took a deep breath, as if mentally preparing himself for what he was about to say.

“They had thrown me in a prison, waiting for me to break under the threat of starvation and dehydration.” Leonardo began. “But when she came in, I thought that my captors had decided that I was of no use to them after all, that they could let me go and none would be the wiser…

“She had warm brown eyes… like yours. She had long blonde hair, and she was dressed in finery, bedecked in expensive fabrics and jewelry as if she herself was royalty. I thought they had sent her to free me—" here, the artist shuddered, “—but she proved to be my worst tormentor yet.”

“What did she do?” I whispered, though I already had an idea.

“She… she toyed with me.” The maestro struggled to find the right words, and when I saw his hands begin to tremble, I was immediately at his feet, cupping his hand with my own.

“She…” Leonardo sighed shakily. “I felt pain—the worst kind of pain I could possibly imagine. It was as if she was shoving it down my throat. I—” the man’s grip tightened, and I suppressed a wince. He had gotten stronger than the last time we met.

“I felt pain… but there was also fear. Fear was a rope that coiled and knotted through my chest, squeezing at my heart. The anger I felt towards her became burning spikes of fire that she shot into my veins, filling me with liquid flames. Arnie… it was like she was using my own emotions against me.” The man choked, and I realized that tears were making his blue his eyes glassy.

“I… I didn’t even last three days.” I hugged the artist, and I felt a rush of relief when he hugged me back. He spoke against my shoulder. “There are no physical scars… but until today, I imagine that there are still hot spikes of anger being driven through me. Every morning, when I wake up, I have to keep telling myself over and over that she will not be returning to finish the job.”

I had nothing to say. This wasn’t exactly the type of thing you could just brush under the rug with a simple “I’m sorry” or “You’ll get through this”. Pain was pain, and whatever type it was, it still hurt… and no amount of flowery words or soothing songs would change the fact that Leonardo was hurting.

Quietly, I switched on my third Eye. Leonardo’s silhouette was a pillar of blue in the grey workshop. But scattered around his form were… they seemed to be holes, I guess? It was like there were missing chunks of him, pieces that were shorn off by that black-coat bitch.

I gritted my teeth. I rubbed the older man’s back soothingly as I concentrated on the missing pieces of his “heart.” I felt my own power surge through me, engulfing my vision in black and white. I willed the white tendrils around me to pour into the cracks, to fill it up with what had been lost.

Energy can’t be created nor destroyed. It can only be transformed.

Against me, I felt Leonardo’s breath hitch. He whispered: “What are you doing?”

I swallowed, and then I whispered back:

“I’m fixing you, Leonardo.”

Once the last crack was resealed, the man against me shuddered and gasped. He drew away from me. But a smile lit up his face. There was no change in his face—the wrinkles were still there, the same weary lines. But his eyes were brighter, his smile younger. I raised a hand and cupped his bearded face.

“You fixed me,” he whispered. I felt a small flush creeping up my face and I couldn’t help the small smile and the blush creeping up my face. I leaned in closer…

And then Leonardo pulled away.

You know that feeling when you raise your hand for a high-5 and you wait for someone to reciprocate, but then no one does and then you’re left hanging? You feel an empty something in your chest, and when people are like “Aww, you got left hanging!” you just laugh them off, completely disregarding that hollowness in your chest because you know you shouldn’t take shit like that to heart.

When he pulled away, I felt the familiar hollowness in my chest. And that was what weirded me out the most. I didn’t expect that hollow ache.

I blinked, and it was then I registered Leonardo’s shocked face, his blue eyes filled with sympathy and regret. I didn’t understand: what was with the sympathy—?

“This did not happen,” I said calmly as I pulled back, tucking back a strand of stray hair behind my ear. I stood up and made my way back to the chair a few feet away. I sat with my back ramrod straight, my legs crossed. I didn’t want to meet the artist’s gaze, so instead I chose to look at the wall behind him—the next best thing.

“Arnie, I apologize.” Leonardo said, and I could hear the pity dripping from his tone. “You are like a sister to me. I love you… but not like that.”

“Then who do you love?” I asked, my voice breaking at the last word. I cleared my throat and pretended to sneeze, giving me an excuse to dab at the tears beginning to blur my vision.

Leonardo looked into the fire, his eyes filling with hopeless longing. Everything came crashing down around me, my world falling apart to reveal the signs lost in plain sight—lost in translation.

The undying devotion… the bitterness at never visiting… the lingering touches…

“Ezio.”

His name rang through the room, and I saw the artist flinch in his seat. I took a deep breath and exhaled. This man’s love life was probably more doomed than mine—a twisted part of me hoped that that would be the case.

We sat in uncomfortable silence for a full minute. The only sounds permeating the atmosphere were the muted ambience of the crowds milling outside and the crackle of the fireplace. I stared at nothing, my own brain trying to comprehend what the fuck I had just done.

Five minutes and thirty-four seconds later, I felt a trickle of divine energy pervade the atmosphere. I switched to my third Eye, and I felt a rush of intense relief when I saw that Ezio’s golden energy was wafting dow from above us.

I stood up. “He is nearby,” I said, my voice sounding hollow even to my own ears. “We can meet up with him near Isola Tiberina.”

Leonardo was on his feet in an instant. “Va bene.” I nodded and fast-walked to the door, eager to get out of this god-forsaken place.

Wow. Minutes ago, this place had been a surprise sanctuary, a sweet repose in the eye of Hurricane Borgia. But now…

I wouldn’t be setting foot back in this place any time soon.

“And Arnie?” Leonardo asked, his voice small. I turned around sharply.

“Yes?”

“Are we going to be fine?”

I hesitated. No, we are not going to be fine. I wanted to say that to him, even though I didn’t know why. He never gave any sign that he loved me like that… I didn’t know what came over me. I didn’t know why I was hurting.

“I guess so.”

No, we won't.

Chapter Text

Lady of the Little Eagles

O~O~O~O~O~O

“You and I redefine being lovesick.”

“He fell in love with his best friend.”

O~O~O~O~O~O

Chapter 24: Why Fall

We met up with Ezio near one of the bridges leading to Tiber Island. After the two men hugged and caught up with one another (with me sitting awkwardly away to the side on the stone balustrade overlooking the river, my back to them), Leonardo explained what the Borgia had wanted from him:

“War machines,” the inventor said. “I have constructed weapons for all the Borgia guards and other terrible monstrosities besides. They are very well designed, Ezio. Here.” He handed the assassin a thick roll of parchment. “The names of the Templars overseeing their construction. Cesare intends to supply his army with my creations. You must dismantle them.”

“Grazie,” Ezio said, holding the roll of parchment up. “I will take care of the plans and the machines.”

“There is far graver news, I am afraid.” The artist’s demeanor changed significantly, his tone turning grim. I turned around, my eyebrows creased in confusion.

“They have the Apple.”

My jaw dropped in shock.

“Yes, I know.” Ezio replied in an equally grim tone. I spluttered. “I gave the Apple to Mario.”

“What?”

Both men turned to me. Leonardo had a surprised expression on his face while Ezio just raised an eyebrow. I jumped down from my perch on the wall and stood in front of the assassin.

“The Apple was with you?” I forced my tone to sound less harsh, but the accusation at that last part was hard to wipe away. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Should we have?” Ezio asked, confused. My eyes shot to him, expecting to find cold aloofness or something of the sort. But when I saw the genuine confusion in his eyes, I felt myself break even more.

He forgot…

“Home, Ezio,” I whispered, defeated. “I could’ve used it to find a way home.”

“Oh…” the assassin said, empathetic. I nodded, and I slumped down on a nearby bench.

“I am sorry,” Ezio added, as if an apology would compensate his forgetting of the promise he made me. I nodded again, though, too numb to do or say anything else. It was Leonardo who eventually spoke:

“I am sorry, too, friend.” I didn’t reply, didn’t even raise my head to look at him. I didn’t know why I was this way with the artist. He really didn’t give any indication that he was into me like that. If anything, his attraction to the assassin was way more obvious when I looked back over the time I’ve spent with him.

“Cesare left it in my hands to study, to make it work.” Leonardo was saying. “Then Rodrigo took it from me, I know not where.”

Ezio put away the paper and sat down beside me, placing a firm hand on my shoulder. “I will recover it in time.” He said to me, and then he turned to face the artist. “Leonardo, I have lost all the codex inventions you once fashioned for me.”

Leonardo was still looking at me—I could feel the weight of his gaze on me. I didn’t have to pick my brain too hard to guess that he was looking at Ezio’s hand on my shoulder. But at the assassin’s words, Leonardo hummed.

“Remaking them will be easy, I never forget a design, but you must compensate me for the raw material.”

Ezio’s hand didn’t leave my shoulder while he spoke. “Really?” the assassin said, a joking inflection in his words. “They are not paying you at il Vaticano?”

“Very… very little.” The artist walked towards the empty space beside us. “If we are to do this, we must appear to not meet at all.”

I lifted my eyes to look at the artist kneeling beside Ezio. He was drawing something on the stone bench… it was a hand pointing.

“A hand pointing?” Ezio voiced the unsaid question.

“It’s pointing to where you should sit.” Leonardo declared once he was done. He motioned over to the empty spot where the hand was pointing… which just so happened to be at my butt. “So, sit!”

“Yes, maestro.” The assassin stood up, his hand leaving my shoulder. I stopped myself from leaning towards the warmth of the man’s hand. But I stood up, too. I took a deep breath and tried to compose myself.

Bitch, this isn’t a Twilight novel. Get yourself together.

I want to say how my words of wisdom managed to shed some light on the weird fog that had settled on my brain. I want to say how I managed to shake off the lethargy that had begun to creep up on me ever since Leonardo pulled away from me.

But they didn’t. The words were empty, the force behind them just plain bogus.

Before I could think of anything else to say, I found myself announcing: “I’m going to leave you two alone now.” And before either men could say or do anything, I was already turning my back on them, willing my legs to walk away from them.

“Where are you going?” Ezio asked. I didn’t turn around, but I held up my hand and gave a noncommittal wave.

“The hideout!” I yelled over my shoulder. “Come get me when you’re going to go after Leo’s war machines!”

Before the crowd drew me away, I heard Ezio ask: “‘Leo’?”

I fell asleep in one of the chairs surrounding a map of Rome.

The night passed without any interruption, my sleep heavy as my body caught up with me after a physically and emotionally draining day. The table was hard and uncomfortable against my chest and arms, and though my mind would have probably kept me up all night, my body decided to take the wheel for a while and shut it out.

I eventually awoke to someone gently shaking my shoulder. I yawned and blinked away the sleepiness in my eyes to see Ezio sitting beside me, a glass of water in hand.

“Good morning,” Ezio murmured. I replied in kind, and the man offered me the glass. I drank it gratefully and put it aside. I used my fingers to undo the bun that had grown messy overnight and to comb it. Ezio watched me silently, his eyes following my fingers dancing through the tangled strands.

“Why did you leave yesterday, Arnie?” he asked. I stilled for a moment, the question bringing up the memory of yesterday—of me leaning closer for a kiss and Leonardo pulling away. But I continued, nonchalantly saying:

“I was tired. I needed to sleep.”

“But if you were tired, why did you not just say so?” the man countered. “You were never the type of woman who shied away from speaking her mind. So why did you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Arnetta.” Ezio’s voice took on a more serious tone, but I only crossed my arms. “What happened?”

“I tried to kiss him, okay?” I spat out, shame dripping off my words. Ezio blinked, and I rushed on before my brain could catch up to my tongue. “I tried to kiss him and he pulled away because he likes someone else—namely, you.”

Ezio blinked again. And then…

“What?” the man asked dumbly. Then it was my turn to blink, my brain finally catching up to what I had just said. I cleared my throat.

“He—um… I kissed him,” I started, but Ezio held up a hand.

“No, signora. I meant: what was that last part? About him liking me?”

“Oh, good God up above. Don’t tell me you don’t see it?” I deadpanned. “The lingering touches, his devotion to the assassino order that you serve… do you really believe that after all these years, his devotion to you stemmed from pure brotherly love?”

“Why, yes!” spluttered Ezio. “I would like to believe so!”

“Maybe at first,” I conceded, leaning back against the chair. “But when you left me with him at Venezia, he would sound bitter whenever I asked about your whereabouts. That should’ve been my first hint—”

“Bitter?” Ezio repeated, shocked at the word. I rolled my eyes.

“Yes, Ezio. Bitter. Keep up.”

“Well, give me a minute, Arnie.” The assassin held up a finger. “It is not everyday that you realize that your best friend is actually in love with you.”

I pursed my lips. There was nothing but silence in the room for about… a minute. And then I chuckled.

“What is so amusing?” Ezio asked. I covered my mouth to try and stop the belly-deep laughter from coming out, but I couldn’t help myself. After a moment, the man was chuckling, too—thought if it was because of me or if it was because of the entire situation in general, I didn’t know.

How the fuck did I get myself into this situation?

“Everything,” I admitted. The assassin rolled his eyes, but a fond smile was on his lips. “So, why did you come, Ezio?”

The assassin’s eyes sharpened, and his smile morphed into something more feral.

“It is time to destroy Leonardo’s war machines.”

“First, we must locate a Templar overseer of one of Leo’s machines,” Ezio instructed. “He will have a map showing the location of one of our friend’s contraptions.”

“Leo?” I repeated, amused. We were both on horseback, riding away from the cityscape and into the more rural parts of Rome. Our horses were galloping side by side, and at my question the man beside me sent an amused grin my way.

“It is much easier to pronounce,” he shrugged. I laughed.

We eventually ended up on a narrow cobblestone road that had blended with the grass surrounding it. A group of mercenaries were huddled nearby, their weapons raised and at the ready. The path crested into a grassy knoll before sloping downwards, giving us a view of the small group of Templar soldiers a little ways away.

“Wait here,” the assassin ordered before dismounting. He approached the mercenaries, a handful of coins in hand. I turned to look back at the Templars. There were actually two groups: one group was stationary while the other wandered the road leading away from the first group.

I wonder which group held the Templar overseer…

“He is with the moving faction,” Ezio suddenly appeared beside me. I nodded, my unsaid question answered. The assassin held up his hand in a silent command, and the mercenaries were suddenly swarming the Templar group.

“After you.” The man made a small sweeping gesture with his free hand, and I rolled my eyes.

“I’ll help the mercenari, you get the overseer?” I asked as I dismounted, though I already knew the answer. Nonetheless, the assassin nodded. I walked towards the fray, already seeing through my third Eye. The world faded into the charcoal sketch that was my Sight, and I held out my hands. The tendrils of energy obeyed swarming and compressing on my outstretched palms.

The mercenaries were doing wonderful jobs of distracting the soldiers while I concentrated. I focused the energy on my palms and, using my third Eye, aimed for the nearest soldiers. I held my hands out to one soldier for a moment, then pointed them to another… and then another… then another… until I had honed in on at least six men.

“Eat scatter shot, stronzi!” I yelled. Through my Sight, I saw my hands glow brighter before expelling thin beams of black and white. They passed through the two nearest soldiers, who collapsed. As the two beams passed through the two men, they split into four thinner laser-like rays, which honed in on the four other soldiers I had aimed for. With muffled groans, the six men fell unconscious.

“I have it!” I heard Ezio yell from somewhere. I carefully stepped over the unconscious forms of the soldiers, blowing away a stray strand of my hair that had fallen in my eyes. I circled around the remaining fighters and made my way to the assassin who was already mounting his horse.

“Where to?” I asked.

“Colli Albani,” the assassin replied as he urged his horse into a gallop. I followed suit, the sounds of the mercenaries’ victory echoing behind us.

* * * *

The cliff we were standing on gave us a good overview of the entire village. Somewhere down there, one of Leo’s inventions was being held by the Templars. Our task was to get it out and destroy it.

Should be as easy as pie…

“So what’s the plan?” I asked Ezio. He was silent, his sharp eyes scanning the landscape on where the blueprints might be.

“You distract the guards,” he said. His eyes narrowed, and I followed his line of sight. He was focusing his attention on a group of soldiers clustered near a low building. “Draw away as many as you can from the stronghold.”

I nodded. “Aye, aye, sir!” I gave a mock-salute and took off running, the wind blowing my hair back and messing up the bun I had fixed on the way here. At the last minute, I undid it completely and I jumped, summoning my phoenix wings to keep me airborne.

I circled the stronghold once before landing in front of the main gates. Two guards were stationed there, and both leveled their weapons at me the moment my wings dissipated.

“Strega!” they yelled. Two more groups of soldiers joined them, and then another… until there was about twenty soldiers whose weapons were all pointing towards me. I gulped.

I hope this works…

On our way here, I’d already started thinking of a way to divert the guards’ attention from Ezio (since I already had a feeling that the assassin would put me on distraction duty). Full-on combat sounded too risky, considering that there was a chance that I could accidentally draw on the emotions of bystanders. And from the few seconds I was in the air, I didn’t see any courtesan factions I could rely on to help me.

I closed my eyes and concentrated, drawing the curvaceous bodies, the revealing clothing, and the pretty faces of my fellow courtesans in my mind’s eye. I drew on the lustiness of these soldiers; their unspoken desire to get laid by a beautiful woman at the end of the day. I’ve learned from my time in Rome that almost all soldiers had this—this want to have sex with every courtesan they saw.

Horny bastards.

I spread my hands and raised them. Around me, red mist began to seep from the ground, swarming around a singular point—er, six points. Then, before my very eyes, they stretched and expanded. They grew arms and legs, the mist warping and shifting to form delicate fingers. Clothes grew from their bare skin: the sexy, revealing clothes of a courtesan.

I blinked. There were now six women beside me, three on each side. All of them had black hair, like mine, cascading down their backs in rivers of ebony. Their skin was pale… deathly pale, and their eyes glowed red.

But it seemed that the soldiers didn’t notice their vampiric qualities at all. Before I knew it, they were all dropping their weapons, the sharp clanging of metal hitting the pavement echoing around me. Through my third Eye, I saw curls of Lust emanating from the men. My constructs absorbed them, and the more they absorbed the more pleasing they became to the eyes of the beholder.

I switched off my Sight, and I was disgusted to note that the men surrounding me were beginning to sweat, the erection in their trousers painfully obvious.

With a wave of my hand, the whore-clones dispersed, drawing away at least five soldiers each. I willed them to take the soldiers out of sight, hide them and keep them distracted until Ezio blew up Leonardo’s machine.

I closed my eyes and focused on one of the clones. My mind’s eye was instantly filled with the face of the construct, but it was like I watching from beside it. I wasn’t there per se, but I saw everything that was happening to her: right now, she was in the middle of six soldiers, on her knees. Her eyes were half-closed and she sounded like she was choking on something—

Another clone was in between two men, her corset half-undone. A bearded man was licking a stripe down her neck and the other one was licking a trail down to her—

I’M STARTING TO REGRET THIS DECISION.

A construct was straddling a clean-shaven soldier, her hair in disarray and mouth half-open. Four other men surrounded the two of them, stroking their—

OH, DEAR GOD.

Another construct was on her hands and knees. Two men were on both ends, one in the front and one in the back. Both of them were moving rhythmically, their hips gyrating and pounding—

EWWWWWWWWWW…

The last two of my constructs had tagged together, entertaining both of their “catches” with one of them undressing the other. One man stepped forward and started kissing a clone, while the other construct worked on getting the brave soldier’s pants undone—

NOPE. I CAN’T.

I withdrew from their minds with a sharp gasp. I realized that I had begun sweating, and I shook my head to clear away the fog of vague arousal that had descended on it.

Explosions. The sound of wood and metal shattering. The sound of a door being thrown down and horses galloping.

“Arnie!” I heard the assassin yell.

“I’m coming!” I shouted back. Quickly, I willed my constructs to explode, channeling the lust they had drawn from the soldiers into a physical, repelling force. I didn’t wait to see if it had worked though, because once I had given my clones the command, I sprouted wings and took off after Ezio.

Somehow, the assassin had managed to find a horse and was now riding it towards the machine gun being carried away by two Templars.

“Stop them!” he yelled from below me. I nodded and flew ahead. Two soldiers, one of them steering the horses and the other operating the machine gun, manned the carriage. Ezio was right behind them, his steed galloping to catch up. The second soldier was firing at the assassin, and Ezio struggled to avoid being shot at.

I flew lower, just above the trees so that I could aim better. I realized that I wouldn’t be able to blast at the fleeing carriage from above without compromising Ezio’s safety—he could either be hit by the energy or his progress would be hindered by the aftereffects of the blasts.

Damn it!

With a grunt, I willed my wings to shift. I fell a few feet lower, the branches of the trees smacking me across the face on the way down, before my new energy “prostheses” solidified enough to hold me aloft.

“You’re not getting away!”

~O~O~O~

Ezio was riding as fast as he can, but he wasn’t getting any closer. Leonardo’s machine gun proved to be a dangerous weapon, firing continuously and without rest, leaving the assassin with no time to try and get closer.

“You’re not getting away!” a yell from above sounded. Ezio looked up, and his jaw dropped in shock.

“Dio mio…” he whispered.

Wings of flame no longer held up Arnetta’s body, rather there were now tentacles of black sprouting from her back. She was easily keeping up with the carriage, the thick tendrils of energy effortlessly alternating between swinging her body across the trees that dotted the road and twisting to avoid the bullets that were aiming for her form.

The rumble of wood falling snapped Ezio out of his reverie, and he swerved his horse to another route to avoid being buried underneath a pile of logs. There must be Templars on the lookout from above.

He urged his horse to move faster. Above him, Arnie was beginning to go on the offensive. With wild sweeps of her arms, she conjured bullets and spikes of white energy from the air around her and aimed for the carriage, effectively slowing them down.

The assassin belatedly realized that her goal wasn’t to destroy the machine gun; it was too slow it down enough that Ezio would be able to catch up.

With that realization, the assassin readied himself. The carriage was coming up close. Just a little bit more…

The sound of rumbling logs.

The assassin cursed. He dropped back into his saddle. But just before he could swerve away, a dome of white blocked the falling logs, giving Ezio’s steed enough time to gallop through.

“Go, assassino!” he heard Arnie scream from above.

The assassin nodded. “Hyah!” he urged his horse faster, eager to make up for the precious seconds he lost.

A few moments later, he was on the carriage, the bodies of the two soldiers manning it lost on the road behind him.

“Aquila!” he yelled. Not a moment later, the woman was behind him, panting. Her hood was up, but that did nothing to hide the gleam in her eye.

“Here!” Just then, the yelling of soldiers accompanied by the galloping of horses began to echo behind us. Those Templars just would not quit!

“Defense!” Ezio yelled. At the corner of his eye, he saw Arnie nod and stand behind him. The assassin urged the horses faster, eager to get out of there as fast as possible.

~O~O~O~

The carriage swayed dangerously, and I forced myself to push back the bile that was beginning to rise in my throat.

I concentrated, willing tendrils of energy to anchor me to the carriage like support cables. I looked down. Two steady streams of white sprouted from side, effectively holding me in place on the swaying carriage.

The Templars were gaining on us, red-plumed soldiers mounted on steeds. Their brandished weapons glinted in the midday sun. Without hesitation, I fired a blast of energy in the middle of the road with the force of a grenade, disabling three soldiers on horseback in one go.

Houses passed by beside us, and it was then that I noticed the flaming arrows being fired at us.

“Holy shit!” I cursed before erecting a barrier of crackling black energy around us. It encircled the machine gun and formed half a dome, covering the machine gun, the back of the driver, and myself.

Once the houses had been replaced by the countryside and the rock face of a towering mountain base, I detached the barrier of crackling energy from the carriage, leaving it in the middle of the road. Soldiers fell off their steeds in flashes of light like mosquitoes in a bug zapper. But approximately three minutes later, the barrier dissipated—my concentration not enough to sustain the construct at so far a distance.

Huh, well that’s a first.

“Ezio, let’s hurry this up!” I yelled to the assassin driving. “I’ll watch your back. Let’s blow this popsicle stand!”

“What?” the man yelled over his shoulder, confused. I face-palmed. I forgot.

“Let’s destroy this thing now!”

“Get out of there then!” I nodded and unlatched myself from the energy holding me in place. With a heavy grunt, I jumped over the red barrels lining the back of the carriage and onto a galloping horse. I turned back, and I saw Ezio disconnect the carriage from the horses.

I was about to shout when I realized that he was now balancing himself on the shaft that bound the steeds to the carriage. I rolled my eyes.

Show off.

“Il mondo è migliore senza di te,” I heard him say before shooting at the barrels. It exploded, and it took me a while to realize that those had been explosives.

… Oh.

Ezio and I stayed silent after that. We removed the shaft to reduce suspicion that these horses had been used to drive carriages. And we had to maneuver through the towns that had Templar sentries patrolling the rooftops so as not to attract suspicion, slowing down and speeding up when necessary.

It was on one such time; we had just put a mostly deserted village behind us when I realized something:

Aquila…

“Did you just call me an eagle?” I asked.

Ezio shrugged nonchalantly, but I saw the grin on his face. I rolled my eyes, but did nothing to hide the fond smile that was growing on my face.

“Well, you are!” I laughed, but I sobered up when I remembered something: this was something Leonardo wanted with Ezio—not with me. The artist wanted to spend time with Ezio, to make the assassino smile and laugh, to make him blush. And I knew that I should’ve felt sad for myself… but I didn’t.

I just felt sad for Leonardo.

“Ezio, what happens now with Leonardo?” I asked timidly. Vaguely, I felt the man tense beside me, and I winced, instantly regretting asking. But the assassin answered, to my surprise:

“I do not know, Arnie. I honestly do not know.”

He didn’t say anything else after that, the matter obviously much more sensitive than he let on. We rode on in silence. An idea popped into my head—something that would help me determine if Ezio loved Leonardo the same way the artist loved him, but I was hesitant in pursuing that train of thought. I didn’t know what I would find.

I didn’t know what I wanted to find.

My curiosity won out in the end. Slightly drawing away from the assassin, I turned on my third Eye and scanned the man’s tendrils, searching for that white passion—the divine emotion that was love. It didn’t have to be in abundance… just enough that there could still be a chance that Leonardo’s feelings for Ezio would be returned.

I didn’t find anything.

A strange hollowness welled up inside my chest—but this pain wasn’t for me. It was for the artist who was still holding onto the feeble hope that he and the assassin could still end up together, no matter how slim the odds.

I sighed sadly. And I didn’t speak anymore throughout the whole ride back.

Chapter Text

Lady of the Little Eagles

O~O~O~O~O~O

“I drown in your memory.”

“Oh, we’ll go where nobody knows with guns hidden under our petticoats.”

O~O~O~O~O~O

Chapter 25: A Thousand Miles of Chocolate

Pursuing Leonardo’s war machines took up most of the following weeks. Ezio refused to talk about Leonardo whenever I would try to bring the topic up, and I would always be left feeling just a little more hollow.

Fun fact before I enumerate the ways I helped Ezio with whooping Borgia ass: most of the time, I let my powers manifest physically. I did for two reasons: 1.) to up the intimidation factor and 2.) to show off.

What? I was a 24-year-old woman with the power to fight in a world dominated by corrupt men.

I wasn’t going to pass up my chance to whip it out.

Okay, so most of the time I’d help in assassinating the Templar overseers to gain the location of the weapons facilities, and then I would journey with Ezio to where they were kept. We went all over Italy for them: Napoli, Valnerina, and Monte Circeo. I would be the distraction—I’d lure as much guards as I could away from the hideout to make it easier for the assassin to swoop in and destroy the blueprints and the weapon.

I also helped Ezio speed things along in some parts of our journey: while we were in Napoli, I took out the guards while he went and destroyed the blueprints. I helped flood the dry dock to get the Naval War Machine up and floating. I aided the assassin in destroying Cesare’s ships from above, bombarding the archers and the sailors manning the cannons with beams and bolts of emotional energy to give Ezio enough time to burn the ships.

Oh! While we were in Monte Circeo, I helped defend the three mercenaries Ezio liberated to help work the Tank. While Ezio and the two men went underground to find the machine, I dealt with the soldiers who tried to follow them.

While we were escaping, and the men were maneuvering the Tank to destroy the others, I aided them from above, alternating between erecting barriers of energy around their Tank and taking out the soldiers aiming for them. I did as much as I could, but as much as possible I didn’t try shielding Ezio’s Tank from incoming cannonballs from other Tanks—I didn’t think I had enough strength for that yet.

And that time in Valnerina, I distracted the soldiers guarding the fortress leading to the Bomber—which was like Leonardo’s flying machine… only that this one was equipped with a light cannon. I also helped Ezio destroy the workshops dotting the valley by attacking the sentry towers stationed nearby. Once all of the soldiers were disposed of, I ignited the tower to give Ezio more air time.

All in all, we did pretty well. I didn’t lose control at all. If anything, I felt myself growing more composed, more sure of myself. It was like all of the doubts and the fears that once plagued me about Kali or about the monster that once lived within me were slowly fading away.

They were inside me, yes. They were a part of me, yes. But that was who I am. I just had to deal with it and not let it affect the person I wanted to become—someone capable of helping the Assassins stop the Templars from conquering Italy…

Or in other words, someone capable of kicking Templar ass.

I sat on a stool near the contessa, my head resting on my arms on the rough wood of the table in front of me. I let Ezio’s and Machiavelli’s words flow through my ears, not fully listening to the information they were exchanging. Beside me, Caterina was all poise and grace again, her hands tucked daintily on her lap while her broken foot was elevated on a cushioned stool.

“Bartolomeo sends his apologies,” a new voice rang. “The French have doubled their assault.”

I raised my head just in time to see La Volpe and Claudia strode into the room. I saw the way the younger Auditore’s eyes hardened at the sight of her brother, and I didn’t have to shift into my Second Sight to know that all she was feeling towards him at the moment was pure betrayal.

“Claudia.”

“Ezio.”

I could cut the tension in this room with a butter knife at those two words alone. I half-expected someone to pop out of the columns and say: “Oh, shit!”

I sighed and ducked my head again, content in using my ears to follow the thread of the briefing.

Ezio: “All right, I have a plan to deal with the Borgia.”

Machiavelli: We can either go after supplies or Cesare’s followers.

Ezio: My plan is to attack both. If we cut off his funds, Cesare will lose his army and return home without his men. So, I ask you, where does he get his money? Volpe?

La Volpe: Agostino Chigi is the Pope’s money-lender, but Cesare does business with someone else. As of now, all we know is that he is called “The Banker”.

Claudia: I know someone who owes the Banker money. Senator Egidio Troche comes in all the time and complains.

Ezio: Bene. I will follow up on that lead.

Machiavelli: French soldiers are guarding the road to the Castello. Once Cesare arrives, you will never get to him.

Ezio: (with conviction) I intend to kill the French general. With him dead, Bartolomeo will have the Frenchmen on the defensive and they will abandon their posts on the bridge.

Caterina: (pipes up) Even with those troops gone, the Papal Guard will continue to protect the inner gate.

 

I lifted my head at that. “Then let me at them. I’ll be ready this time.”

Everyone’s heads turned to me, their eyes displaying different emotions, ranging from annoyance (Machiavelli) to concern (Ezio and Claudia).

I sat up straighter and raised an eyebrow at them. “What? I’m getting better! I’ll wipe the floor with their asses.”

I meant it. I’d never felt so in control of my powers before. Bacchus was right. The only limits to my powers were the ones I imposed to myself. The sky’s the limit—maybe not even that. Imagination was key. And that was something I had a lot of.

Ezio nodded, seemingly satisfied with my confidence. I looked into the others’ eyes, daring them to say something against me. All were silent, and I gave an internal whoop of joy.

“But just in case signora Arnetta overexerts herself,” Volpe cut in. I nodded, not bothering with a reaction. I knew the importance of a back-up plan for something as huge as my “course of action”. Storming the gates of the Castel, surrounded by the Papal Guard and the Borgia militia… that almost sounded like a suicide plan.

“There is a side entrance. Lucrezia’s latest plaything, Pietro, has a key.”

“He was at the Castello,” Ezio recalled.

“Come see me later, I will have my thieves ascertain his location.”

* * * *

“Did you ever love him?”

My question broke the tense silence that had descended upon Caterina and me as I helped her hobble to the stables. The countess had been quiet beside me, and I had no desire to change that. But curiosity sparked my tongue.

The woman hesitated. Then she shook her head, plain as day. “No.”

I didn’t smile. I looked ahead and led her to the nearest ride-able horse.

“Ah, well…” I didn’t bother looking at her. Once she was settled on her saddle, I gave the horse a pat. “Off you go then, Miss Forli. Goodbye.”

“Arnie…!” she tried to call after me. But I wasn’t going to turn around. I’m not going to turn around. Don’t turn around. Keep walking. Don’t turn around.

I was near the door leading to the hideout when—

“Oof!” I coughed out when I bumped face-first into… into…

“What is the hurry, Arnie?” Ezio’s joking voice helped me get my bearings back.

“Caterina’s leaving,” I answered curtly before ducking behind the door. I shut it behind me, not wanting to hear the disbelief and hurt in the assassin’s voice when he sees Caterina leave and the inevitable mile-high wall that he’ll be placing up in his eyes—his heart.

And that was how the man found me a few minutes later; sitting on the chair where Caterina had been sitting with my knees drawn up. I heard the scrape of a stool being drawn up in front of me, and I lifted my head.

“Arnie?”

“Yeah?” I asked. I had drawn down my hood, letting my hair tumble down my back and my chest. The black locks were oily and clumping together. I internally winced.

“Why do you care so much?” It wasn’t an accusation. It was a question, plain and simple. I didn’t bother reading in between the lines because there weren’t any. I knew what he meant: Why did I care so much about his feelings for Caterina?

I was about to play dumb, to answer with an “I don’t know what you mean” even though I did.

But I could tell from Ezio’s eyes that he was done with games; he was getting too old for it. In his youth, he may have still cared about stuff like this (mind games, heart-up-your-sleeve bullshit)—I wouldn’t know.

But now, he had no time for it. There were better things to be done that to let his heart be trampled upon by the one he gave it to as she rode away on a steed leading to the horizon, far, far away.

“I don’t know,” I answered honestly. “I honestly don’t. Maybe it’s because I don’t like seeing people’s hearts getting broken.”

“But why?” Ezio chuckled. I was confused. “Unless the standards for beauty have changed in your time, you are quite beautiful, signora.” I flushed. “I am sure you have had no trouble getting a man in your bed… or yourself in his.”

I shook my head, an amused grin curling up my lips. “I was not lying that time at il Vaticano,” I said. “I am still a virgin. My time in the brothel has not changed that. I have been careful of my virtue. And even though I act like I know my way around a man’s flirtatious mannerisms, I have not had a boyfriend before.”

“‘Boyfriend’?” Ezio repeated, tilting his head in confusion.

“Umm…” I tapped my chin in thought. “I guess it is a milder term for ‘lover’ in your time.”

“You have never had a lover before?” Ezio raised an eyebrow in surprise. I slapped him playfully on the arm.

“Stop changing the subject!” I scolded jokingly. We both laughed, but I sobered first to answer his question:

“I care about what you’re feeling because I know that you’ve already gone through a lot.” I crossed my arms and stared at the hem of my skirt, determined not to meet Ezio’s eyes. “It’s hard to explain, but many of the people from my time have actually been watching over you for a while now.”

The assassin opened his mouth to speak, but I held up a finger to silence him.

“That’s not important,” I cut him off. “My point is that many of us have seen what you’ve gone through, have felt your pain. I care about what you’re feeling because you don’t deserve it. I warned Caterina to tell you earlier on that your attraction to her was one-sided. But she didn’t listen to me.”

My grip tightened on my arms. “I knew that when you persisted in rescuing her from the Castel, your heart was trying to reason with your brain, trying to find a compromise: you get the woman you love and, at the same time, you gain a valuable ally.”

Then I looked up at his eyes, his warm brown eyes that were now guarded by that mile-high wall I had been so afraid of seeing on him.

“But you knew that that wasn’t the case.”

I hesitated, and then…

“I wanted to spare you the unnecessary drama and heartache, no matter how small.” I confessed.

“I hope you realize now that you cannot really save me from anything,” Ezio said, his eyes twinkling with something… I didn’t know what. I unfolded my arms and leaned on them on my knees, my attention solely on his words.

“I cannot choose who I fall in love with, Arnie. I can only stop myself from letting myself fall too deep… which I did not do with Caterina.”

“But why?” I asked. “You knew that before anything else, she was a contessa. She had a duty to her people.”

“I was hoping that I would be the exception.” His voice was definitely smaller, as if ashamed.

“If you were in her shoes, wouldn’t you do the same thing she did?” I countered. “If your family were in danger, wouldn’t you do anything to save them? Even if that meant sleeping with someone?”

Ezio was silent. And I knew I hit a point. He didn’t speak much more after that, and we stewed in the loudest silence I’d ever heard before Ezio eventually got up. With a mutter about seeing to the Banker, he left the hideout without another word.

And still I sat, waiting for the minute when my feelings would stop turning my heart into a hurricane of confusion and heartache.

I entered the Rosa in Fiore, and was immediately assaulted with the smells of the brothel, of perfume and sex. But there was something significantly different about Claudia’s version of the brothel than Madonna Solari’s: this was cleaner… much more sanitary. Kudos to Claudia for making a den of iniquity look close to godliness!

Speaking of Claudia…

I went to the wooden counter beside the stairs leading to the rooms. “Claudia?”

“Ciao, Arnie!” she greeted with a smile. She put the quill she had been using down. A small ledger notebook was spread open in front of her.

“Did you need something?”

I hesitated, the words stopping in my throat. I would be putting a lot of risk in going through with this plan. The courtesans could be put in danger… or Ezio could get suspicious and try to stop me…

But there had been something about her eyes. They were so familiar when I first gazed into them… too familiar. And what was with that image? Two dream catchers wrapped around two chubby wrists.

I had to know more.

“Actually, yes. I have a favor I need to ask of you…”

* * * *

It took less than three days for Claudia to come back to me with information about the strega working under the Borgia.

“I am surprised, as well,” commented the Auditore as she sat down at the foot of my bed. My old bedroom hadn’t changed much save for the nicer wallpaper and that the air had stopped reeking of mold. Carmen’s bed was still next to mine, and I felt a pang of guilt when I realized I wouldn’t be able to say goodbye to her again.

I had taken the time to rest at my old bedroom, taking off my assassin’s garb to be washed and putting on my “ye old whore” outfit. Carmen was delighted to finally see me after so long. I used all of the free time she had to talk about my powers and my origins, about how I came from the future.

Questions about how I got here popped up, as I expected them to, but I answered them with an “I don’t know.” It was true. I didn’t know how I got here; I just knew that the Apple—or Bacchus—was the one that brought me here.

It was a half-truth at the least.

But asides from that, I had been happy to tell Carmen about how things worked in my time… about how technology worked and who the Kardashians were and how they got famous (that had taken a lot of speculating on my part since I didn’t really care about them enough to keep up).

“So what do you have?” I asked, crossing my legs on the significantly softer mattress than the one that I had when Madonna Solari was in charge.

“The citizens of Roma cower beneath her power,” Claudia said gravely. “Oh, Arnie… the stories I got from my girls alone!”

“But I don’t understand: if she has Rome under such a state of terror, why didn’t I hear—why am I not hearing whispers of her in the streets in my time working for Madonna Solari?”

“The guards,” Claudia said, disgusted. “The entirety of the Borgia militia had been paid double to execute any citizens on the spot who are caught whispering about the witch.”

“Harsh.”

“Indeed.” Claudia nodded severely. “They had her under many names: the Sorceress; the Borgia Serpent; the One Who Dwells Beneath Us—”

“Wait. Beneath us? Where does she live? The sewers?”

“Not exactly,” Claudia said, leaning forward. “Numerous catacombs run underneath Roma… almost like a second skin. The sewer entrances we use barely scratch the surface of it. I believe that there is something even deeper than the sewers.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Where did you learn all this?”

Claudia shrugged. “Running a brothel can get boring at times.”

“Boring?” I repeated incredulously. The woman gave a noncommittal wave of her hand.

“That does not matter. Are you going to go after her?”

The question hung in the air. Claudia was looking at me expectantly, and I honestly didn’t know what she wanted to hear. I knew that I was being stupid; that I shouldn’t risk my safety just because of a vaguely weird feeling I had when I stared into her eyes. I knew that I was going on a feeling in my gut at best.

But curiosity was a bitch.

“Yes, I am.”

A week later, I stood in front of a sewer entrance marked by an animal skull, still in my courtesan attire. I had to blend in with a nearby faction to distract the guard patrolling the paths near the Piramide Cestia. Claudia had told me that, with the help of La Volpe’s thieves, they had noticed several people break away from the crowds and make their way here, where they would drop down into the sewers, out of sight.

I gave the glass window a kick to see if it would budge… which it did. Another harder kick, and the window opened.

I took a deep breath. The smell of the sewer wafted up from below me, and I wrinkled my nose. I took a deep breath and crouched before the entrance, the animal skull now at my eye level. And before I could think about it further, I slid inside.

The chute was wide enough—and wet enough—for me to slide down without too much trouble, with my arms positioned across my chest as if going down a rather disgusting waterslide. But somewhere along the way, the walls beside me began to spread out wider; as if the body meant to be sliding down this part of the chute was meant to be in a horizontal position.

However, before I could delve deeper into that, the cement beneath me gave way, and with a choked scream, I fell on my ass hard.

“Ugh… fuuuck,” I groaned out. I sat in what seemed to be a dimly lit hallway, the walls surrounding me lined with narrow rectangular holes like where I had slid in. Something skittered out from the hole where I had come from when I slid down, landing in a dusty heap behind me.

I couldn’t stop the loud “Holy shit!” that burst from my mouth as I backed away until my back hit the wall—which wasn’t that far. The remains lay unmoving.

When I felt the jelly-ness begin to drain out of my legs, I forced myself to stand. The wall I was leaning back on also had a rectangular hole carved into it. I used it to support myself, but when my fingers brushed against something that definitely felt like a finger bone, I jumped away.

I stood in the middle of the hall, my knees quivering as I tried get myself together. At the far end of the corridor, a dim glow danced off the stone. I didn’t even hesitate: I began running.

And it was because of my lack of hesitation and caution that I didn’t notice the floor fall away beneath me.

The scream died in my throat, my mind falling into a state of panic when I felt myself fall victim to gravity. I tried to come up with a way to stop my fall—maybe summon cable-like constructs to anchor me to the surface or to hold me in place, or maybe a parachute-like construct that would slow my descent, anything—but all I came up with was static. I couldn’t concentrate.

I was going to die.

I closed my eyes… not to think, so that I wouldn’t see the spikes or the bones that I would be surrounded with when I reach the bottom if I didn’t die.

Oof!

I felt something wrap itself around my waist, stopping my descent. I was pulled at, and suddenly the air whistling past my ears changed direction. I found myself on cold, hard stone. A choked whimper burst from my lips, and I spread my hands to feel the unyielding stone beneath me.

Breathless laughter replaced the whimpering, and I opened my eyes to thank the one who saved me…

… only to stare into the piercing blue eyes of a wolf.

My laughter died on my lips, being replaced by a terrified shriek. The wolf raised its fist—

Wait, wolves have fists?

—and then punched my lights out.

* * * *

When I came to, everything was dark. But the first thing that registered in my mind was how my entire body hurt like a bitch. I groaned into the darkness.

“Finally,” a rough voice spoke. “I thought she would never wake.”

I gasped, my entire body coming alive at once—I felt the cold metal of the chair I had been placed on, the rough ropes binding my hands behind my back, the coarse fabric of the blindfold on my eyes.

“Speak, harlot,” a second voice growled out. “How did you come by the entrance to our Lair?”

My tongue was in knots. Opening my senses more, I could tell we were deeper underground, the stale air sending goosepimples racing up the exposed parts of my arms and back. My heart began pounding against my chest, and I forced myself to calm down and remember what I came here to do:

I came here to find out some answers.

“I have… spies everywhere.”

There was a round of rough laughter, and I swallowed the urge to whimper. It sucked that they blindfolded my eyes. My Sight was useless. I wouldn’t be able to see who would throw the first punch.

“Do you, now?” The first voice whispered from my right. His voice sent a shiver down my spine; there was something terrifyingly similar about his tone. It reminded me of that time a thief had broken into the brothel, the way he sounded when he licked my neck and whispered in my ear. I shivered, and I heard someone (or maybe there were more than one) chuckle darkly.

“Y-yes…” I stuttered. I cleared my throat. “And I came here to find answers.”

I felt someone’s nose rub against my neck, and I drew away from it with a choked scream.

“Where… Where can I find the Borgia Serpent?”

Silence as thick as death fell upon us. I forced myself to listen for them; to calm down my racing heart so that I could hear over the dread and panic that was threatening to drown me.

“What makes you think we know where she is?” the second voice spoke. All traces of dark amusement were gone, replaced by a sort of tenseness that was thick in the air. Panic was slowly ebbing away, replaced by a weird mixture of smug satisfaction and cold determination that began coursing through my veins.

“I’ve heard that she lives beneath Roma,” I said coolly. “You live in the sewers, you must have encountered her at some point… or at least her lair.”

Nothing but silence again. I felt my blood run cold. Something wasn’t right.

“You are right,” a third voice spoke from behind me. “We have encountered her.”

“Yes,” a fourth voice spoke, this time to my right—just how many of them were there? “The High Priestess. The Popess of the Wolves, She Who Will Rule All Nations as the Mother of Romulus. Mater Luporum.”

At the last title, everyone repeated it in reverence: “Mater Luporum.”

“She has commanded us to do one thing.” The second voice spoke. I heard the sound of metal being unsheathed, and I knew that they were about to kill me.

“And that is to kill anyone who gets in her way.” The first voice said. I swallowed. Footsteps grew closer, as silent and as deadly as a coming storm.

Time for Plan B:

“Well… Could you at least make this my last time?” I tried for a seductive-helpless-girl tone, fighting off the quiver in my voice. “I mean: that is the least you can do for a little whore like me, right?” I spread my legs as much as I could, trying to quell the disgust roiling within my stomach.

“Make it worth my while.” I whispered into the darkness.

There was a tense silence. But I didn’t have to wait long before the sound of a belt unbuckling caught my attention.

“Well,” the third voice trailed off, his rough voice giving way to an appreciative growl. I fought back the bile threatening to rise in my throat as I licked my lips, exaggerating the motion. “Who are we to deny you your last rites?”

“Oh, yes, signore.” I feigned moaning. I arched into the air, and I gasped when I felt the sudden warmth of a body push itself against my own.

More belts and clasps unbuckling. The body pushing against me grinded on me, and I renewed the fight to keep the nausea roiling within me down. The man’s dick was grinding against the fabric of my skirt, his hands on the armrests to support his frame. His tongue licked and nipped, and a whimper escaped me when he bit hard at the juncture between my neck and shoulder.

And then there were hands, roaming past my breasts and to my back. I slowly wrapped my legs around him and pushed myself even closer.

Wolf-whistles pierced and echoed around me. The man on top of me growled appreciatively again, his tongue licking a stripe down my neck. Before he could go any further, I moaned again and reached up to plant a sloppy kiss on what I assumed to be the man’s shoulder. He tasted like sweat and rust and like he hadn’t showered in decades. I shuddered, disgusted at the taste.

Nevertheless, I alternated between kissing and licking a trail up the man’s ear. When I reached it, I licked the shell and then blew on it. He shuddered against me, his cock twitching dangerously near my—

“Take off the blindfold, per favore,” I whispered. “I want to see you… all of you.”

The man’s hands didn’t even hesitate, deftly untying the blindfold before I could finish my sentence. The sudden brightness of the room blinded me, and I had to blink for a moment before the face of the man above me registered.

He was handsome in a brutish way, I supposed—with a bearded, square jaw and scars marring his face. A genuine moan escaped my mouth when his mouth went to sucking the exposed area above my breast, and I blushed. Now, was so not the time for my inner-whore to spread its legs… especially since they were going to kill me after...

That snapped me out of the lust-induced haze that had descended over my mind. Disguising my roaming eyes with nips and licks that I peppered his neck with; I saw that we were in an underground cathedral. Braziers and oil lamps casting the room in a bright, cool glow.

But when his hands went back to untying my corset, I found myself slipping into my third Eye. I gave a particularly hard bite at the man’s neck before licking another stripe to his ear. The taste of his skin barely registered this time as rage began boiling in my blood.

“Grazie, messere.” I whispered just as energy began to crackle and pop around me, my power manifesting as a sea of black and white. Before the wolf-men could even give a cry of alarm, I unleashed a wave of force that swept the surrounding men off their feet, including the man on top of me. I could see tendrils of Lust and Confusion surrounding me, and I willed them all to myself to form a nigh-impenetrable second skin.

“But know this: she may be Mater Luporum,” I growled to the stunned wolf-men, my voice rising to an indignant roar. “But I am Kali! Mater Perditionis!”

I am the Mother of Destruction.

They didn’t even have time to scream, my power immediately short-circuiting their brains. I willed the energy I wielded to manifest as bolts this time, charged flashes of white that honed in on their targets with a mere point of my finger.

There were six of them, with two men standing away from the main group, silently watching the show. But when I unleashed the wave of energy, they weren’t spared. Their bodies flew writhing in the air before hitting a stone column a couple of feet away. It collapsed on top of them, burying them in dust and cement.

The four others were in various states of undress, lying unmoving around me. All of them had their pants down, their hard cocks still twitching against their stomachs. Some of the had taken their upper garments off, their scarred, sculpted stomachs lying exposed in the chilly air… but all of them still wore their wolf-pelts, save for the man who had been above me. The head part of the wolf-pelt had been drawn down like a hood, exposing his neck and face. With a blush, I saw the hickeys I had left on his neck. Woops.

I concentrated on my hands, imagining the second skin coating them to be lined with razor-sharp thorns. Through my Second Sight, I saw the vestiges of emotional energy floating in the ether rush behind me. When I felt the pressure on my hands increase, I gave an experimental wiggle. The satisfying sound of a rope being sawed met my ears.

I moved my wrists more… until I felt the rope fall away. I stood up and rubbed at my wrists before stretching, my eyes taking in the spacious cathedral. It seemed to be under construction, with scaffoldings dotting the interior and hanging platforms elevated to various heights.

But I guessed that this was more of a camp than a construction site if the dying bonfire and the hanging laundry was anything to go by. Farther in, I saw two small stone “temples”, the second one larger than the first, cast flickering shadows on the marble. On the second “temple,” the larger and the one furthest away from me, a large cross towered into the gloom.

I made my way closer to the cross. It wasn’t made of wood, but of metal. Ornate symbols and scenes had been rusted down by time, but gems inlaid its base, gems that winked in the dim firelight. My eyes traced the cross until they caught wind of the torch lighting up a doorway near its tip. With a running start, I flew up to the opening.

I ended up in a circular room, a large pillar with an elaborate base looming above me. The room had multiple levels, with some sections of the asphalt completely falling away, leaving gaping holes in the middle of the level’s floor. The pillar also had “floors” in away, wooden platforms attached to its body that housed what seemed to be supplies.

A piercing howl broke the silence, making my pulse jump in fright and renewed anticipation. I knew the battle wasn’t over yet.

They appeared from behind the column, brandishing their knives. Above me, more footsteps ran on the stone floors, and I knew that I was trapped, surrounded.

“Hear us, oh Romulus!” a voice cried. “What must we do to this trespasser?”

“You could make like The Beatles and just ‘let it be’!” I said, though I knew it would be to no avail. The wolf-men halted in their advance, their knives held out in front of them as they lifted their noses to the air.

“You smell of one of our kin,” a man growled. He was part of the group that came from the pillar, his face obscured by the wolf-pelt. I readied myself, extending my arms and shifting into my third Eye.

“Yeah, I made him my bitch.” I shot back. I was met with several snarls, coming from the two groups surrounding me. “And I’m going to ask you what I asked them: where can I find the Borgia Serpent?”

“What makes you think we will answer to you, strega?” a voice from above answered. Several howls followed his quip, but I didn’t bother answering. Instead, I clapped my hands together, willing the energy to manifest as a shockwave of white that sent the ground faction flying back.

“Because I won’t hesitate wiping the floor with your assess if you don’t!”

The first thing I said when I stepped foot back at the brothel was:

“Claudia! I just came to drop something off for your brother!”

A voice answered from the floor above me: “Grazie, Arnie! Where are you going, now?”

I looked up at her and smiled, brushing a stray strand of hair away from my eyes as I dropped off the weird scroll behind the counter where Claudia was usually stationed. Ezio would know what to do with it.

“To the Castello! I will be meeting up with an old friend.”

Chapter Text

Lady of the Little Eagles

O~O~O~O~O~O

“Finally, I can see you crystal clear.”

“I took a sip from my devil’s cup.”

O~O~O~O~O~O

Chapter 26: Rolling in the Toxic Deep

According to the wolf-men, the Borgia Serpent—I’m sorry; the black-coat bitch—dwelled underneath the Castel Sant’Angelo, in its catacombs. Getting into the fortress was easy: I didn’t have to even bother trying to sneak in, cloaking myself with Grey energy to mask myself from the guards’ line of “sight.” I entered the Castel and made my way downstairs, the air growing chillier as the damp stone walls replaced the elegant interior of the Castello.

Down and deeper I went… I didn’t bother checking or figuring out how I even got to a floor; all I knew was that I had to get the bottommost level of the stronghold. Sometimes, I would shift into my third Eye to see if there were any vestiges of emotion left for me to trace back to a source.

Eventually, I ended up in front of a small, wooden door at the end of a long, narrow staircase. The walls were damp, with moss growing in the corners where the torchlight didn’t reach. I must’ve been under the river then. I took a deep breath to quell the sense of claustrophobia rising within me. Now wasn’t the time to panic—if the bitch was inside, I would only be giving her more ammo.

My hand crackled with energy as I opened the door, prepared to blast the witch unconscious if need be.

But the room was empty… and completely cramped. If this wasn’t the room of the bitchiest bitch up in this bitch, I would almost feel sorry for her: the walls were damp like the stairway outside, with narrow shelves layering the concrete which held candles in varying states of melt-age.

All were snuffed out save for the ones in the wall in front of me. They cast the room in a sad sort of glow, like the fading light you would see at the end of a long, dark tunnel… while you were still stuck in the middle.

A bed was to my immediate left, its damp sheets folded neatly on top of the pillow. There was a small desk pushed to the wall to my left, housing a neatly stacked pile of parchment and a quill. I grabbed a candle from the shelf above the table and lit it.

The papers looked like diary entries, with the latest entry being the paper on top. On top of it was a small dream catcher bracelet, its yellow color faded with time.

The dream catcher…

Something tugged at me from the recesses of my mind. It was the same picture I got when I first looked into the eyes of the witch: two children wearing dream catcher bracelets—one topaz yellow and the other emerald green.

Who is she?

I shook my head and moved the bracelet aside, lifting up a piece of paper to the light so that I could read the writing. It was written in English, much to my surprise. The handwriting was sharp and precise, and just from reading the lines I felt the cold fury ingrained within every stroke and point.

“June 30, 1501:

I encountered her again, the witch of the Assassin Order. She has grown stronger—much stronger. Cesare will not be pleased when he realizes that we are of equal strength now, with her managing to absorb vestiges of the Apple’s power from the Auditore bastard. I must find where that pig of a Pope hid the Apple so that maybe I, too, may grow in strength.

Divine energy amplified her strength tenfold; the manifestations of her energy absorbed the vestiges of power from the Apple imbued within the assassin. If she has the ability to manifest her powers and isolate a specific emotion—thus giving the tendrils she utilizes a distinct color—then she has grown more powerful indeed.

The mastery she possessed of her abilities surprised me, caught me off-guard. She can now create constructs out of her energy instead of just beams and bolts. I should have seen that coming; even from when we were children she was the one who understood things faster, clearer. Her aptitude for the supernatural has never failed her before. Why should this differ?”

Then something weird happened… the handwriting changed. The harsh strokes were replaced by elegant curves and loops. My eyebrows furrowed in confusion. But I continued reading:

“Arnie has grown so much from the last time we met. She’s even managed to get a makeover! Seeing her confident enough to fight for the Auditore assassin sends a rush of pride and loss through me. She has grown and lost so much, just like I had lost much when I was summoned here all those years ago. I hope she remembers me, but I doubt it. We have not seen each other since we were kids, when I was taken away from her by a family who didn’t want a broken girl.”

What the hell…

“She called me Carmen when we fought aboveground. I do not blame her, though. I have seen this Carmen that she has assumed me for. We do look a lot alike… almost twins. But she is not I. And I am not her.”

I let out a breath I didn’t know I had been holding.

“I hold the dream catcher in my hands in the dead of night to lose myself in the memories imbued within them. The pictures that flow through my mind are well worn, but clear all the same.

“I miss the times from when we were little, when we would play at the park near our house. I liked the slide and Arnie liked the swings. Our mother would push her high, and Arnie would laugh and I would clap and laugh too because she looked like she had wings.”

The sorrow was almost palpable. And despite the confusion making the very words on the paper seem blurry and disjointed the melancholy was genuine. I didn’t have to understand why the words were sad. They just were.

“But this was before our father died in the army, before our mother became a drunk and a whore and left us alone, alone, alone…

“I continue to ask myself: Will I ever get home? I continue to hold up hope that someday I will.

“I will not kill Arnie, I will find her and we will get out of this era together. We will be like sisters again, like we were never apart. I will fight the darkness within me—this horrid beast of destruction… until the very end. I fail more often than not… but I don’t stop struggling. I will not give in to it. I will not.”

I flip the paper in a numb sort of shock. And I see that, at the back, one line managed to fill up the entire page.

My name is Arianna Joy.

Arianna Joy…

My name is Arianna Joy. My name is Arianna Joy. My name is Arianna Joy. My name is Arianna Joy. My name is Arianna Joy. My name is Arianna Joy. My name is Arianna Joy. My name is Arianna Joy. My name is Arianna Joy. My name is Arianna Joy. My name is Arianna Joy. My name is Arianna Joy. My name is Arianna Joy. My name is Arianna Joy. My name is Arianna Joy. My name is Arianna Joy. My name is Arianna Joy. My name is Arianna Joy. My name is Arianna Joy. My name is Arianna Joy. My name is Arianna Joy. My name is Arianna Joy.

My name is Arianna Joy.

My name is Arianna Joy.

My name is Arianna Joy.

My name is Arianna Joy—

I slammed the paper back down on the table. It was like her voice was whispering the name in my ear, a broken record hissing out its death throes. I imagined what her real voice must have sounded like, before it deteriorated into the broken, twisted husk that it was now…

A door slamming; its sound loud and resounding, making me jump—

Footsteps, echoing down the stairwell.

I gasped, slamming the door to the bedroom with my powers before I could think twice. The footsteps halted, and I felt my heart begin to pound in my chest. Then footsteps again, but they sounded slower this time. The bitch—Arianna was taking her time… she knew that I there was no escape.

In desperation, I switched on my third Eye. The damp, dark room darkened even further. The slate-grey world was devoid of any vestiges of emotion save for the dream catcher (which glowed a brilliant white) and the pieces of parchment (which was encased in a cosmos of black and white tendrils).

I looked around, trying and failing to quell the panic rising within me. I looked for any hint—anything to show another pathway out—

Except for the wall.

There! The wall to the left of table! A brick glowed in the darkness, its material encased in tendrils of black and white, as if the person who had been “using” it was almost always in a heightened state of emotion while doing so.

I rushed towards it, my hands feeling for the brick. When my hand was on top of it, I pushed inwards.

A clicking sound broke the tense silence that had fallen upon me. With renewed hope, I readied myself to make a run for it as the wall sank out of sight. The hallway behind the hidden door wasn’t lit at all. The only light source came from the end of the tunnel; pouring in numerous, thin slits. They highlighted a set of damp, stone steps leading upwards.

Hesitantly, I took a step forward: the floor was wet, and I’m guessing the walls must be wet, too, even damper than the room where my sister lived.

My sister…

I was snapped out of that train of thought when the wooden door leading to the room exploded. I didn’t look back anymore. I ran, my feet barely touching the damp ground as I flew across the hallway. Claustrophobia be damned.

An animalistic roar shook the walls and, with my third Eye on, I looked back: a flood of darkness was rushing towards me, a crackling torrent of energy that flooded my vision with black. It was alive, almost… and it was filled with malice.

With a desperate shriek, I summoned wings once I reached the foot of the stairs, choosing instead to fly to the top like the devil was on my heels. The thin strips of light came from a closed sewer lid; the rusted metal the only thing keeping me from the safety of the outside.

I blasted it open.

Light poured in like a river of… well, light. It was a solid column of radiance and warmth. I felt my wings shift behind me, and I took a deep breath, thinking the worst was behind me.

And then Life chose that moment to be like: “LOL, one sec.”

The ground shook beneath me, and I gave an obnoxious squawk before flying away from the sewer entrance. The quake wasn’t enough to make the buildings collapse, but it was enough to shatter windows and make the surrounding food stalls give way. The people of Roma weren’t as lucky as I was, with many of them falling to their knees and falling victim to shrapnel and debris that rained down from the surrounding buildings.

I flew away just in time, apparently… because immediately, a pillar of darkness shot up from the ground and into the skies. Black clouds began surrounding the column, and they spread like an airborne disease, sucking away the warmth from the surrounding area.

I jumped when I heard thunder boom. Red lightning veined the skies, and I sucked in a breath.

“Strega!” a demonic voice roared from beneath the sewers.

I briefly considered staying to try and stop Arianna, here and now. But panic and fear were strong in my heart and mind, all bow-tied in confusion and the shock that I was still reeling from the fact that the black-coat bitch was actually my sister.

I knew that if I stayed, I’d be swatted down like a fly.

Another roar. Something rose out of the hole, something even darker—if that was even possible. Dropping my wings, I merged with the people of Rome as we became an ocean of ants, fleeing the might of the deluge.

* * * *

By the time I reached the Rosa in Fiore, I was a panting, sweaty mess. My feet were blistered, mud splattering my skirt, my hair falling out of its bun, and my make-up completely destroyed.

I didn’t bother trying with the front door, running instead to the back and flying up to the balcony leading to Claudia’s office. I opened the doors with a bang and stumbled inside. The last thing I remembered was the sound of a woman screaming. Someone shook me, but the darkness behind my eyelids won over all of them, pulling me into unconsciousness.

When I came to, the first thing I saw was a familiar pair of auburn eyes.

“How are you feeling?” Claudia asked, her fingers ghosting across my forehead. I felt them card through my hair, and I sighed at the feeling.

“Like hell,” I groaned out. My entire body ached as if I had done a whole round of cardio. And I don’t do cardio. Ever. I run every morning, but I do not work out nor do I diet. If I wanted a burger, bitch, I’d eat a burger. If I wanted French fries, bitch, I’d get French fries.

“What happened?” She didn’t stop her ministrations, and I felt the tension leak out of my body as I recounted my excursion to the wolf-men’s lair, which eventually led me to Arianna’s room underneath the Castel. Claudia gasped at all the right places, and her eyebrows would furrow in confusion when something weird would crop up. But she would only purse her lips, saving her questions for later.

While I was telling my story, I noticed that I was in my old room. I was freshly bathed and had been changed into a fresh set of a courtesan’s clothes. When I finished my tale, Claudia was silent.

“Incredible…” she breathed silently. I nodded sadly.

“A sister…” I trailed off. “But you know what’s really weird? I don’t remember her face. I don’t remember how her voice sounded like, what we liked to do… you’d think as the older sister, I would at least remember the color of her hair. But I don’t!”

Guilt pressed down on me, and the words flowed from my lips like the hot tears that had begun to stream down my cheeks: “I didn’t even try looking for her, didn’t even try looking up her name in the phonebook. I…oh, God…”

I hated myself. All this time, I tried to make up excuses for not looking for her: she’s probably busy. She probably doesn’t remember me. She probably doesn’t want to remember me.

Probably. Probably. Probably…

I didn’t realize that I had been clenching my fists until Claudia’s own palms were on my shaking hands. They were clenching the fabric of my skirt, and her voice urged me to breathe. I realized that I was hiccupping, my words coming in stutters and painful breaths:

“I hate myself. She hates me. She must hate me so much. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry… I’m sorry. I loved her. I loved her. I loved her. I’m sorry. I’m sorry…”

I didn’t eve know what I was apologizing for: not looking for Arianna in the past or making excuses to myself that I shouldn’t go look for her.

There was nothing but the sound of my sobbing in the room, a sorrowful ambience in the world that was slowly falling apart around me. But the sound of crashing and of girls screaming shattered the silence. Both of our eyes—Claudia’s gentle ones and my bloodshot ones—widened.

We didn’t speak any more, both of us bolting out of the room and into the foyer, where a group of soldiers and wolf-men were driving away the clientele and terrorizing the courtesans.

“Who runs this whorehouse?” a soldier yelled. The frightened women they had backed into a corner, both literally and figuratively, only whimpered.

“What is the meaning of this?” Claudia barked, her eyes hard and sharp as they darted from one helmeted face to another. “How dare you—”

“Don’t lecture us, puttana,” a soldier cut her off. The men turned their back on the courtesans, who took the chance to flee the inevitable confrontation. My eyes took in the wolf-men ringing the soldiers. But I noticed that they were slowly but surely moving away from the soldiers exchanging barbs with Claudia, their hands straying to their sheathed daggers.

“Why are these mutts here?” I asked, cutting off Claudia’s “conversation” with the guards. My voice was stead, but from the amused smirks the soldiers sent my way it was obvious that they knew I had been crying.

“They said they have business to settle with a certain courtesan whom they caught wandering their halls.”

A wolf-man howled at his words, and his companions followed his cry. I gritted my teeth.

“You’re looking at her,” I yelled over their howls. I readied myself. “What are you going to do about it?”

A wolf-man chuckled, the one who howled first. “Why, kill you, of course.”

I felt my blood run cold. There was something frightening about hearing, as plain as day, that someone wanted you dead. I bit my lip, trying to stem the hysterical laughter that threatened to bubble out of me. I racked my brain for something to say, but the only thing that came up was—

“Be warned,” I said, my voice still coarse from sobbing. I switched to my third Eye. “I’ve wrestled crocodiles and dingoes simultaneously.”

My Australian accent sucked balls, but the statement was enough to make several of the men suck in sharp breaths. Claudia looked at me strangely, her fine eyebrows rising into her hairline. I shrugged.

“What? It’s the best thing I can come up with…” I said, letting the sentence trail off as I fired a bolt of energy at the nearest wolf-man.

We made surprisingly quick work of the men, with Claudia expertly brandishing a dagger she had stashed behind the counter. The wolf-men fell under my barrage of energy with piercing howls while the soldiers fell under Claudia’s blade, their blood splattering and pooling beneath their fallen bodies. By the time we finished, my tears had dried up.

“Since when did you learn to wield a knife?” I asked once I caught my breath. It was Claudia’s turn to shrug.

“Running a brothel can get boring at times.” I narrowed my eyes.

“You said that—”

“Claudia!”

Ezio burst through the door, his eyes immediately zeroing in on the both of us. But then his gaze dropped to the blood-splattered floor, then to the unmoving forms of the soldiers and the wolf-men.

“What?” Claudia said, a sly grin on her face. I crossed my arms and alternated between looking at the smug look on the woman’s face and Ezio’s dumbstruck look of pride.

“My sister knows how to wield a knife,” Ezio said with approval, sauntering towards the both of us.

“And I am willing to do it again,” Claudia answered, her eyes shining with hard determination. I grinned, and Ezio nodded, a smile breaking out on his face.

“Spoken like a true Auditore.”

“Finally,” a woman’s voice spoke from behind me. “You two came to your senses!”

Maria Auditore came out from nowhere, her movements graceful and pristine. I jumped at her voice, raising an eyebrow when she stopped beside me.

“It’s about time!” she said. But once the shock of her sudden appearance wore off, I nodded.

“Damn straight,” I rolled my eyes. But the smile was wide on my face, and Maria placed a motherly hand on my shoulder. Both of us grinned at the two Auditore children who were now hugging, the younger sister’s head buried in her big brother’s shoulder. My heart lurched at the sight.

Oh, Arianna…

After saying our goodbyes to Claudia (Carmen was nowhere to be seen), Ezio and I made our way to the Caserma di Alviano, mercenary HQ. Carmen’s absence ate at me for some reason, uneasiness making my stomach roil. But I tamped it down. Carmen was a walker; she must have been patrolling today.

The gates were open, and a lone figure was pacing in front of the towering building, a very long sword in hand.

As we approached, the man whirled around, pointing the sword at us. I involuntarily took a step back.

“Who goes there?” he barked gruffly.

“Salve to you, too.” Ezio held up a hand, an amused grin on his face.

“Ezio! Arnie!” Bartolomeo cried, drawing his sword and spreading his arms wide, a grin on his face. Behind him, two mercenaries limped towards the barracks. “I was expecting my wife.”

“Somehow, that does not surprise me.” Ezio remarked drily as the mercenary leader made his way towards us, sheathing his sword in the process. I moved back and leaned against the warm stone, giving the men their space. My eyes roamed the barracks, and it was then I noticed the mercenaries huddled against the shadow of the building, nursing their wounds. No wonder I didn’t notice them at first glance.

Bartolomeo: The French puttane have us under pressure.

Ezio:  Tell me about their general, this Baron de Valois?

Bartolomeo: Cesare persuaded King Louis to lend him an entire army to defeat me. I’m flattered.

Ezio: Where can I find him?

Bartolomeo: It’s only a matter of time before I have Valois by the throat. We have them in retreat—

A bullet hit the wall behind Ezio, spraying dust and cement. Instinctively, I threw up a shield of white around the two men and myself, praying that I was strong enough to stop something as fast and as dangerous as a shower of bullets.

Ezio: Thank you, Arnie. Bartolomeo, they seem to be getting closer.

Bartolomeo: (waves hand in dismissal) They situation is under control.

Just as he said that, I noticed the soldiers surging up the hill towards us. I draw down the shield.

“Uh… guys?” I called out. The two men turned around, and Ezio raised an eyebrow at the approaching army. A mercenary called out:

“Close the gates!”

“Bene. So maybe I could use a little help.” Bartolomeo shrugged as he ran back inside. Ezio rolled his eyes and followed while I brought up the rear, sending a wave of black energy at the oncoming surge to slow them down.

Behind me, Ezio rushed to the nearest crank and pulled at it. I crossed the threshold just as the gates closed, the wooden bars falling back into place.

There were two more open gates, and Ezio ran towards the next one, maneuvering around mercenaries and French soldiers fighting to the death. Just as he reached the crank, four French soldiers broke away from their opponents and chased the assassin.

My third Eye was assaulted with black and white and fifty shades of grey (oh yes, pun intended) as I summoned the tendrils to my arms to form tentacle-like prostheses. With a battle cry that was probably the result of adrenaline (because there was no way in hell that I would actually do a “For Narnia!”), I sent the soldiers flying with a wave of my tentacle.

“Ezio, go!” I yelled at the stunned man. He nodded and went back to the crank. Three more soldiers caught wind of the assassin, and they charged towards him. I held out an arm and I expanded the construct, forming it into a towering mass of white that protected Ezio and myself.

“Done!” the assassin called out. I nodded once and, with a clap of my hand, I let the construct melt away. More soldiers had gathered on the other side of the shield, so much that Ezio had to throw down a smoke bomb for us to be able to slip away.

We made our way to the last crank. The French soldiers were trying to break away from the mercenaries to engage Ezio and me. Bartolomeo’s men surged after them, managing to engage the soldiers lagging behind. But still, a good ten or so of them surrounded us.

“Ezio, hurry!” I yelled, not looking back. My mind was on overdrive, racking for ways to distract our enemies long enough for Ezio to pull the goddamned crank—

An image flashed in my head: a silver-haired man laughing as he waved his arms, as if conducting an orchestra, summoning wisps of explosive energy that decimated a barren landscape.

I grinned. I remembered.

Thank you, Kuja…

“Well, what are you waiting for?!” I yelled, summoning wisps of black energy out of thin air. Fearful whispers erupted around me, the men taking a step back as orbs of black danced around me. From behind, I heard Ezio suck in a breath.

“Come at me, bitches!”

* * * *

Unlike Kuja from Dissidia: Final Fantasy (a game that I used to play back when I owned a functioning PSP), I willed the explosions not to manifest in such a way that they would turn the Caserma di Alviano into a war-zone.

A mixture of dead and unconscious bodies of the French-men littered the courtyard. After Ezio shut the last gate, he helped us take down the remaining soldiers.

“The Baron de Valois signals from the field!” a voice called from above us. Ezio, Bartolomeo, and I ran to the nearest gate, two mercenaries flanking us from behind.

On the opposite side of the gate, the Baron sat atop a steed surrounded by his men. Two of them bore what must have been the crest of the French kingdom or government or whatever. There were more of them than what I had expected, their numbers doubled compared to Bartolomeo’s men—or at least the men that I had seen.

“Bonjour, general d’Alviano,” he called from his horse, his head held high. “Etes-vous prêt à vous rendre?”

Are you ready to surrender?

Finally, my French language elective would come in handy.

“He’s asking us if we are ready to surrender,” I whispered to Ezio, who looked at me in confusion.

“Why don’t you come closer and say that?” Bartolomeo yelled back, his face twisted into an ugly snarl. My eyes shot back to the baron, whose eyes shone with dark amusement.

“You must learn how to speak French,” he said haughtily. “It would mask your barbaric sensibilities.”

Before Bartolomeo could answer, I yelled back: “Hey, Frenchy!How’s this for French: Va te faire enculer, tête de noeud!”

The man visibly bristled on his horse and his men stirred, shock and anger rippling throughout the throng.

“What did you say to him?” Ezio whispered to me in awe at the same time Bartolomeo asked: “You speak French?”

“It was a part of my lessons while I was in school,” I answered, reveling in the ugly red that was beginning to spread across de Valois’s face. “If I remember my lessons correctly, I told him to go fuck himself in the ass.” And since I was on a roll, I put my fingers to my lips like one of those anime girls no one takes seriously.

“And… Oh! I called him a dickhead.”

I turned to look at Ezio. I didn’t know what to expect: maybe an exasperated grin or a roll of his eyes… but definitely not the glare he shot at me. He pulled me away from the gate harshly.

“Arnie, you are just asking for trouble.” He shook his head. I felt a strange pang of hurt at his words. I pulled my arm from the assassin and turned to look away from him, forcing myself to grin alongside Bartolomeo when he clapped me on the shoulder in approval. But I didn’t step forward anymore, letting the assassin and the mercenaries take my place.

“I did not know whores had come to pick up our language,” the Baron sniped. I bristled, opening my mouth to shout something back. But then I remembered Ezio’s glare, and I felt shame well up from inside me. I shut my mouth.

“You must teach General d’Alviano how to speak it, then, whore.” I noticed the Baron’s lip curl into a sneer. He must have noticed the way I bristled and was pulled back. I curled my hands into fists in helpless fury. “Maybe while he has his way with you in the bedroom, hmm?”

I gritted my teeth, shooting Ezio a fiery glare. I hoped he realized just how hard I was trying to hold myself back from shouting something back that would most likely cause a century-long feud between France and Italy.

“Perhaps you could teach me,” Bartolomeo yelled back, his face turning an alarming shade of red. “And I could instruct you in fighting, since you seem to do so little of it!”

“As amusing as this parley has been,” the baron answered, regaining his haughty air. “I’d like your unconditional surrender before sunrise.”

“Hah!” the general in front of me laughed without humor. “My lady Bianca will whisper it in your ear!”

“I believe other ladies might object to that.” The Baron signaled to his men, and the soldiers came forward, holding two women hostage. My blood ran cold.

“NO!” I cried.

Carmen and Bartolomeo’s wife—her name was Pantasilea, I think—looked horrible, with bruises adorning their faces and blood splattered on their dresses… But Carmen looked worse, though; her scanty courtesan dress barely hiding the bruises on her neck and back.

She limped slightly, too. And it was then I noticed the glazed look in her eyes… the way the men holding her looked at her as if she was a prize pig.

They had raped her.

Pantasilea was saying something—spitting out insults, most likely. And Bartolomeo responded in kind. But I couldn’t hear them: all I saw was Carmen’s blank gaze. She couldn’t even see me. She was lost in her own head.

I was a hurricane of emotions, and none of them good: anger, sorrow, hatred, rage, murderous fury—

Before I could stop myself, I was already growing wings. The mercenaries that were hobbling towards us fell back screaming, making Ezio and Bartolomeo turn around.

“Dio mio…” the general said. I didn’t bother trying to figure out if his voice held awe or fear. I flew to the top of the gate. I couldn’t see straight, my vision blurring around the edges and my clenched fists shaking.

“You have ten seconds to let them go,” I growled out. The sky above me began to darken, and I rejoiced in the terror that was beginning to ooze out of the French.

“Or I swear to God: I will end you.”

~O~O~O~

Tongues of black fire surrounded Arnie, her form being lifted up by dark, bat-like wings that writhed and shifted on her back. Her face was bared in a snarl, and it was then that Ezio noticed the way the tips of her teeth glinted in the torchlight.

Dio mio… she has fangs.

“You have ten seconds to let them go.” Her voice was layered on top of something much deeper. It reminded Ezio of the way the strega spoke back in the Castel, like she was something darker and much more powerful than she was letting on. Her voice rolled across the landscape, making the horses whicker nervously. The birds took flight from the trees, and the pigeons from their coops.

“Or I swear to God: I will end you.”

The entire world was silent, as if holding its breath. And then…

“Do you think you frighten me?” the French general laughed. Ezios eyes widened. Does this man want to die so badly?

Arnie roared. Some of the more frightened men galloped away, but most stayed, trembling under the woman’s gaze.

“I doubt that you will kill me, sorcière.” The assassin saw him pull out a gun… the same type of gun that he used to kill Mario. Ezio gritted his teeth at the sight, his mind flashing back to the image of his uncle bleeding on the cobblestone at the ruins of Monteriggioni, dead.

The storm clouds that had gathered above Arnie had spread across the countryside. Lightning crackled and thunder boomed. Still, the woman remained on top of the gate, her wings growing larger and larger.

“Five seconds,” the woman—the beast boomed. Lightning struck the pavement both inside and outside the gate, the enemy soldiers having to rear back their horses and gallop away to safety. But the general did not move, his gun hanging by his side.

“Continue your counting, woman.” The baron taunted. And then he did the unthinkable: he pointed his gun at Arnie’s courtesan friend—Carmen—and then he shot her.

The gunshot echoed, silencing the booming thunder. Time itself seemed to slow down as her body fell, limp and bleeding on the grass. Ezio’s eyes shot to Arnie, and it was then he noticed how her eyes had turned a pure, soulless black.

~O~O~O~

Carmen’s body made a muffled thump as it fell onto the grass. Time itself slowed down, as if it was trying to stop her body from hitting the ground. Because if it did, then that would mean that she was dead. And if she was dead…

She hit the ground.

Her pale body contrasted the dull green of the grass, her straw-blonde hair fanning around her head as if it was a golden halo. The blood bloomed out of the hole on her chest like a deathly rose unfurling its blossom. Her face was blank, unseeing. Her mouth opened in a silent scream, and I could only watch as she died like that: face contorted in its pained death mask, chest gushing blood.

And at that moment, it was like something within me died.

“No.”

~O~O~O~

“No.”

It was barely a whisper, but somehow it managed to pierce the silence. The Baron sneered at her and aimed the gun at her.

“Men! Paré!” the Baron ordered. The soldiers righted themselves, and Ezio and his comrades watched in horror as the French armada all aimed their guns towards the weeping woman.

“Arnie! Get down!” Bartolomeo yelled, but the woman wouldn’t budge. Her cries rolled across the field, plaintive and heartbreaking. She was kneeling on the cement arch now, her face buried in her hands as her shoulders shook with the strength of her sobs. Her wings were dead and unmoving beside her. If she weren’t about to be killed, Ezio would have stopped to look at her:

She looked like a fallen angel, weeping over the loss of her heavenly home.

“En joue!” They adjusted their grips, ready to pull the trigger.

“Feu!”

“NO!” Ezio yelled, voicing out the one thing all of them was thinking. The Italians yelled in outrage when, as one, the French fired at the weeping angel.

And then something surprising happened: the bullets stopped in midair.

As Arnie stood up, the bullets all turned to dust, showering the gate and the soldiers with ashes that tasted of metal and dark fury. Ezio felt that something had broken within the woman. There was no more humor or anger in her eyes… there was only darkness. Her eyes, that had turned black, burned dark red.

She wailed—a long, drawn-out scream that had everyone covering his ears. But something else happened: her voice deepened with each second that passed… until her wail had turned into a demonic roar.

The French all fled as one, an army of ants fleeing the deluge. Pantasilea was left behind on the grass, her mouth opened in a scream that was lost in the devil’s rage-filled scream. Ezio watched as the Baron’s eyes widened in fear, his haughty composure slipping as he turned on his horse and galloped away, back to the safety of his camp.

Arnie was changing: purple veins began to crisscross the skin on her face and her arms. Her hair was floating and writhing on her head, as if made of a thousand snakes. Her eyes burned, belying the unearthly fire that burned within her that threatened to reduce the world into ashes and smoke.

Her wings were also shifting, cocooning her entire body as if it was a second skin. It grew horns that curled into the storm-darkened sky and hooved feet that shook the stone arch with each step it took. Its wings grew as well, one wing easily covering the entirety of the Caserma d’Alviano.

“Ezio! Ezio!” Bartolomeo’s voice shook the assassin out of his staring. He had Pantasilea in his arms, unconscious. The mercenaries scrambled to call for the dottore as he spoke:

“Stop her, Ezio. I do not know what she is capable of, but with her power she may end more than just the Baron.”

The image of the weeping angel and the dark demon that was Arnie burned itself into the assassin’s memory. He nodded numbly and began making his way to the arch, easily climbing the stone ramparts.

“Arnetta!” he called out. The shadow devil did not turn, too caught up in its rage and sorrow.

“Arnie, please!” Ezio was its foot now, a few centimeters from the energy demon that held the sensitive’s body aloft. He did not dare touch the energy, for fear of being consumed by the darkness imbued within it. The figure within looked down at the assassin, and Ezio’s eyes glowed a golden yellow—though he did not know it himself.

“Come down from there,” he pleaded. He held out his hand for the woman to take. But the demon only looked at it, tilting its head almost as if in question.

“It is time to come back,” the assassin yelled. The figure within furrowed its eyebrows, but it lowered itself onto the ground. The shadow devil did not dissipate, but Arnie had lowered herself enough that Ezio could reach up and hold her pale face in his palms.

“Come back now…” The dark eyes did not shift back to their normal dark brown color, and Ezio felt himself begin to panic.

“Do not lose yourself, Arnie.” Ezio begged. “Please, it is time to come back. Come back, Arnie. Come back to me.”

The demon’s eyes widened, and she opened her mouth. Ezio expected her to roar again, but a bright white light poured out of her mouth, a column of radiance in the maelstrom of darkness. The assassin shielded his eyes. When he put down his arms, the woman was lying on the ground.

It was raining now. And this time, Ezio did not even hesitate as he gathered the sobbing woman in his arms as she cried into him, the raindrops mixing in with the salty rivers streaming down her face.

They stayed that way for a long while, the rain pouring over and around them. Arnie trembled in his hold, and he buried his face in her hair. He didn’t speak for he didn’t know what to say—he didn’t know if it was his place to say anything. Even though now wasn’t the time to be thinking about his feelings for the woman in his arms, he couldn’t help but wonder:

Did he love her?

She shifted, her head lifting up. Their eyes met, and he saw the brokenness in her glassy orbs being replaced a familiar look of cold determination… the same look he saw every time he stared into the mirror when he was still hunting down the Spaniard.

And it was then he realized that he did love her, even it was just a little bit.

Chapter Text

Lady of the Little Eagles

O~O~O~O~O~O

“You’re the color of my blood.”

“I know you’re never gonna wake up.”

O~O~O~O~O~O

Chapter 27: Love Me Like Your Problem

The plan we came up with was simple: storm the French camp, kick ass, and then kill the Baron. At least it looked simple in my head… and Bartolomeo’s as well. But Ezio and Pantasilea begged to differ.

“A frontal assault of that magnitude would only provoke larger countermeasures from the French.” Pantasilea said from her seat beside the fire. We all had seats around the hearth; conveniently, I sat beside Bartolomeo and Ezio stood beside his wife. “By appearing on their doorstep bearing the magic of the strega—no offense.” she looked at me. I shook my head.

“Hey, I’m already a bitch.” I shrugged nonchalantly. “Now, I’m just a witch-bitch.”

“By appearing on their doorstep bearing the magic of the strega,” she continued. “It would be akin to sending an invitation to the King of France to—”

“Bring it on.” I finished for her as I blew a strand of hair away from eyes irritably. I saw the logic in her words. If I exposed myself as a sorceress on the opposing side of the French—more than I already had—it would only serve to divide Bartolomeo’s attention even more. He would also have to focus on preparing for the French’s eventual retaliation instead of on the Assassins’ cause.

“I see your point,” I sighed. The image of Carmen’s dead body floated back to the forefront of y mind, and I struggled at the pain that flared in my chest. “What do you suggest?”

The question came out more harshly than I intended, but I couldn’t find it in myself to correct myself. I was lost in the memory of Carmen’s death.

…

…

…

“Arnie… Ar—nie—Arnie!”

“WHAT?” I said, my voice accidentally slipping back into its demonic form. The chandeliers swayed dangerously overhead, the swords that hung on the walls and the knick-knacks on the table rattled. The fire spluttered ominously in the hearth.

All three of their eyes widened, and Bartolomeo tried to nonchalantly scoot away from me. My hands gripped the armrest tightly, and I took a deep breath.

“Sorry. What is it?”

“Did you understand the plan?” Ezio asked, his voice surprisingly steady. I looked at him blankly, not understanding what he was talking about.

“No…”

“Tomorrow, we will walk right in.” Ezio said, his voice firm.

“Please elaborate.”

“I will liberate several suits of French armor from the soldiers scattered in the Roman Ruins. Bartolomeo’s troops will gather the armor from the dead, and we will walk right into their encampment.”

“How can you guarantee that they will let you in?”

“We have a decoy.” It was Bartolomeo who spoke up this time. But he sounded almost… hesitant…?

“And who would that be?”

“You.” It was Ezio who replied this time.

It took me a while to process what I just heard, the initial shock that shut down my brain making it impossible for me to process that one word. But when it finally sank in, my mouth dropped open. I couldn’t believe I was hearing this. Were they insane?

But there was something else I didn’t understand: why would they even ask me to do something like this? I wasn’t ready to do something like this… and they couldn’t possibly expect me to defend myself in my state of my mind—

Oh, fucking hell…

“You fucking twats.”

~O~O~O~

“You fucking twats.”

As soon as understanding dawned on Arnetta’s face, it was quickly replaced by indignation. Her voice rose as she spoke:

“And what in God’s gracious name makes you think that I will do this?” There was a biting edge in her tone, a hollow challenge. Ezio’s eyes hardened as he stared at the woman in front of him. Before he could stop himself, the assassin shot back:

“You will do this so that Carmen’s death will not be in vain.”

In retrospect, he should have noticed the way Arnie’s eyes had been glazed over in numb shock, or the way her lips had been trembling ever so slightly, or the way her hands were folded a little too perfectly on her lap. She had been hurting… more deeply than anyone had realized—but the assassin should have realized it. Because that was exactly what he felt when he saw his father and brothers hanging in the square.

But nobody missed the way Arnie flinched at the mention of her fallen friend. A storm raged in her eyes, barely containing the tears and the anger.

“That was a very low blow, Ezio Auditore.” Her voice shook. She looked as if she wanted to say something else, but she snapped it shut and took a deep breath. And when she spoke, the despair in her tone was almost palpable.

“When do we start?”

* * * *

I found myself being pulled along by Pantasilea once Ezio left. Bartolomeo had left to rally his troops, and I was left alone with his recovering wife. Her grip on my hand was soft, but insistent. I went along with her without a word.

We ended up in a bathroom, with Pantasilea turning away politely. I stared at the tub filled with steaming water in confusion, and that was when it dawned on me that she was offering a bath. I drew my damp clothes off quietly and stepped into the tub, exhaling at the warmth of the water on my cold skin.

“Thank you.” I looked up at the woman. She smiled at me, her eyes kind. I wanted to believe that she was doing this out of understanding, not pity. I wanted to believe that the sad smile on her face was because she understood what I was going through and not because she felt sorry for me.

I couldn’t handle pity. I’ve had enough pity from the people who have asked me about my childhood. I sure as hell didn’t need it now.

I looked back down. And I didn’t move until the door shut, signaling the kind woman’s departure.

I took my time bathing, enjoying the feel of the warm water heating me up. Maybe if I stayed here, I could make myself believe that I didn’t see Carmen die… that her death—her falling down on the vibrant green grass, her chest a blooming rose of blood—was nothing more than a horrible nightmare.

But once the water cooled, and I felt the chill of the room, I knew that I was stupid to even try and escape the reality of life. I could sit in the tub all day and try to understand why it had to be Carmen that died and not me that was killed—why it had to be an innocent girl with a horrible past and a promising future that was plucked off the face of the earth to soon. I didn’t understand.

But then I remembered bitterly: that was life. Bad things happened to good people for no reason at all. That was the truth. Just look at Arianna and me. Hell, just look at any child abandoned in the garbage to die (Carmen) or left to suffer the foster system (moi): they didn’t deserve it.

Life was a bitch. And since death was a part of life, then I guess that made death a bitch in its own right.

I stood up and toweled myself dry. The robe Pantasilea had left me with was fluffy and warm. I padded towards the door, but just as I was about to open it, someone knocked.

The woman greeted with the same sad smile when I opened the door. In her arms was a black gown.

“I thought it would be fitting…” was all she said before giving it to me, and drawing away from the door. I barely had time to blurt out a confused “thank you” before she was turning the corner and was out of sight. Sighing, I put it on, expertly maneuvering around the lengthy fabric and tying the black bow at the small of my back.

I looked at the mirror. It was a mourning gown, the neckline forming a delicate V with the collar lined with elegant frills and ruffles. The sleeves were beautiful; the black embroidered with graceful patterns on the opaque material that fit my arms. It ended just above my elbow, and was replaced by a black, veil-like material. The veil-like material ended just above my wrists, flaring out in an elegant cascade.

The body and skirt were sleek and elegant, the black material continuing the graceful patterns that adorned the sleeves. The material was surprisingly lighter than what I expected. The skirt grazed the floor, with two vertical seams running up the fabric, dividing it into three “portions.” The middle “portion” was tiered, resembling a beautiful black waterfall.

Fitting was right.

Arnie approached the group on horseback. Her white horse contrasted the black ensemble she wore, the veil flying behind her like an ocean of night. Her face was made up to accentuate the natural beauty already present: her lips shone cherry red, her brown eyes so dark under the veil that they looked almost black. She looked as if she was a death omen of sorts, her white steed almost ghostly in the fading light.

Ezio swallowed. She was terrifying.

The assassin approached her as she gracefully dismounted, her dress flaring out as a small gust of wind softened her drop. The mercenaries nearby all stepped away, dropping their gaze as if they didn’t want Arnie to look into their eyes. And Ezio couldn’t blame them.

“Are you ready?” he asked. Arnie did not speak, did not even look up. Her eyes were downcast, and it was then that Ezio noticed the teardrops dripping down her chin. The man made to cup her chin, but she turned her head away and only offered her hands to be cuffed. With a painful ache in his chest, Ezio bound them in front of her.

Without another word, Arnie walked past the assassin. He stared at her in numb shock as she positioned herself in the middle of Bartolomeo’s burliest men. They leaned away from her, their eyes betraying their discomfort. But after a glare shot at them by the assassin, they latched on to her clothed arms gingerly, and they started marching.

Arnie’s steps were graceful, her head bowed and her movements controlled. The way she walked was almost ethereal in nature; the way her veil fluttered in the breeze, or how the fabric of her dress rippled and absorbed the dying light. The man was reminded of the day he first saw her wings—the golden wings that glowed as if woven out of pure sunlight. It had been glorious… an almost holy sight.

But then he remembered the dark wings, the wings of black flame that ripped a man to shreds.

He remembered how he once compared her to a blade and a rose: both beautiful in its own right, and both deadly.

And now, staring at her as she walked the cobblestone path to the French camp, Ezio compared her to a black rose… one that bloomed within a forest of thorns. He was sorry that it had to come to this. He wished that there had been another chance… another way for them to get the Baron in such a way that Arnie would have had time to grieve.

But there was no time for grieving, no time for mourning. No one can afford that privilege… not now.

Ezio walked ahead, and from where he was he could hear the click of Arnie’s heels on the gravel, managing to pierce through the shuffling walk of the disguised mercenaries surrounding her. The men murmured to each other in hushed tones, and Ezio could sense the anticipation permeating their ranks.

Up ahead, four soldiers patrolled the first checkpoint. Ezio caught a glimpse of the mercenaries behind him as they deviated from the gravel road, instead meandering up the grassy incline. The soldiers’ eyes narrowed when they saw the faction deviating from the patrol route, and Ezio knew that they were compromised.

He ran towards the four guards, his Hidden Blade unsheathed. Their heads snapped towards him, and they readied their weapons. But before any of them could even take a swipe at the assassin, the smell of ozone permeated the air around them. Before Ezio could think of it, he jumped back.

Just in time, too: just as his feet left the ground, veins of lightning erupted from somewhere behind the men and struck them straight through the chest. The men fell to the ground, twitching and spittle frothing at their mouths. The smell of ozone left as if it had never been there in the first place, and Ezio stared in shock at the dying soldiers in front of him.

The assassin looked up, just in time to see Arnie putting down her outstretched arms. Her eyes remained lifeless and dull… and at that moment, that was what frightened Ezio the most.

She turned away from him and continued walking. He ordered the men to follow.

Behind him, he heard a mercenary mutter: “We must follow the patrol route. We cannot deviate or the Duc's men will know something is wrong.”

“The Baron thinks Cesare will allow the French to rule Italy.” Bartolomeo said, disgust coloring his tone. “He's so blinded by the trickle of royalty in his blood, that lazy inbred can't see the battlefield. Whatever the French may think, Cesare intends to be king.”

That was all Ezio heard before he ran ahead to eliminate the guards at the next roadblock. Ezio doubled his efforts to stay ahead, making sure to wipe out the guards before Arnie reached them.

He was mostly successful, effectively wiping out guards patrolling the checkpoints before Arnie’s group would arrive. Still, the image of Arnie wiping out those four soldiers at the first checkpoint remained in Ezio’s mind. It hadn’t been the most graphic of deaths, not by a long shot… but it had been the look in her eyes.

It had been a dead look… cold and uncaring of the death she had just unleashed.

Ezio shuddered.

* * * *

Two soldiers guarded the gates of the Castra Praetoria, a tower adjoined to the concrete infrastructure. As Ezio approached with his group in tow, a watchman shouted from above:

“Que venez-vous faire ici?”

Declare yourself.

The assassin felt the soldiers tense behind him, and he answered smoothly:

“Ces soldats conduisent le sorciere à Son Excellence, le Baron. Elle veut se rendre.”

My soldiers are taking the witch to His Excellency, the Baron. She wants to surrender.

After a moment of silence, the watchman asked suspiciously: “What part of France are you from?”

The assassin shouted back the first place that popped into his mind, praying that he’d pronounce it right.

“Montréal!”

The soldier still did not look convinced, if anything, his voice only grew more suspicious: “Why does she want to surrender?”

Ezio’s stomach dropped. But before he could rack his brains, Arnie’s voice spoke, clear and resonant:

“Let us in.”

It was toneless, emotionless. It betrayed nothing… and maybe that was what made it all the more intimidating and scary. Ezio chanced a glimpse at his group, and he saw Arnie raise her hands. The French soldiers tensed, but just as quickly they relaxed. The watchman’s voice rang sharp as he ordered the gates open. The assassin narrowed his eyes.

Sharp heels approaching shattered the tense silence that had fallen on the group. Arnie was beside Ezio, and seeing her dead eyes he shuddered. He moved ahead, and he heard the mercenaries grumbling as they followed.

The camp was large, courtesy of the architecture of the Castra Praetoria. Soldiers milled about, muttering amongst themselves. There was a somber air in the encampment, a heaviness that reeked of growing terror.

But as Ezio’s group approached, with Arnie in the front, the French grew silent, as if a thick blanket had muffled the whispers of the camp. Not even the wind blew, not even the birds twittered. The mercenaries’ footsteps echoed across the camp, with Arnie’s clicking heels at the forefront. There was another gate up ahead, a group of soldiers huddled by the side.

As his group approached the gate slowly rising from the ground, a man from the huddled group raised his voice and shouted: “Chien d'Italien!”

Ezio tensed, expecting Arnie’s voice to shout something equally offensive retort. But when Ezio glanced back, the woman did not move, did not speak. Her head remained bowed, and her steps sharp and uniformed. She was a ghost, dead to the world. She was a pillar of black sorrow.

And Ezio had never been more afraid of the woman in the entirety of his time with her.

They continued walking. And it was as if that stupid soldier’s boldness had spread like wildfire: everywhere they went, the tense silence was traded in with insults that were thrown towards the sorciere who was too weak to fight back, too lost in her grief to feel anger, and too broken to even feel the need to defend herself.

The man led them past another archway. Making another right, a pair of steps led towards two buildings. But he didn’t have to go any further. As they approached the foot of the steps, the Baron de Valois made his way with the Papal Guard to greet them. The arrogant façade was back—but there was something in his eyes… something that looked vaguely like relief.

Ezio was confused.

“I knew you would come,” he said. The disguised assassin narrowed his eyes in confusion. Something wasn’t right. The baron had been scared out of his wits when he saw the demon Arnie was becoming. Where did his confidence come from? What game was he playing?

“You should never have doubted me.”

A new voice spoke from underground. The Frenchmen and the disguised mercenaries all erupted into frightened whispers, slowly backing away from the baron and Arnetta. Ezio joined them, but he was careful to keep both eyes on the two factions.

A portal of swirling red and black appeared on the ground beside the baron. A head rose in the darkness… followed by a body draped scantily in red and black. The strega was dressed like a courtesan, her curvaceous form wrapped in blood red fabric arranged to compliment her curves. Her blond hair was not pinned up like the others that Ezio usually saw; instead, it was braided and adorned with red and gold.

But it was her eyes that betrayed her true nature. They were as black as coal.

Ezio’s eyes shot to Arnie, whose head was raised. Her eyes were wide with disbelief.

“Hello, sister.”

~O~O~O~

In retrospect, I should have expected something like that to happen. The world doesn’t stop turning just because you got weighed down by death and left behind on the loop. Evil and darkness didn’t take pity on the ones lost in the battle—they were just collateral damage.

But that didn’t change the fact that I hated the world so badly then, hated it for making me into something I never wanted to be in the first place, placing me somewhere I didn’t belong. And most of all: I hated the world for making me meet Ezio, who would stop at nothing to quell the thirst of vengeance in his heart… going as far as to use a broken woman as bait.

I’m tired… so tired…

Well, that was a familiar thought.

And as if she had read my mind, Arianna laughed. “Bet you weren’t expecting me, were ya?”

Her distorted voice took on the form of a woman in her prime. It sounded different this time, taking on the American accent that I used to have before I adapted the Italian tongue. Her black eyes bored into me, and I swallowed as she took a step forward.

She laughed. “I’m going to take great pleasure in ripping you apart.”

Her voice grew deeper at the last three words, more menacing. The darkness surrounding her was palpable even without resorting to my third Eye, making the air around her shimmer and her lengthening shadow to writhe, independent of its host.

And maybe it was her… maybe it was her powers to manipulate dark emotions, but my thoughts started taking a turn to the dark side: worthless… why not just give up? Even though with all the power in the world, you still couldn’t save your best friend. Give in. Give up. You don’t want to live anymore—

“Hell to the fucking no.” I felt my voice grow deeper towards the end, the power behind making the earth beneath me shake. Arianna laughed, and before I knew it she was diving for me, her mouth stretched in an unnaturally wide screech.

I dove out of the way. The hollow feeling inside me was chased away by adrenaline, pumping hot anger through my veins. I shot a glare at the assassin, and I felt a sense of satisfaction when I saw him swallow underneath his helmet. Before I can stop myself, I closed the distance between the assassin and me and took off his helmet. The man’s eyes widened when he felt the metal slide off him, but before he could say anything I slapped him hard across the face, hard enough that he had to take a step back.

“I fucking told you so!” I yelled at him. I tore off the veil and threw it at Ezio’s general direction before turning around to face Arianna, whose lips were curled in a knowing smile.

“Are you broken yet, big sister?”

~O~O~O~

Ezio noticed the way Arnie’s eyes hardened at the question.

“I’m not planning on dying any time soon, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Her voice shook, but the assassin saw her clench her fists. She was fighting to remain strong in front of the enemy… even though he could tell that she was already falling apart from the inside.

The red woman laughed. “It’s not that you want to die, it’s just that you don’t want to live anymore, am I right?”

Her words seemed to strike a chord within Arnie because she fell silent, and her hands fell to her sides. Her black curls hid her face as she hung her head. Ezio’s eyes widened. The entire camp was quiet, both the disguised soldiers and the French troops not daring to make a sound to disturb the face-off between the two witches. The assassin started to make his way towards Arnie, but one word—all it took was one word from Arnie to make him stop cold.

“Maybe.”

And then she lifted her head, her eyes shining a brilliant white.

“But that doesn’t mean I won’t stop trying to.”

The red witch growled and, faster than lightning, she fired two beams of crackling black energy towards Arnie. The black witch’s eyes narrowed as she slammed her palms to the ground, erecting a barrier of white energy. The beams fizzled into nonexistence, and when the white barrier finally faded out, wings sprouted from Arnie’s back. They looked like that of an angel’s… but they were as grey as ash.

“Two can play at that game, sister!” The red witch yelled as she was encased in a cocoon of red energy. The baron jumped back with a yell, the Papal Guard doing the same as they stumbled away from the strega.

A beast roared from within. With a shockwave that sent the Baron and the Papal Guard sprawling, the red witch emerged, with flaming wings shaped like that of dragon’s erupting from her back. She had two horns sprouting from her head, much like the ones Arnie sported back at Caserma d’Alviano when she saw Carmen fall.

“Ezio!” Arnie’s voice snapped the assassin out of the awe-induced stupor he had fallen into. “Get the Baron! I have her!”

Just as she shouted the last sentence, she was blasted through the cement wall surrounding the Praetoria, creating a large sizzling crater in the concrete. The dragon-witch roared, and she flew after her. Arnetta’s words seemed to have awoken the men’s minds again, for they drew their swords and proceeded to fight each other: the French Templars against the Italian Assassin—the way it should be… the way it could have been if there were no witches and Apples and gods.

Ezio shook his head and ran after the fleeing baron.

~O~O~O~

We were two stars in the darkening sky. The sun was setting in the west, hidden behind the thin veil of the clouds. It casted the sky in the muted crimson hues of the dusk, so akin to that of the dawn—the promise of a new day, new hopes, new dreams, and all that crap.

But night was falling, and Arianna and I were the two falling stars.

We were equally matched; Arianna’s knowledge and empowerment by dark emotions rivaled my powers that were amplified by prolonged contact with the Prophet. We were two comets fighting for dominion over the blackening heavens.

“Had enough, Arnie?”

“Why don’t you come a little closer and say that, you bitch!”

“How about something else! Thundaga!”

The air around her began to crackle and I wrapped my wings around me to deflect the stream of black lightning she fired at me. I noticed that as soon as the energies we used were deflected or hit their mark, any remnants would dissipate into thin air. This relieved my conscience of any people getting hit below us.

“Did you just go Final Fantasy on my ass?!”

I saw her grin, her sharpened fangs gleaming in the light of my power. “You caught me. Try this on for size: Gallius Disruptus!”

It was as if the air was sucked from my lungs. I gasped, and then made an oof! of surprise when I felt a strong gale force me back. I fanned my wings out to steady myself, but I only found myself being blown back even further.

How the hell is she doing that?

“What the—!”

“Facio Gravis!”

I felt something pull at my legs. A scream tore itself from my throat when I felt myself being pulled down to earth. It was as if gravity itself was fighting to pull me down. I tried flapping my wings, but they were dead weight. I let them fade into nonexistence, and I screamed when I started falling faster.

Thinking quickly, I summoned two tentacle-like prostheses, attaching them to my back. Once the ground was close enough, I willed them to impale on the ground to prevent me from hitting the hard ground on impact.

The moment the prostheses snapped to hold me aloft, blinding pain arced up my spine. The constructs fizzled into nothing as I groaned, trying to get up on my hands and knees. My body refused to obey me, my arms buckling. I fell on my face.

I felt Arianna flutter to the ground behind me, and I tried to roll over again—only for me to groan when I realized that my entire body was still dead weight.

“Where’s your power now?” she taunted. Before I could open my mouth to speak, she crossed her arms in front of her and yelled: “Adfishio Potentia!”

Black energy swirled in front of her, gleaming in the dim lamplight. Then with a roar, barbed tentacles erupted from the swirling cloud.

Wait a minute…

She was resorting to words to channel her focus. The thunder spell came from Final Fantasy, a game I used to play back when I had a PSP. The spells she was using now must come from somewhere—

I screamed as I was blown back, the tentacles whipping at me sent me flying. I skipped across the ground like a pebble skipping across still waters, and I ended up rolling across soft grass, my body bruised and bleeding. I blinked away the black spots dancing across my vision, and I realized that we had ended up near the ruined aqueducts, the dark silhouettes of nearby houses lining my sight.

“Fuck…” I groaned. I shook with the effort of getting to my feet, and even when I finally managed to stand, I collapsed again, falling on my knees as I coughed out what disturbingly looked like blood in the light of the full moon.

“Had enough yet?”

I tensed, expecting another attack, another spell to blast me off my feet. But there was none. And it was then that I noticed the way she sounded—a gentle whisper, as if she didn’t want to frighten me. I was confused. I looked up and took in Arianna’s form, her back against the aqueducts.

“Why… why are you doing this?”

Arianna’s eyebrows furrowed before recognition dawned in her black orbs. She laughed, a hollow guffaw that rang in my ears.

“Because it’s fun!”

“Bullshit.” I tried to get to my feet, but I only succeed in making myself fall back on my ass. “You… you’re not fun, you’re broken.”

The word hung in between us. And before I knew it, Arianna was in front of me. I barely had time to widen my eyes before she slapped me, the sound of her palm hitting my cheek echoing across the silent night. My ears rang with the pain, and then I was shoved back again. The ground was as unforgiving as before as I fell on my side with a pained moan.

“I’m not broken!” she screeched. “I’m not! I’m not! I’m not! I’m not! I’m not—”

“I read your diary entry, Arianna.” I said the first thing that came to my mind to try and get her to talk. Because if I got her to talk, then I would have more time, and if I had more time, I’d be able to think about where she got her spells.

“You’re not supposed to fight it.”

“You bitch—” she coughed, her voice rattling. And then when she spoke again, it was a child’s voice that spilled from her lips.

“Arnie!”

Accompanying the surge of relief I felt at the crack in her proverbial armor, it was then that I remembered.

Gwen…

Shit, she was using spells from Gwen Tennyson’s arsenal. I didn’t know her spells that well; that was why it had been hard for me to pinpoint the effects of her incantations. But I knew what made her tick now—she relied on chants to focus her powers. I didn’t need chants for me to concentrate… but I wondered what would happen if I did use an incantation—

“Arnie, I—!” the woman erupted into a fit of coughing, eventually falling on her knees. It sounded wet and sticky, and I took a step back when she started dry-heaving.

“So sorry about that…” the old woman’s voice was back, replacing the child within. I felt my eyes widen when I realized that she’s so broken, her personalities actually split herself. The demon is someone else entirely, as is the innocent child who wants to talk with me—

“Special delivery!” The old woman’s voice was replaced by a high-pitched squeal, and her words were followed by a maniacal laugh that sounded wrong coming out Arianna’s mouth. It was the laugh of a madman. She was holding her arms tight against her chest, and I saw the way tongues of black energy gathered around her.

“Protego Maxima!” I crossed my arms in front of me, praying that my adrenaline-driven theory would work. I saw pillars of crackling black energy erupt from the ground, coming at me in a straight line alarmingly fast—

I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing myself for the inevitable explosion that would send me flying—if not blow my heart to bits—if the shield “spell” didn’t work.

My eyes flew open when I felt something push against me. The pillars had disappeared, and the first thing I noticed was Arianna’s outraged expression.

“How dare—?”

“I guess you’re not the only one with a few spells up her sleeve,” I spat out. I mentally patted myself on the back for getting addicted to the Harry Potter series and reading them as soon as they were put on the shelves, I even went as far as memorizing the spells and their etymologies.

“Confringo!” I shot out my hands. Immediately, bolts of white shot out of my hands and honed in on Arianna. She snarled and held up her hands.

“Contego!” A barrier of black erupted from the ground, and I felt my blood run cold when I realized that it could deflect my blasts—

Schrrash!

The dark barrier shattered, the sound of glass breaking rang in my ears as Arianna was sent flying back, her shocked and pained shriek echoing into the night.

“Arianna, please!” I pleaded as I stumbled towards her. Her back had hit the stone aqueducts, and she had fallen to the grass with a muffled thump. Her fingers twitched, but other than that, she didn’t move. “Listen to me!”

“Arnie, she’s too strong…” her voice seemed to come from the very breeze that blew around us, gentle and so very weak.

“No, you listen to me!” I stumbled again, but this time I wasn’t able to find my footing and I was on my knees again. I crawled towards her, my body trembling with fatigue. “You are one and the same. This was my problem, too. Believe me.”

She was still so far, but I saw her body shift in the darkness, saw her try to get to her knees.

“But you have to understand that we all have a bit of bad inside us. The demon inside us is no different.” I put a hand to my heart absent-mindedly.

“It’s there. We just have to accept that. That’s our fatal flaw. We believe that we’re supposed to be strong and brave all the time, always in control… that we’re supposed to be cold and concise.”

She was on her knees now; her eyes were downcast. I noticed the way her shoulders shook, and I felt a rush of relief when I realized that I was getting to her. My sister…

“The demon is real, but it’s something we made in our own head. It’s made from our fear of losing control, our fear of not being perfect. But we’re not perfect. And it’s okay to be afraid.”

I could hear her sobs.

“So take in the fear, Arianna.” I whispered. I felt warmth flowing down my cheeks, and I realized that I was crying, too. “Feel down at not being able to handle everything at one go. That’s why we have tomorrow. And then, when you’re done: let it all go.”

I saw her take a deep breath. I felt my heart soar when I saw her get to her feet, the darkness around her dissipating. My sister made her way towards me… but I felt that something was off.

Her eyes were still as black as coal.

“Arnie, I can’t see.”

It was that lost child’s voice again. I felt a sob break from me—I was so close—and it was then that I heard it: the manic laughter of a madman. It came from Arianna, and I recoiled, backing away as far as my body could take before I collapsed in sobbing mess.

I looked up through my lashes, and I saw the way the world behind Arianna seemed to lose its color. The lights lost their yellow glow, the blue sky turned black, and the stars turned grey.

“Sound out the heavens. Open the heavens.”

Her voice had taken on that of a woman in her prime. It echoed all around me, and I felt the ground beneath me begin to shake. Cold water seemed to rush down my spine when I realized what she was doing.

And then there was adrenaline. This was one spell I did know. And I’d be damned if I didn’t do anything to fight back.

“Sound out the heavens. Open the heavens.”

Our voices danced with each other, her sultry, American lilt mingling with the smooth, Italian cadences that I had developed after a year stuck in Renaissance Italy.

“Stars across the universe, show yourselves to me with all your brilliance!”

Light danced from behind me, casting the ground in front of me in shadow. I felt heat gather around me, coiling around me, filling me up.

“Tetrabiblos, I am the ruler of the stars.”

Orbs of brilliant white flew around me, lighting up the dull world that Arianna has encased herself in. Beyond the light of the spell, I saw my sister being surrounded by darkness, orbs of black and deep red swirling around her form.

“My aspect is perfection. Open thy savage gate!”

My lips moved with hers, even though I could barely hear her voice over the roar of energy rising from behind me and beneath me.

“88 stars of the heavens: shine on!”

I felt something pull at my chest. And without giving my body permission, I arched upwards, my hands spreading to my sides, making me look like I was basking in the warmth of an invisible light. Craning my head with surprising difficulty, I saw Arianna sporting the same pose.

A horned head rose from her chest, made of shadow and black flame, and I closed my eyes. I fought to find the strength to say the last words, envisioning the effect of the spell as I screamed:

“Urano Metria!”

Chapter Text

Lady of the Little Eagles

O~O~O~O~O~O

“I live for the applause.”

“ Are you ready for, ready for a perfect storm? ”

O~O~O~O~O~O

Chapter 28: Applaud the Dark Horse

Ezio stayed the night at the Caserma d’Alviano. The moon was out, brilliant and full in the night sky, surrounded by a blanket of stars. He turned in early, his body aching and sore from the battle with the French troops and assassinating a fleeing baron. He cursed (again) the fact that his body was not getting any younger, and he groaned when he lay on the bed.

On his way back, he hadn’t bothered trying to look at the heavens for any sign of Arnie. The fading light and the thick cloud cover made it almost impossible for him to see. But from time to time, he would look up just in time to see a flash of white or a streak of black against the rosy dusk. He would grimace. He would pray for the best. But he wouldn’t try to find the sensitive.

As he lay asleep, the heavens roiled. Outside his window, far above his head, he did not notice the two stars battling for dominion in the heavens. He did not see the white star and black star soar and collide with each other in a dance of divine destruction.

He did not see the white star fire beams and bolts of energy towards its opponent, setting the sky alight with its heavenly radiance.

He did not see the black star retaliate with streams and blasts of darkness, blackening the sky as if it was nothing more than an empty void.

He did not see the black star summon bolts of lightning that the white star deflected by shining its light brighter. Ezio shifted in his sleep when the heavens roared, the black star summoning gale-force winds that sent the white star flying back.

And then the white star was falling.

For a long while, there was nothing but darkness after that.

Then, far, far away, away from the awed eyes of the mercenaries staring at the divine lightshow, the air became void. Darkness swallowed the aqueducts, and man, woman, and child fell asleep as darkness swallowed them.

But then there was light, as bright as a million suns. Darkness and Light grew bodies—a horned head with eyes of shadow, silver wings and a brilliant halo…

These lit up the night. But all who saw the Darkness fell in a sleeping death, choked of light and hope. And all who saw the Light failed to remember it in the morning, only retaining the vague feeling of warmth in their chests.

But when the sun rose the next day, no one remembered the shadow devil or the silver angel. Their memories of the night before were foggy, as if they had been nothing more than dreams.

* * * *

Ezio awoke bright and early and immediately made for the Thieves’ Guild. At the back of his mind, he knew that he should be looking for Arnie—or at least ask Claudia to be on the lookout for her. But it was time for him to look for Lucrezia’s lover, Pietro. He was so close to getting Cesare… so close to avenging his uncle’s death.

Tamping down the guilt that was beginning to eat at his conscience, he urged his steed faster.

~O~O~O~

The air was gentle against my sore and bruised body as I flew back to the Tiber Island Headquarters.

The night before, I had woken up in the house of a kind young man named Matteo. He was the son of a doctor, and he had rushed me to his father after he saw my broken body bleeding at the edges of the Campagna district where his house was located.

Matteo’s compassion was what saved me, and for that I was indebted to him.

As the Tiber River approached, I landed on one of the rooftops near one of the bridges. My mind drifted to Matteo’s eyes—they weren’t deep brown like most of the Italians that I have met. They were blue, much like Leonardo’s were. But they didn’t shine with the same knowledgeable gleam that seemed omnipresent in the artist’s pools. Matteo’s eyes were sharp and worn, the eyes of a man who had seen some pretty bad stuff, and was doing his best to put it all behind him.

If I had blue eyes, I would probably have the same ones he has.

~O~O~O~

“ Pietro is to be assassinated this evening. Cesare sent his butcher . ”

.

“ Micheletto. The best killer in Roma . No one escapes him. ”

.

“ The man is an actor and he is performing in a play stariotte . ”

.

“ He is to be suspended from a cross. Micheletto will come for him with a spear. ”

.

Ezio was furious—furious that a traitor had been hiding under his nose for years, furious that all of his efforts to destroy the Borgia would be undone by a single leak. But he had kept the fire in his heart at bay, sliding on a smooth mask of cold determination nurtured under years of practice. Despite being the voice of reason, urging La Volpe to stop and think reason, he had seethed inside at the very thought of Machiavelli betraying them.

The words of the thieves echoed in his head, reminding him of his current objective. The hurting man was shoved aside as the cold assassin took over the reigns of his mind.

Cesare was silent, but the tension in the way he walked belied the cold anger burning within him. There was a man being led by three of the Papal Guard, bound and blindfolded. He was shaking as Cesare regarded him with cold eyes. There was another man present, a silent figure that shadowed Cesare’s every move—Ezio assumed him to be the butcher, Micheletto.

“Please, I have done nothing.” The prisoner’s voice was shaky, just like his body. The Pope’s son rolled his eyes, his jaw tightening. But when he spoke, his voice was deceptively smooth:

“Francesco Troche, my dear friend—” Ah, so that was his name. Francesco Troche. “Would I lie to you? You told your brother about my war plan in Romagna, who contacted the ambassador of Venezia.”

“It was an accident,” Francesco swore. “I am still your servant and ally.”

“Are you demanding that I discount your actions and rely on friendship?” Cesare’s voice grew hard, the soothing façade replaced by cold accusation.

“I am asking,” the man hastened to reassure the Templar. “Not demanding.”

“To unite all of Italia, I must have every institution under my control.” The Templar was strong, resolute. But at the following words, his voice dropped into a threatening whisper. “And if the Church does not fall in line, I will eliminate it entirely.”

“You know that I really work for you, not the Pope.” Troche’s voice was pitched higher than normal. It betrayed the lie. Cesare’s eyes glimmered, and Ezio realized that Troche was done for.

“Ah, but do I, Troche?” Cesare asked. The Templar cupped the prisoner’s face in his hands, and Ezio knew Troche knew better than to answer. So he swallowed, Cesare eyed the Adam’s apple that bobbed at the movement with distaste before continuing: “There is only one way I can know that unconditionally now.”

“You plan to kill me? Your most loyal friend?” he asked, his face still cupped in Cesare’s hands. Troche’s voice broke at the end of the second question, and Ezio knew that yes, the Templar will kill you…

“Of course not.” Cesare reverted back to the soothing lull that he had used earlier. Ezio knew that this was it; this was the chance Francesco the Borgia was giving him to prove his loyalty to his cause—

“Are you letting me go?”

Cazzo, this man is doomed.

“Thank you, Cesare!” Said Templar motioned to Micheletto, who was suddenly holding a length of rope in his hands. “You will not regret—”

His words were cut off as the cord was wrapped around his neck. It didn’t take long… and just like that, he was on the ground, unmoving.

“Guards!” Cesare called for the Papal Guard standing nearby. “Give Micheletto the costumes for the play. Lucrezia is mine. No one else shall have her.”

~O~O~O~

Coincidentally, it was Emiliana who found me on the rooftop entrance after I collapsed in an exhausted heap on the roof. I was sweating, and I was pretty sure that some of the stitches Matteo’s father had sown were reopening. Nausea roiled inside me when I felt my wounds being agitated, and I fought back the vomit that threatened to choke me.

She led me to a spare room and asked one of her fellow recruits to get a doctor. She stayed with me, much to my surprise. The woman took a seat beside me and asked me where I had been, what I had been doing…

If I were someone else, I’d assume she was talking to me for the sake of small talk, to fill up the awkward silence that had descended upon once we were alone. But since I’m me and not someone else, I knew that this was her way of distracting me from the pain—she didn’t know how to be gentle and sweet. And I respected that.

“So where have you been?”

“I’ve been with messere Ezio, mostly… he was the assassin who recruited you.”

“Did anything exciting occur?”

Floating scraps of flesh—all that remained of Malfatto. My epic fail of a love confession to Leonardo da Vinci. Destroying all of said da Vinci’s war machines. Infiltrating a secret underground lair and almost being raped by a tribe of wolf-men. Discovering that I have a long-lost sister. Fighting said sister. Carmen dying—

“Yeah…”

“Do you want to elaborate?”

“Not really…”

“Do not be offended, Emily!” A cough. “It’s just that—” Carmen’s death mask, pale and unseeing. “—not all of the exciting things ended well.”

Either Emiliana didn’t want to push for an explanation or she was simply content with my vague answer was uncertain. But she nodded nonetheless.

“I do not mean to pry: but what exactly happened?”

“I blew up my sister.”

A beat of silence. And then: “Were you the one responsible for the lights last night?”

I cringed. I didn’t know we were that noisy. “Yes. Were you hurt? Was anyone hurt?”

Emily shook her head. “No. But you put up quite a show.”

I grimaced. “Fantastic.”

~O~O~O~

Tailing Micheletto took more energy than he thought. The man was vigilant, looking back with his eyes narrowed in suspicion more often not. The recruits made quick work of the soldiers the butcher made contact with, and Ezio was glad for that.

When Ezio finally managed to track down and kill the soldiers that Micheletto had assigned the costumes to, night was quickly falling. He had distributed the costumes to his recruits and ordered them to wait for him.

The assassin scaled the Coliseum, the night air chilling him to the bone as it carried the lines of the actors within. A brief thought flitted through his mind on how easier this would be if he had Arnie to lift him up. But then he remembered that it was his decision to leave her alone, wherever she had ended up. He gritted his teeth, but made no other audible sound of complaint.

Inside, Pietro was minutes away from being murdered because he fell in love with the wrong woman.

He shook his head and made himself climb faster.

~O~O~O~

“Do you think you could grant me wings?”

“…”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, really. It’s just that I’ve never tried to do something like that before.”

“What do you think would happen if you attempted it with me?”

“I imagine you would feel the emotion I was manipulating. I would anchor it to your heart, thus allowing the wings to do your bidding as long as the emotion I had used would be the one at the forefront of any other.”

“… You lost me, mio amico.”

“If I gave you wings of Love, you would have to channel love. If I gave you wings of Sorrow, you would have to channel sorrow.”

“But how do I ‘channel,’ as you put it?”

“Memories. In everything that has transpired in your life, there is always passion. The heart beats 24/7—”

“‘24/7’?”

“Every day, seven days a week. Even though we are trained to mask our emotions, it does not change the fact that we feel them. We are only human after all. We feel what we do. Anger. Rage. Despair. Sorrow. But we also feel Love. Hope.”

“…”

“I want you to look deep inside yourself, Emily. Close your eyes—there that’s it. Now, think of a moment in your life where all you felt was one of these things. Our lives are the sum of who we have been, who we are, and who we can be, woven together in a tapestry of intellect and passion. We have felt oceans of emotions. Choose a memory. And feel that memory.”

“…”

“This might tingle… but don’t stop.”

“…” Gasp. “Arnie… what—?”

“Ssh… keep feeling.”

“…”

Oh…

“…Okay… On the count of three, I want you to envision yourself flying. Feel that emotion filling you up, carrying you over the clouds and into the endless sea of the heavens—”

“Mio dio!”

~O~O~O~

Ezio dealt with the arquebusiers first before he made his way backstage. His recruits were dressed and ready, awaiting only his instructions. The assassin dressed quickly, wrapping the Hidden Blade around his forearm and silently thanking the heavens that the leather vambraces concealed the weapon well enough to be hidden from plain sight.

“I need to get onstage.”

~O~O~O~

I didn’t feel safe enough yet to allow Emily to try her wings around the island, but it was fun watching her test her wings inside the headquarters. She had chosen Hope—but unlike my wings, which had been golden like the midday sun, hers was a soft, misty white. They looked like eagle wings, and they lit up the room with a soft, calming glow.

Using my powers to manifest Emiliana’s emotions required me to will the mask I kept on at all times down. I mastered controlling the energies around me with it on—going as far as being able to revert to what was probably my zenith form (see: the part where I almost blew up the mercenaries’ barracks) with it on.

(The battle between Arianna and I didn’t count because we didn’t will the energy around us to solidify. We were capable of shoving each other around and harming each other physically with pure energy—unlike when I fought with Templar soldiers. Every time I fought with them, I would always manifest my energy physically despite knowing that I could wipe them out without them having to see their death blows.)

Going back on track, channeling my ability to manifest emotions and turn them into physical constructs into someone else required my putting down the mask. I saw the memories Emiliana used: her rough childhood, her poor but loving family that eventually fell into shambles when her father was killed and her mother went missing…

I blinked away the blurriness in my vision.

The other recruits watched her in awe, their faces not bothering to hide their wonder as they watched their comrade fly around the room like an angel of old. Emiliana controlled her flight surprisingly well—not that flying was that difficult. You only had to see yourself flying, and then BAM! Hawk-girl, motherfuckers.

It really shouldn’t have surprised me when other men and woman started approaching me after ten minutes of watching Emiliana fly around. But like a lady: I feigned surprise, played shy, and pretended to act all modest before getting on with it.

~O~O~O~

“Cut him down!”

“This was not in the rehearsal!”

“Hold off the guards!”

…

“Who are you?”

“Your savior.”

~O~O~O~

“What do mine look like?”

“Adelina, hold still! I’m trying to draw them!”

“What about mine?”

“People, please! I already suck at drawing and—Vincenzo! Stop sparring in midair with Felisa!”

“I think mine resemble that of a butterfly’s.”

“Well, I can’t be too sure about that if you keep moving about!”

“I am a dragon!”

“Well, right now, Stefano, you’re a pest. Stop blocking Ignacio’s wings!”

~O~O~O~

The key felt warm in Ezio’s hand as he tucked it away. His heart was pumping with the familiar feeling of adrenaline that was coursing through his veins. He was this close—this close to getting the bastardi who deprived them of their home, who flushed them out of their sanctuary like rats fleeing from the storm.

He turned around, but it was then he noticed a familiar thief in the crowd. His face was pinched in confusion. He held a piece of paper in his hand, the handwriting illegible even with Ezio’s keen eyes. But the assassin could recognize the eye “patch” anywhere.

…

…

“Stop wait for us!”

“We thought you had been killed, Ser Ezio!”

“Not yet.”

“Where does this passage lead?”

“To the north, outside the walls.”

“Let me through. I must go help the troops!”

…

…

“Un momento! You were at the Villa Auditore during the attack!”

The thief froze, but only for a moment as his one eye flickered to where Ezio was. And then he was running.

Ezio ran after him, but the thief waved a hand to the guards stationed outside the Coliseum. The men’s eyes narrowed, and before Ezio knew it they were running after the assassin, shouting: “Stop! Assassin!”

Ezio’s eyes widened. A heavy feeling settled itself in the pit of his stomach.

I must stop him.

~O~O~O~

“What is going on here?”

All of the recruits froze—like, literally froze. No one moved, not even to draw breath. All heads turned at the same time in painstakingly slow motion, as if dreading what they would find.

Machiavelli had his arms crossed in front of him. His eyes, narrowed in suspicion, were boring holes into me. Emiliana had helped me into a comfortable chair, my back to the fireplace. I had a piece of parchment placed on a thick tome plopped on my lap, a stick of charcoal in my hand. I had been drawing their wings.

The effort of sustaining my connection with them was surprisingly draining—not physically draining, though… more like I had seen too much and I was ready to call it a night. But it was worth it to see the looks on their faces when they took flight the first time. The ceilings were not nearly high enough for them to completely spread their wings, but it was enough.

I blinked when I heard Machiavelli clear his throat. Absently, I put the parchment and charcoal down. I sent a reassuring smile towards the other recruits.

“I guess it’s time to go back down now.” I said to the men and women. I half-expected to hear complaints and grumbling, but I heard none. But I saw their eyes flicker to Machiavelli in—not really terror. But it was close. They willed their bodies down, and I disconnected myself from their minds. Their wings vanished into thin air.

“I was showing them flight.”

“Really? It looks more as if you are distracting them from their duties.”

“Rome was not built in a day. It will not be set free in a day, either. I gave them a few hours of reprieve from the heavy burden being an assassin has placed upon their shoulders.”

“Burden?”

“Look at it as you may, for being an assassin is both an honor and a burden.”

“And how would you know?”

The recruits were watching us shoot back words like a tennis match. I should have been surprised at how well I had kept up my composure towards Machiavelli’s jabs without resorting to cursing. But something had happened to me when I was exposed to the deepest corners of the recruits’ memories… something that made me—I don’t know… more mature?

Or maybe I had already matured. I mean it would make sense, right? “Fighting” down my demonic self, seeing Carmen get… killed, reaching out to my long-lost sister, being “rejected” by Leonardo, and being offered up to the Baron like a scapegoat when I was broken by the one man who was supposed to help me find my way back home.

Maybe I had already changed.

And I didn’t know why then, but I felt a sudden rush of sorrow at that realization.

“I just do.”

And without another word, I stood up and walked over the scholar. The dress that Emiliana had lent me covered up the extent of my wounds well—but it made me look like a peasant.

And again, I didn’t know why, but I was okay with that.

We walked out of the hideout. Once we were out of the door, I heard Machiavelli murmur almost as if to himself:

“I believe you.”

~O~O~O~

“Why did you run?”

“I—”

The paper. He was still holding the paper. Ezio grabbed it, and his eyes skimmed the contents. What he saw steeled his resolve and made his hand ache to plunge his blade through this bastard’s throat.

“You are the traitor, not Machiavelli.”

Their eyes met, and in that brief moment, Ezio saw fear in the traitor’s eyes. Before the assassin could say anything else, however, the thief was already grabbing on to his hand:

“Long live the Borgia!”

The blade pierced through his throat like it was butter, and Ezio was quick to shove him away. Horror trumped his disgust at the man’s actions when he realized that Volpe’s reason for killing Machiavelli would be unfounded.

“Merda! I was right. I have to stop La Volpe before he gets to Machiavelli.”

~O~O~O~

We didn’t talk much, Machiavelli and I. We had stopped behind a balustrade overlooking the Tiber River that flowed beneath us. Machiavelli had a look of deep thought on his face, and I didn’t dare push him for what he was thinking at the moment. I was still reeling from the realization of how much I had changed over my time here…

I wasn’t the writer who worked as a barista to support herself anymore. I was the woman lost in time.

But the saddest part was that I had actually expected that I would remain the same—the same girl who had dropped in Renaissance Italy and had expected to find love and adventure like some dumb OC in some clichéd fanfic.

But I had changed. I had wanted to find love and adventure. But now, all I wanted was to go home. Carmen was dead. My sister was twisted and evil and broken. And here I was: a witch, a spurned “lover,” a liability.

I wanted to go home.

“You are right,” Machiavelli said. I didn’t say anything, but I looked at him. “Being an assassin is both an honor and a burden.”

“We are given the chance to fight for something much larger than ourselves. We are given the tools to shepherd civilization into an era of freedom and peace. And yet, everything comes at a price: many of our recruits are born of poverty and depravity, exposed too early to abuse and death. They all have something to fight for, but—”

“They had to lose something in return.” I finished his sentence. “But that is why I like to think of this—being an assassin—as a chance for a new beginning. These people, victims of corruption, were given new lives, new homes, and new families. When someone is lost, family is there to guide him or her back on the right path, to guide them home. We fight for our dreams and the dreams of others.”

Machiavelli nodded, and he didn’t speak anymore after that. I turned around to walk back to the hideout, but then I noticed something dart in the shadows of a nearby building. Without skipping a beat, I switched to my third Eye. The figure was wreathed in white… but there was a disturbingly black cloud hovering around its chest should be.

I didn’t move, waiting for the figure to make the first move. And it did, stepping out of the shadows and into the light of the streetlamp.

“La Volpe?”

“Arnie, what a pleasant surprise,” he replied, though his face was resigned. I tilted my head, a silent question. The master thief sighed.

“Please step out of the way. I must speak with Machiavelli.”

“Why?” I stepped to the side, blocking the thief’s path when he took a step forward.

“Private matters.” He didn’t elaborate any further.

“There is confusion in your heart. And normally, I would allow you two lovebirds to sort it out together, but there is something dark and heavy about your intentions—”

The knife was soaring before I had a chance to complete my sentence. Without batting an eyelash, a tendril of energy caught it in midair. But unlike most of the other times that I used my powers, I did not manifest the energy anymore. Whether I was too tired to make it manifest or I simply knew better than to, I wasn’t sure. But even I had to admit that it was kind of creepy seeing the knife freeze in midair.

The thief’s eyes widened in surprise, but before I could get a word in, he threw three more knives in quick succession. This time I raised a hand. Through my third Eye, a misty wall of white erupted from the ground in front of me. The knives slowed down to a stop as they became trapped in the vaporous construct.

A throwing knife embedded itself on the concrete in between La Volpe and I. We both looked up to see Ezio jump down from the rooftops, his expression weary but relieved.

“I have discovered the traitor.”

“What?”

I craned my head, and I saw Machiavelli turning around. I dropped the knives, letting them clatter to the floor noisily. La Volpe and I flinched at the sound.

“One of our men, he was at the Villa attack.” Ezio sounded as if he was talking to a cornered animal. “Here, he carried this letter.”

“My God!” La Volpe exclaimed, but the tension in his figure dissipated. I saw the darkness in his heart dissipate, and I knew that the threat was gone. I phased out of my third Eye.

“This is good news.” Machiavelli spoke from behind us. He was walking toward us, and his eyes caught the glimpse of the knives on the floor. The scholar’s eyebrows narrowed in confusion. Ezio and I shared a knowing look.

“More than you know,” we said at the same time.

Claudia’s initiation ceremony was short, but unexpectedly beautiful—at least for me, it was.

It wasn’t the dramatic setting or something big like that. No, it was more of the way Claudia’s eyes were alight with a familiar fire. She always held the Order high in her heart, next to her love for her family. This was something she had wanted ever since Ezio left her at Monteriggioni all those years ago. She had wanted to help, to fight—and now she was given the Order’s blessing.

Ezio’s ascension into the rank of Mentor took me by surprise, though it shouldn’t have.

Ezio approaching me and asking me if I wanted to be an assassin should have surprised me, but it didn’t.

My decision to decline, however, surprised everyone.

“I am not an assassin, il Mentore.” I said. I stepped forward, standing in the center of the dais. Ezio and Machiavelli’s eyebrows rose in confusion. I spread my hands and, willing my energy to manifest, I drew Hope.

Golden wings sprouted from behind my back, taking up the entirety of the platform. The light illuminated the faces of everyone present, and I knew that they could feel me tugging at their hearts, willing their dreams of a better future to surface to the forefront of their minds.

And at that moment, I was something more than just a woman lost in time.

I was Hope.

“I am just a woman, here to make things right.”

Chapter Text

Lady of the Little Eagles

O~O~O~O~O~O

“You tried to make me feel bad with the things you do”

“But I ain’t a saint neither and this ain’t no still waters.”

O~O~O~O~O~O

Chapter 29: The Trouble Song

It was set: we would infiltrate the Castel Sant’Angelo to assassinate the Pope and his son (the Captain General of the Papal Army) tomorrow.

Before we left, Claudia offered me the assassin outfit I had left at the brothel when I first set out to look for Arianna. I took it from her with a small smile. As Ezio and I rode away, he looked back and offered a small smile to his sister, who was waving goodbye. I didn’t.

Neither Claudia nor I commented on the absence of a shy blonde courtesan who would always wave goodbye to me every time I left.

I didn’t speak the whole way to the Castel. The sound of hooves galloping and the crowd murmuring around us permeated the silence between us. And even though we were only a few feet away from each other, we could have been poles apart. Ezio tried to get me to talk about where I had myself patched up after I fought with Arianna, how I got back home, how the battle between me and my sister went, how… how… how…

But I didn’t answer. Riding beside him, it was as if I was in the middle of an emotional hurricane—which was a bad place to be if I expected myself to be able to ride into the Castel with Ezio and perform political assassinations that would literally mold the course of human civilization.

I felt betrayed. I felt used. I felt sad. I felt tired. I felt worn. Without the recruits, whose hearts still held high hopes for a future without conflict and poverty (bitches, I’m from the future: not much has changed except we use fancier toys), I wasn’t able to retreat to their memories. It’s cowardly, I know. But at the time, I didn’t have it in myself to feel ashamed of being afraid of my own feelings.

But then again, I was a master at putting on masks. I mean… my power required me to numb myself to these things for crying out loud! Tamping down my feeling towards Ezio shouldn’t be different.

Ezio led me to the stable where he had escorted Caterina on horseback after he rescued her. There was a lone soldier patrolling the area, which Ezio easily took out with a Hidden Blade to the back.

I followed him, my feet floating a few inches off the ground. Ever since we dismounted, I had already been seeing through my third Eye. Using my powers, I held myself aloft to minimize the noise my boots would make on the cobblestone, untrained as I was in the arts of being an assassin.

After hiding the guard’s body in a haystack nearby, we made our way up the ramparts. And I noticed the sunlight gleaming off the armor of a nearby guard. A beat later, he was on the floor, eyes rolling at the back of his head, mouth frothing with spittle.

There was another guard ahead. I took him out as well while Ezio began scaling the tower to lead to the inner walls. I flew after him, barely managing to hide behind the stone just as the sound of hooves galloping echoed from below us. When it faded, a man’s demanding tone pierced the tense silence that had fallen over Ezio and I.

“I want to see the Pope!”

“His holiness waits for you at the top of the Castel, in his apartments.” The second voice sounded placating, as if talking down a wild animal. But it clearly didn’t have any effect when the next words, which were from the first man, came out in a snarl: “Get out of my way!”

Ezio mouthed: “Cesare Borgia.” I nodded.

We managed to enter the fortress proper without being detected. Guards dotted our path, but Ezio’s crossbow and my powers made short work of them.

Ezio used the key he had gained from Lucrezia’s boy-toy, Pietro, on the secret door. We ended up in a sort of foyer that housed a weapons rack, some training dummies, and barrels covered in cloth. There were two doors at the end of the room, one in the middle and one on the right. The ceiling rose high above us. Voices filtered down to us from a grated panel above the middle door, but it was Lucrezia’s that rang loud and clear:

“I don’t understand. I ordered a fresh batch of la cantarella last night.”

Another voice, a man this time, replied meekly: “I am terribly sorry, mia Signora, but the Pope has taken it all.”

“Where is the Pope?”

“He meets with Cesare.”

“Strange. He did not tell me Cesare had returned.”

I blinked back when I heard Ezio grunt. I turned around, and I saw that he had swung off a metal bar and had landed on a wooden graft. He then climbed up the wall, and proceeded to make his way along a ledge. My eyes traced the path he was planning to take, and I snorted.

Ezio’s head turned to me as he landed on a wooden platform attached to the wall. He raised an eyebrow. I rolled my eyes. Willing my energy to manifest, I summoned a floating platform of energy. Without speaking, I made it rise a few feet, wordlessly implying that I could carry the both of us to the top.

The assassin was silent. He cleared his throat, and he jumped back down without another word.

“That woman gives me so much trouble,” the man muttered to himself as Ezio positioned himself behind me. Slowly and silently, I carried us up to the top. “Why didn’t I stay in the stables? What a family this Pope has.”

The ceiling actually gave way to another floor entirely. Ezio put a hand on my shoulder and squeezed it, a silent order to stop. I did so. Just in time, too. I felt a presence make its way closer to us. But before I could send a tendril of death its way, the assassin’s blade was already piercing the soldier’s body.

After disposing another guard, we made our way out of the lower levels and into the castle proper. Up a flight of stairs, we ended up in a library with two floors being guarded by three men, one on the first floor and two on the second. I cleared the first floor while Ezio worked above.

Ezio pointed outside the window, but before I could walk up beside him and look out, he was already climbing out of it. Following his path, he ended up on the roof of an adjoining building—probably an extension of the Castel—and began scaling the walls. He stopped outside a window and he leaned in. I followed.

Cesare: What has happened here?

Rodrigo: I do not know what you mean?

Cesare: My funds. My troops. Gone!

Rodrigo: Financial difficulties strike all of us, even those with an army.

Cesare: You intend to give me money?

Rodrigo: No. I do not.

Cesare: (grabs an apple from the fruit bowl) Then I will use the Piece of Eden to get what I want. Your help is not necessary.

Cesare took a bite from the apple. I didn’t know whether it was just the firelight, but Rodrigo’s eyes seemed to glint maliciously.

Rodrigo: That has been made abundantly clear to me. Are you aware the Baron de Valois is dead?

Cesare: No… did you—?

Rodrigo: (indignant) What reason could I possible have to kill him? Was he plotting against me with my “brilliant,” traitorous Captain General?

Cesare’s eyes widened just a smidgeon. But it was quickly wiped away with an indignant of: “I do not have to stand for this!”

“The Assassins murdered him.” It seemed as if Rodrigo’s words were like a splash of cold water on the younger Borgia.

“Why did you not stop them?!” he spluttered. His voice broke at the last word, and I felt a grin stretch on my face. There was something satisfying about watching this bastard realize that his world was falling apart around him.

“As if I could,” Rodrigo shot back. “It was not my decision to attack Monteriggioni, it was yours! It is high time you took responsibility for your actions.”

Oh, he was fucked.

“My accomplishments! Despite—” his voice broke again, and I barely suppressed a snort at how fucked Cesare was. “—the constant interference of failures like you.”

He started to walk towards the exit, but the Pope blocked his way. “You’re not going anywhere. I have the Piece of Eden.”

Cesare’s face betrayed nothing. His words were hushed whispers. “Get out of my way, old man.”

Rodrigo’s eyes burned with barely-restrained fury, and his voice simmered with it. “I gave you everything, and yet it’s never enough.”

“Cesare!” Lucrezia’s voice rang. My eyes shot to her coming through the doorway behind the Pope. “He intends to poison you.”

Said man’s eyes widened before spitting out… nothing. He had already swallowed the piece of the apple.

“You would not listen to reason.” Rodrigo said, backing away from his son, who was beginning to stalk forwards.

“Father. Do you not see? I control all of this. If I want to live, I live. If I want to take, I take. If I want you to die, you die!”

Well, that escalated quickly.

I was only jolted back to reality when I heard Cesare bellow: “Where is the Piece of Eden?!”

“Stop!” Lucrezia ran to face Cesare. “I know where it is.”

“And you did not tell me he had taken it?!” And then his hands were on her throat, blinded by rage.

“Cesare…” she reached out a hand to caress the man’s face, which was as hard as stone. “It’s me… you’re queen.”

I rolled my eyes.

“You are my sister. Nothing more.” His hand had come up to pin his sister’s hand to her side. It was almost pitiful how Lucrezia’s face slowly fell into one of confusion. Blinking into my third Eye, I saw the thick pit of betrayed, betrayed, betrayed and sorrow the woman was falling into.

“Where is it?!”

“You never loved me?” Her voice was like that of a child’s. I would have felt sorry for her.

But then I thought: Nah…

“Where is the Apple?” Cesare yelled. “Tell me!”

Lucrezia spat at Cesare.

Oh! Oh, shit!

He slapped the bitch.

OoooOOOoOoOoooooOOhhhh…

“Tell me!”

I felt Ezio shift beside me, and I turned to look at the assassin.

“We are going through that window.”

There was an open window on the other side of the building. But before I could splutter out a response, the man was already dropping to the concrete below.

“Ezio—fuck,” I cursed. I followed him. “Ezio, I can make this way easier if you would just—”

“Arnie, our window is closing.” I rolled my eyes at the pun. But the assassin didn’t stop running. He reached the edge of the building we were on and dropped himself so that he was hanging on to the ledge. “I am sure whatever it is can wait—”

“But I can make you walk on air!” I protested. “I am sure we can make our way faster because of that.”

Ezio stopped moving, turning a skeptical eye on me. “Walk on air, eh?” He looked down. “That is a long fall.”

I rolled my eyes. “I will not let you fall.”

He seemed to go quiet at that. But before I could think of what I had said any further, he was already letting go.

“Shit-fuck!” I let out an involuntary screech when Ezio let go. But then my brain snapped into attention and summoned a floating platform of energy, invisible to the naked eye.

I lowered myself so that I was face to face with the assassin, and I saw that his eyes were wide, his lips parted in a small ‘o’.

“I got you.” My words seemed to snap the assassin out of whatever daze he was in. He shut his mouth and got to his feet, his eyes darting to the air below him. I had shifted to my third Eye when I conjured up the slab of energy. I spanned out the reach of the platforms to a couple of feet from the ramparts, leaving Ezio with enough space to sprint safely around the fortress.

“Go.” And then Ezio was running.

* * * *

“Am I hurting you?”

“Give me the Apple!”

“It’s mine, not yours!”

“Where is the Apple?”

“Smart decision, little sister.”

Oh, fuck.

The Pope was dead.

“Requiscat in Pace.”

Lucrezia’s voice was hoarse when she said: “I know… I know where that bastard is going.”

As if the word was the most insulting curse in her vocabulary, she spat out: “San Pietro… the pavilion in the courtyard.”

Ezio nodded once. “Grazie.”

I rolled my eyes, but I didn’t comment any further as I followed the assassin through a doorway down.

“The devil is drawing near, assassini.” The woman wheezed out. But her words made us freeze nonetheless. “You would do well to arm yourselves.”

“Don’t listen to her, Ezio.” I pushed the man forward. I knew who she was talking about, and I didn’t like it one bit. “Don’t listen to her. Go. Go!”

I didn’t need to do anything until we were already going down to the basement. Ezio was a few steps in front of me, and so he was the one who collided with Cesare who was also running towards the front gate.

“Assassino!”

“Cazzo.”

“Fuck.”

Cesare was already on the other side of the gate before Ezio could reach him.

“The devil approaches, strega,” the man on the other side of the gate hissed. I felt my blood run cold. Shifting to my third eye, I saw energy swirl around my palms, miniature vortices of energy, as I readied myself to blast the gate open. But before I could fire, the smell of ozone permeated the air.

“Shit!” I cursed in surprise. I whirled around and erected a dome of energy just in time to block the black lightning from “incinerating” Ezio and me.

“I will deal with you later.” I heard Cesare snarl at Ezio before running. The assassin cursed under his breath, but my attention was torn from him when I felt someone tug at the energy I was manipulating. And before I could even comprehend what was happening, the very dome I had erected was suddenly sprouting tentacles, intent on entangling us.

I screamed and forced it to shatter, the shards dissipating into the ether. Through my third Eye, I saw Ezio as a golden beacon that lit up the grey world. But darkness was seeping up from the floor beneath us as if the room was filling up with oil.

Ezio groaned, and I turned just in time to see him fall to his knees. His golden light was absorbing the blackness, tainting the holy radiance. Immediately, I conjured a platform of white and lifted us up from the cesspool of darkness.

“Ezio, go!” I said, adrenaline making my voice rise. The assassin looked up before nodding, his eyes meeting mine. My eyes glanced upwards, and I noticed the shaft that led to an opening above us. With a running start, Ezio was climbing.

Below me, a horned head rose from the darkness.

~O~O~O~

Up the winding staircase. There! Cesare. Running. Follow. Jump!

.

Guard. Ignore. Sprint. Climb. Jump!

.

Arnie. Danger. Capable of fending for herself. But why did you not stay? The Apple.

Call horse. Run. Mount. Ride.

Ride!

Faster. Faster.

Why did I leave her again? The Apple—The Apple. Why do I keep leaving her? Why does she save me when I only leave her? Why I am thinking like this? I owe her no obligation.

Her sacrifices. Her selflessness. Her devotion.

Ride. Ride. Ride.

She owes me no obligation, yet she continues to sacrifice herself. She cares too much. Dangerous.

Ride. Ride—

There!

~O~O~O~

It was a miracle I didn’t have a stroke then and there. I could see my own fear clouding my third Eye, and I tried to calm myself down.

Whatever the thing was, it wasn’t Arianna anymore.

The face was a black empty slate, a pool of swirling shadow. Horns shot out from either side of its void-like maw. The torso was that of a woman’s, bony and pale, pulsing with black and purple veins.

But that was where the similarities ended.

Its arms were monstrous, with hands as large as tree trunks and its fingers ending in talons that seemed sharp enough to cut through steel. The part where her legs should be was strangely obscured, as if the air around it was blurring itself as if I was looking through a camera lens taking too long to focus.

So all in all, she looked like a floating torso, torn from away from the waist down. It didn’t have wings, but it floated above the shadowy cesspool seemingly with ease.

I’m so fucked.

“A… Arianna?”

“I am the Adversary.” An evil voice rumbled from the void that was its “mouth.”

“Arianna, no.” My voice was a whisper. I wasn’t strong enough. I couldn’t be strong enough. Whatever Bacchus or Claudia or Ezio thought—no. I was scared shitless.

“Please… wake up. Look at me.”

“Your sister is gone, her existence denied.” It spread its hands, and through my third Eye I could see it drawing black tendrils towards itself, including my own.

“I am the one true beast. Discord incarnate.”

~O~O~O~

“You!”

“Looking for this?”

“It ends now, Assassino. My sword will take your life.”

Ezio readied himself, the Apple cool yet warm at the same time in his hand. Cesare’s hand flew to his stomach as a pained groan spewed from his mouth. He lowered his sword and backed away, his face contorted in pain.

“Guards!” he spat out. The two Papal Guards that had arrived with the Templar unsheathed their swords and stalked forward. Ezio didn’t even flinch as he raised the Apple. There was a sound like thunder, and then the two guards turned on each other.

Stab. Shoot.

“GUARDS! GUARDS!” Cesare screamed pitifully as he scampered away, hand clutching his stomach.

Ezio took a deep breath, preparing himself. Footsteps flying across cobblestone and cement echoed around him, and his eyes snapped open.

He ran.

~O~O~O~

The good news: the beast didn’t retain Arianna’s knowledge on “spell-casting.”

Bad news: despite its attacks being rudimentary—limited to beams, bolts, and orbs—it more than made up for in strength. I barely had enough strength to sustain any form of shield or safeguard when attacked directly. But the worst part was the thing also had the tendency to turn my own energy against me, manipulating it while I was still manipulating the tendrils of passion.

The best I could do was hold on to my wings and fly.

~O~O~O~

The walls enclosing the Vatican district loomed above Ezio, and the man knew that he was almost safe.

He scaled up a wall and to the rooftops. In the distance, a river winded in and out of sight. Beyond the river, torches and braziers lit up the night, chasing the darkness away with warmth and the promise of safety.

Guards shouted from below the assassin, and he could hear the pounding of feet on shutters as soldiers followed him to the roof. He continued running.

There! The river was only a few feet away. Just one more jump, and—

His eyes glimpsed something approaching from the east, a horned shadow in the dark sky. At first Ezio thought that it was just a bird of some sort… but then he caught a glimpse of the hands—the very human-like hands that were as big as tree trunks.

“Dio mio…”

A smaller figure was flying in front of it. Focusing, the assassin realized that a smaller figure was looping around the barrage of energy that the beast was firing at it. The figure had bat-like wings that seemed to tremble as it held the silhouette aloft.

Ezio felt the Apple vibrate in his hands, and his eyes widened. His hand rose of its own accord. The artifact glowed brightly, shedding light to the approaching figures: a hideous beast with a horn for a head, and the other—

“NO!” Ezio yelled when the Apple pulsed in his grip. A beam of golden light shot out from the artifact, straight to the woman being chased by the beast.

“ARNIE, LOOK OUT!”

~O~O~O~

“ARNIE, LOOK OUT!”

Wha—?

At first there was the feeling of something sifting through my mind, of a gentle hand running over my thoughts, my memories.

I felt my chest grow lighter, as the phantom hand seemed to caress my heart.

And then there was ecstasy, followed by an almost blinding clarity.

I knew what I had to do.

~O~O~O~

The beam of golden energy encased Arnie in a cocoon of gold and white. Ezio’s heart stopped. He didn’t know what to expect once the light faded away… would Arnie fall unconscious? Would she be disoriented and, therefore, be unable to defend herself from the attacking beast?

The assassin was shaken out of his thoughts when a melodic voice rang in the night: “Awaken, sleeper.”

The shadowy beast recoiled from the cocoon of light. But in the light of the cocoon, Ezio could see the monstrosity much more clearly: a horned head with a void-like maw and thick monstrous hands. Its lower half was strangely obscured, as if Ezio was looking at it through a warped mirror.

“You will not have her.” The beast rumbled.

Behind him, Ezio heard footsteps approaching. The man tore his eyes away from the warring beasts to look behind him. Templars were swarming him fast.

The assassin jumped into the water.

He didn’t notice the way his grip on the Apple loosened lightly. But the assassin let out a surprised gasp when he felt the artifact wriggle out of his grasp and flew towards the cocoon of light.

Ezio froze, stopping his swimming to gaze in awe up at the golden artifact as it was absorbed the by the brilliant cocoon.

With a burst of light as bright as a supernova, a goddess emerged.

At least, Ezio thought she was a goddess. Her skin glowed with a golden radiance, not unlike Minerva when he first met her under il Vaticano. Arnie wore what seemed to be a dress woven of sunlight, her black hair adorned with cascades of crystals that reflected her own divine brilliance. She floated tall and proud, without the need of wings to keep her aloft.

“Yes, I will. For I am the Mystic.”

The beast hissed and, in the blink of an eye, made the area where the goddess was explode—literally explode. Fire and smoke obscured where she had been a moment ago, and the assassin felt his eyes widen at the sight.

How is this possible?

He was still treading water, barely managing to keep himself afloat as exhaustion began to seep into his arms and legs. But he couldn’t bring himself to move.

And then the goddess was behind the beast. The winds howled from behind her, and Ezio belatedly realized that they were her doing when the beast flew backwards, roaring. The sky around her was suddenly alive, hissing and crackling with what seemed like lightning even though there were no storm clouds.

The heavens remained devoid of clouds even as lightning veined the night. The beast roared as it was assaulted with volleys and blasts of electricity.

But it fought back. Roaring and screaming, the creature sent wave after wave, barrage after barrage of bolts and beams at the golden woman. The goddess folded her hands to her chest and bowed her head. The assassin’s eyes widened when he saw that her brilliance shone even brighter, as bright as the light of a million mornings. The sea of darkness burned away like midnight in the face of the coming dawn.

“Sleeper!” The goddess intoned. It was like she was singing, and Ezio couldn’t help the flutter in his heart at the sound despite the obvious authority within it. “Awake!”

“I am she.” The beast growled. “She is mine!”

“No.” And for the fraction of a second, it was Arnie’s voice that resounded throughout Rome, not the melodic voice of the goddess. “She is mine—my sister.”

There was a sound like fire. If flames could speak, Ezio imagined that this was what they would have sounded like. And then there was only white.

Chapter Text

Lady of the Little Eagles

O~O~O~O~O~O

“Remember those walls I built? Well, baby, they’re tumbling down.”

“But nothing’s ever easy. That’s what they say.”

O~O~O~O~O~O

Chapter 30: Just A Little Bit of Your Halo

Before getting my powers, I didn’t know how to handle feelings.

Wasn’t that the funniest thing? But seriously: I was the girl who, upon seeing somebody crying, would awkwardly offer them food because I didn’t know how that person would want to be treated. Did they need space? Or did they need someone to be their rock? Their anchor?

I didn’t know the difference.

But a time would come when broken people would ask why: why was life so unfair? Why did this happen? Why was this happening?

Sometimes, I would have an answer. Sometimes, I wouldn’t.

Times when I would have an answer, though, stemmed from my own life experiences. True wisdom is never bestowed, only earned. And true wisdom stems from only pain, for it is through pain that people can see the truth, naked in its entirety.

Family drama? I was your girl!

Mommy being a hard-ass? My momma was a drunk-ass! Daddy not trusting you enough? My daddy’s dead, bitch.

…

… Okay, moving on.

When I offered my “advice” to the people I’d met here, the only words that rung true for me was my counsel to Claudia regarding her brother. Ezio’s love for his family is unconditional, that much was certain from my time controlling him during the first AC game. He was willing to physically beat up his sister’s cheating boyfriend, carry his mother’s paintings from Leonardo’s workshop, and run errands for his father.

There weren’t many teenage boys like those from when I came from.

The point was: my lessons were gained through a lifetime of pain; pain that hardened my heart and taught me that life wasn’t fair. People drew the short straw all the time, some just shorter than others.

(I remember the divine emotional energy working through the Apple; remember the absolute power that I had wielded for just a sliver of a moment.)

But now, walking back to the Isola Tiberina, I felt the pain of a hundred lifetimes flowing through me. Wisdom was an ocean that flowed through my very being, so boundless and deep that I knew that this was something I could never even hope to achieve in my lifetime.

Ah, but the cost of such knowledge… phantom surges of agony burst from my chest, lasting only a second. But I knew the scars would last forever—they should last forever, the price for what I had done.

Killing off my sister. My own flesh and blood sister. And I killed her. Her death would forever taint my soul, the image of her life-force crumbling under my hands forever burned into my memory.

(Ezio said that I had been a goddess for a good ten minutes, at the least. But the time I spent wielding that power… it was like I had held it for only a second, but that second had spread out into an eternity of knowledge and pain.)

After the light had faded, I had stood on the eerily calm surface of the river. Ripples emanated from where I had been standing, hypnotic in its repetition. Ezio recalled the way I had been staring at the sky, almost as if I was bidding something in the stars goodbye.

(And he was right. I was bidding my sister’s soul goodbye, for I would never see her again for as long as I lived.)

The Apple had been cupped in my hands, pressed against my chest. Ezio described the dress I wore as golden, shimmering under the moonlight and the golden light of the Apple. The fabric flowed as if made of liquid gold, though it was a far cry from when I had become a “goddess.”

(But I didn’t remember that. I only remembered the clarity. I remembered the way everything clicked into place, how all of my questions—whether unspoken or not—had been answered. I remembered how I saw the recesses of my mind as a locked vault. And the Apple opened it.)

(I remembered knowledge.)

(I remembered the power I gained from that knowledge, the absolute power I could now wield effortlessly.)

(But most of all: I remembered the warmth in Arianna’s smile as she waved me goodbye, before I wiped her off the face of the earth.)

* * * *

Isola Tiberina (August 1503)

Ezio: Rodrigo Borgia is dead.

Machiavelli: And Cesare?

Ezio: Poisoned, but alive.

Machiavelli: We must not allow him to assemble his remaining supporters. The coming weeks are critical.

Ezio: With your aid I will hunt him down.

Bartolomeo: My men will patrol the city, but we might need an army.

Ezio: We have one.

I remained silent throughout it all. I was Ezio’s shadow, invisible and unspeaking. It wasn’t my place to speak. Not yet.

* * * *

“My name is Dominique Arnetta. I am from the future, the year 2012.”

It was the 21^st of August 1503, three days after Ezio and I had returned from recovering the Apple of Eden. We gathered in the Tiber Island Headquarters, the main hall filled with all of the friends I had made over my time here: Leonardo, Claudia, Maria, Ezio, Bartolomeo, La Volpe, and Machiavelli, and the Assassins Ezio had not sent on missions previously.

(I hadn’t hesitated when I asked the other Assassins to join us today. After looking within their hearts and channeling their passions through me, it felt unfair that I would deny them the right to be able to look into mine.)

Carmen…

Arianna…

Tomorrow, the Assassins would begin their campaign to end the Templar rule over of Rome. With the Apple of Eden and me on their side, and the Borgia rule weakened, active demilitarization was possible… and imminent.

But today was my day: today I would tell my story.

“I have—had a sister named Arianna. My father was in the army, but he died in battle far away.

I don’t know the specifics… part of me never wanted to know because it helped me hold on to the illusion that he was still out there. Just… lost, unable to return home.

But I know now that it is a foolish dream, one that I shouldn’t hold on to anymore.

“When he died, my mother fell apart. She became a drunk and a whore, and I took care of my sister right up until my mother died of alcohol poisoning and we were taken in by the system.”

At everyone’s confused looks, I explained:

“Foster care. When parents die, and the children are left behind, our… government developed a system to take care of them. We ended up in that system, and eventually we were adopted… but into different families.”

I let a beat of silence pass, broken only by the crackling of the fire in the hearth. But I heard nothing but the beating of my heart; saw nothing but the images unfolding within my mind’s eye as if they were lost books I had packed away and forgotten… and only just remembered.

I was sad; all of these memories… I had stored them away because I associated the love within them with the pain of loss. I loved the people within them… but I hated the pain they caused me when the left.

Somehow, over time, it all just… blurred together.

“My powers came in long before any of this foster business came to pass: dreams of what would happen the next day, transparent faces and hands at the corner of my eye, visions of the history of the object I was holding in my hand…

“I grew up with these abilities as a secret, never telling my foster parents or any of my friends. I made it to adulthood in one piece with little drama regarding my gifts.”

Because these were gifts, no matter which way I looked at them. It only depended on how I treated them: as blessings or as curses.

“I was well off: I wrote books that didn’t make it big, but didn’t really fail either. I had friends who didn’t ask too many questions, a lovely home and a pet dog whose name escapes me.

“My sister possessed the same powers as I do, though I don’t know how she coped with them as she grew older.”

All my fault. I should’ve looked for her. I should’ve known.

“It is because of her powers that she saw the truth behind a massacre that occurred because of Abstergo, a Templar faction in the future. She told one of the survivors, who was an undercover Assassin.”

The words flowed from my mouth like tapwater, and I couldn’t stop—didn’t want to stop. The longer I spoke, the more I understood.

“The Templars captured… and tortured her.”

My voice broke, and I gritted my teeth at the way my heart suddenly felt like it was being wrapped by thorns that had been dipped in acid.

Horrible. Horrible. Horrible.

I took a deep breath, feeling the pain, turning it over in my head. This was the cost of wisdom. This was the cost of power.

Pain. Loss. Tragedy.

“They broke and burned and electrocuted every inch of her so that she would break and tell them where the Assassin was, but she didn’t.”

I’m not going to cry. I’m not. I’m not. I’m not. She was strong—stronger than I would have been, would ever be.

Now, I have to be strong for the both of us.

“Eventually, she was exposed to the Apple of Eden. They believed that by doing this, she would have no choice but to speak. But she didn’t.

“Instead, her mind was sent back to the past… Renaissance Italy, to be exact. She was sent here.”

I took a deep breath.

“But unlike me, who Ezio caught in midair like a fucking damsel in distress—” I heard Bartolomeo chuckle, and I could’ve sworn that I saw Ezio blush at that. “—Arianna was not so lucky. She fell into Templar hands.”

There was a collective intake of breath, but I barreled on. This wasn’t my story anymore. It was hers.

“Her entrance was not as grandiose as mine; she merely appeared in one of the darkened alleys, her modern clothing attracting the attention of those walking past her. She didn’t remain anonymous for long, as her odd attire and foreign beauty—” because she was beautiful, before Cesare broke her—“began to attract the attention of Borgia guards stationed throughout Venezia.”

Just as expected, Ezio’s eyes widened, incredulous:

“Wait. Venezia?”

I nodded. “That was where you were at the time, correct? The Bonfire of the Vanities?”

Recognition dawned on Ezio and Machiavelli’s faces, followed by dawning horror, and I let a sad smile lift up the corners of my lips.

“Yes. 1492. She fell to Italy in 1492.”

“She attracted the attention of the guards because of her attire and beauty—so different from an Italian’s. But she caught the attention of the Templars when one group of guards grew steel balls and tried to rape her.”

I took a deep breath to calm myself, the memories of my own near-rape experience mixing in with the images from Arianna’s past that the Apple showed me. I felt my heart pound against my chest as I continued:

“Her powers manifested under the duress the guards put her through, but one managed to escape to inform his higher-ups. Rumors of a witch spread amongst Templar ranks like wildfire, and by the time it reached the Borgia’s ears in Roma, Arianna had devolved to a petty thief, stealing only for food and whoring for a roof under her head. When someone would get too handsy with her, she would kill them with her powers. Just like that.”

La Volpe nodded, and his lips moved, but his voice was lost on me. My mind was drowning me in the images of Arianna; thin and gaunt with eyes like that of a cornered animal’s, killing men with barely a touch.

I shivered, and I clenched the fabric of my Assassin robes, focusing on the texture and the creases on the cloth to keep myself grounded.

Don’t lose yourself.

Another deep breath:

“When Rodrigo finally ordered for her capture, Arianna had grown adept in hiding in the shadows, using her powers to mask her presence and intent. She hadn’t been able to master them as I had over my time here, but she’d learned the basics fast—she had to. This included slipping into her third Eye, and manipulating the emotional energy around us, invisible to the naked eye.

“But even with all her expertise, she was eventually captured. The Borgia, they…” I choked again, and I forced myself to take another deep breath. “They broke her… impossibly further.”

“What caused her to become the beast that you all saw was an amalgamation of her brokenness, the inherent darkness within people like us—”

Our Achilles’ heel…

“—and her powers. She developed a separate personality, gave it breath and granted it control over her body. The real Arianna, the one I cared for, nurtured, loved, was locked away deep inside… within a shell filled with the memories and ghosts of me… and the family we used to have.”

And then Claudia was kneeling beside me, her hands over my clenched ones. I vaguely realized that I had started crying, the tears streaming down my blank face as I looked down into Claudia’s eyes.

When did she get down there?

“The Arianna-beast would only let Arianna out in the dead of night to write down her true thoughts, untainted by the coldness and the malice of the beast.” My voice shook, but Claudia squeezed my hand, and I felt a familiar pressure grip my shoulders.

“I read her last entry, the one containing her desire to be rid of the beast, and… and…”

My eyes were looking into Claudia’ own… and yet they weren’t.

“Her desire for her—us to return home.”

Claudia’s grip on my hands was an anchor, and I was grateful for it.

“What I did… with the help of the Apple… I eradicated her. I sent her consciousness back to the future, where it belongs.”

“But is that not a good thing?” Claudia finally asked, her voice soothing. “She is finally back where she belongs.”

“She will die.” Claudia’s eyes widened. I nodded. The tears continue falling.

“Once Abstergo realized what they had done, they hooked her to a… contraption of sorts, one that allowed them to look into her mind. When she returns, and they realize that she was unsuccessful in defeating the Assassins, they will kill her.”

Everyone was silent, but Leonardo’s hand squeezed my shoulder, and I felt his beard tickle my ear as he murmured:

“Mi dispace, Arnie.” I gave a small nod.

“She had… did you know she had a lover?” I whispered. Leonardo’s hand tensed on my shoulder, but I ignored it. Now wasn’t the time to think about my love life. Everyone in the room had fallen in an almost hallowed silence, and their heads shook in unison.

“He knew of her powers, and he accepted her for it. She found someone who would love her unconditionally. They found each other… and then they lost each other.”

And it was all my fault.

My hands trembled as I wiped at my eyes, the first time I moved ever since I started my story.

“Life is too short, my friends.” At these words, I forced myself to look up. No more looking down. No more weakness. No more tears. No more.

For Arianna.

“People think that they have the rest of their lives to look forward to. They think they have the future in their hands, waiting to be molded by the choices of their present. But it is not entirely true. The future is nothing but a looking glass; it reflects what you have become… what you are capable of becoming. But it is also fragile. It can shatter with one small mistake.”

(But even with the power of the Apple in my hands, I still don’t know what my mistake had been. Had it been opening that first Assassin’s Creed game? Had it been my fear of finding my sister? My refusal to look for her despite my logic screaming at me that it was the right thing to do?)

“So you are a wisewoman now?” Leonardo tried to joke, and I saw Emiliana send him a glare from where she sat at my feet beside Claudia.

I chuckled, but it was hollow and self-deprecating.

“Maybe. But I wish I wasn’t… if I would only gain my ‘wisdom’ at such a tragic cost.”

Chapter Text

Lady of the Little Eagles

O~O~O~O~O~O

“One last time… One more time…”

O~O~O~O~O~O

Chapter 31: One Last Time: The Megamix

I knew my purpose: to aid in the liberation of Rome. I was given until the arrest of Cesare Borgia before I was taken back to the future.

I was to be the symbol of the Assassins, their symbol of hope. I would not be remembered as Dominique Arnetta, a woman whose life had been scarred with loss and pain. In fact, I would not be remembered as a woman at all.

I would simply be a vision—the vision of what the Assassins hope to achieve in their efforts to fight. Because when the Borgia is overthrown, who will they fight for? They will not fight for me… rather, they will fight for what I stood for—what I was to them:

Hope. I was Hope.

(Because if the Assassins tried to remember me, they wouldn’t see a face, hear a voice… they wouldn’t even feel the ghost of a touch. They would only feel, in their hearts, what I meant to them.)

I was hope in the face of despair. I was joy in the face of sorrow. I was strength in the face of pain, loss, and tragedy.

I was their mascot, in a way. I was their Lady.

Lady of the Eagle… No.

(Because I was not Ezio’s lady, no matter how hard I wished that it would be me—that it would be Leonardo. God knows that he deserved to find love more than any of them in the brotherhood. But it wasn’t going to be him. And it wasn’t going to be me.)

Lady of the Little Eagles… huh—it has a nice ring to it, eh?

(There wouldn’t be a special lady in Ezio’s life… not for a very long time.)

I was the Lady of the Little Eagles.

Maybe that’s what I would name my tale when I got home…

O~O~O~O~O~O

“Does it ever drive you crazy just how fast the night changes?”

O~O~O~O~O~O

August 28, 1503. Ezio had caught wind of a meeting between Cesare and his captains atop the Campidoglio (the Capitoline Hill). Today, he will storm them, and he won’t be afraid. He has the Apple of Eden and the Mystic on his side. He will be nigh invincible.

I didn’t talk much anymore. I had nothing left to say to anyone here. My words would be irrelevant, my desires worthless. I wouldn’t be remembered here. There was no point in trying to make memories when I knew that no one would even remember my name.

Ezio made his way to the Capitoline Hill through the sewers, his squelching footsteps the only sound we made. My breaths were in tandem with his, and I could hear his labored breathing. The Apple cast the tunnels in a soft glow, and I was grateful for the light. I coated the hems of my dress with energy to keep it from being soaked in the muddy water. If I looked close enough, I would be able to see the waters parting before the fabric brushing against it and trailing behind me.

The day after I told my story, while Ezio and the others were busy gathering information and preparing, I had slipped away to pay a visit to the tailor nearby. I had asked him to take my measurements and to sow together a gown for me, white and simple... as simple as the time allowed, anyways.

The dress I wore now was a simple white gown, with a moderately low, but wide and square neckline. I asked the tailor to make it so that fabric would trail a bit behind me, a river of ivory, every time I walked. Thin lengths of black rope crisscrossed and looped around my waist before knotting at where my belly button was supposed to be. My hair, still uncut, flowed down my back.

All in all, I thought I looked like the witch everyone thought I was.

“Did you love Leonardo?” Ezio’s voice echoed in the sewers, and I felt my heart skip a beat when the question registered in my brain:

“Looking back,” I said, trying to phrase my words correctly so as to get my message across. I didn’t want to hurt Ezio’s feelings… nor did I want his feelings to be influenced by what I said.  “Yes… and no.”

Ezio raised an eyebrow, and in the light of the Apple, I saw the way his jaw clenched before opening his mouth to say:

“No more riddles—”

“I know. I apologize.” I took a deep breath. “I loved him. I loved what he stood for, and I loved what he meant to me: he was my rock, he was there for me when you… left me alone to pursue your justice.”

If Ezio noticed the way I trailed off in the middle of the sentence, he didn’t comment.

Because he abandoned me, anyway I looked at it: he abandoned me.

(But I wasn’t his responsibility in the first place. I was nothing more than a liability then.)

And If Ezio noticed the way I spat out the word “justice,” he didn’t comment on it either.

(Because to Ezio, the lines between justice and vengeance were foggy at best, consumed as he was at times by his drive to avenge his family.)

“But I knew he would never love me back. He didn’t love me the way he loves you. I loved the idea of what I could have had with him. And when he turned away from me, when he shattered the illusion that I clung to for so long… everything just faded.”

Ezio was silent.

“Maybe that’s my problem.” I murmured, almost to myself. But I knew Ezio could hear me. “I fall in love with the idea of love… with the love I could have shared with other people, if only I wasn’t so afraid.”

“The idea of love…” Ezio repeated to himself, as if in awe.

“Just like the way I fell in love with you, you know?” Ezio stiffened beside me, but I paid him no heed. “I loved what you stood for, as well: strength and grace. You were the knight-in-shining-armor. In my illusion, you were the one who loved from afar.”

I laughed, then; an ugly, self-deprecating guffaw that echoed throughout the tunnels.

“Stupid, eh? The heart is such a foolish organ, more so when it works in tandem with the brain to fabricate such believable fantasies.”

And even more so when the heart accepts it so willingly, despite knowing that it wasn’t real.

“I believe otherwise.” Ezio answered. I didn’t speak anymore after that.

* * * *

The people didn’t even bother hiding the fear in their eyes, openly edging away from Ezio and I as we climbed up the steps leading to the Hill. I had taken to floating a few inches off the ground, my hair floating eerily beside me as if I was underwater. And I delighted at the citizens’ whispers of fear as they pointed at me.

“Strega, strega…” they whispered. My only answer was to shift to my third Eye. I turned my gaze on them, and they were immediately screaming and running. Above us, tendrils of black swirled and massed as if they were heralds of a storm. Cesare was nearby. But I felt a twisted sense of pleasure when I tasted pain and fear… his pain and fear.

Ezio strode with her purpose, his head held high even obscured by his hood as he held the Apple close to him. The artifact glowed in his hand, and I could feel my own power resonate with its own.

“You must find them.”

Cesare’s voice was weak and pained, and I let a sardonic smile spread on my lips.

A guard captain answered: “They are everywhere and nowhere at once.”

Cesare gritted his teeth. “I do not care how you do it.”

The same guard captain calmly answered, as if trying to persuade Cesare how stupid their idea was: “We cannot on our own, Signore. You must help us.”

“I am ill, you idioti!” Cesare spat out, his voice rising as his anger got the best of him. But when he spoke again, his voice became subdued once more. “Micheletto will soon be here with my armies and then you will see how quickly the Assassini fall.”

I didn’t bother trying to suppress my laughter at that. It was a harsh and cold laugh, mocking and shrill. It seemed as if I wasn’t capable of laughing right anymore. Cesare whirled around, a pained and resigned groan escaping his lips when he saw Ezio, Apple in hand, and I, floating beside him. The people had backed away from the both of us, their eyes trained on the strega and the assassino.

“You delude yourself, Cesare.” Ezio spoke, his voice even.

“GUARDS!” Cesare yelled, his voice echoing across the square. The people snapped out of their trances as the Templar’s command and the sound of swords unsheathing registered in their brains. They scattered, screaming, away from the fray.

I smirked.

Pathetic fuckers.

~O~O~O~

Arnie became the cold-blooded killer that Ezio feared she would eventually become.

But the only difference between the Arnie in front of him from the Arnie that killed Malfatto was that this Arnie knew what she was doing. She wasn’t letting herself get carried away. Each guard she killed with her powers was done swiftly and without fanfare, not meant to draw attention, only meant to get the job done.

As soon as Cesare was gone, the guards attacked, and Arnie flew to the top of the fountain in the middle of the square. It was there that she began her assault:

Unlike before, when she would conjure beams and bolts of black and white to subdue her opponents, she remained silent and unmoving, face calm and benign as if a living replica of Santa Maria herself. She hovered above the stone, hands poised delicately at her sides as if looking down on her earthly children, the picture of patience and benevolence. Ezio was entranced, and it seemed that the men going after him were, too.

Guards attempted to scramble up the stone fountain to get to her, raising their swords and halberds to stab at her. Arnie raised her face to the heavens, basking in the light of the late afternoon sun.

The guards’ weapons flew out of their hands, their faces contorting into one of awe and growing terror as their weapons soared up into the heavens. Ezio saw the sunlight reflect off the steel before the familiar sound of death rang morbid in his ears.

The assassin blinked, and he saw the all of the guards that had tried to get to Arnie were now lying, impaled on their own weapons. Any spectator that had stayed to watch the strega conduct her magic soon fled, seeing the death lurking underneath her benevolent façade.

The guards going after Ezio snapped out of their trance at the sound of their comrades’ demise, and they turned on Ezio. The assassin grinned darkly as he held out the Apple.

I am my own army, too.

The guards never stood a chance: Ezio had the Apple of Eden in his hands and a witch of the future on his side. Together, they were walking weapons. Invincible. Unstoppable.

“You fight differently now.” Ezio remarked as they rode back to Isola Tiberina.

“Oh?” Arnie asked, but she didn’t look at him. “How so?”

“Your… energy, I can no longer see it.”

“My energy was never visible before.” Arnie explained patiently. “Only upon training myself did I learn how to manifest my power. I suppose I just liked showing off before.”

“Before what?” The question escaped Ezio’s lips before he could stop himself, and he saw Arnie tense. But she took a deep breath, letting the tension drain out of her shoulders as she replied:

“Before I killed my sister,” she answered coolly. And then she rode on, leaving Ezio in the dust.

O~O~O~O~O~O

“I know that we were meant to break.”

O~O~O~O~O~O

Isola Tiberina (September 24, 1503)

I spent my free time singing in the hideout; sometimes I would sing in the spare room Emiliana had taken me to all those lifetimes ago, sometimes I would sing in the emptiness of the initiation hall, sometimes I would hum in front of the fireplace as I let myself drift in and out of awareness.

Sometimes, I would even sing on the roof: I would sit on the edge of the building, with all of Rome spread out below me, and I would let my voice be carried away by the winds. I wasn’t doing it to be melodramatic, though… it was just something I wanted to do before I was gone, something I wanted to experience.

This was where Leonardo found me one day, a month later.

“Fountain, fountain,
We are the same.
Fountain, fountain,
We are the same.”

I shifted from my third Eye to my normal vision on random intervals, content in watching the flickering colors of the world around me.

“You with the water, and me with the pain,
Turning it over again and again.”

“Such a lovely melody,” Leonardo murmured. His eyes are on the horizon, far beyond the walls of Rome. He was looking at the beauty of the world, the world from the eyes of a caged bird… a bird bound by age. He wanted to do so much… with so little time.

“Indeed.”

“How are you empowered by the Apple?” Leonardo asked all of a sudden, and I cracked a smile at that despite the awkwardness I felt towards him. He was still the same… he would always be the same.

The smile turned sad as I answered: “My initial powers in the future are the abilities to see those that are unseen—both the dead and that which is yet to be. I am also capable of absorbing the memories imbued within objects, to see their pasts. In a place and time where something as powerful as the Apple of Eden exists, I am capable of absorbing its energy.”

“But the Apple does not possess a heart,” Leonardo replied, ever curious. “What part of the Apple do you absorb?”

“The Apple of Eden was created by Those Who Came Before,” the truth tasted pure on my lips, and I took a deep breath. This was power, too. Knowledge. This was what Ezio possessed… this was what allowed him to differentiate allies from enemies, targets from innocents. Knowledge.

This was what gave Ezio power: the ability to see the truth.

“They were advanced beings… capable of doing things humanity could only dream of. Their hearts, like their minds, were powerful, as well—bordering on the point of divine. The Piece of Eden that Ezio now holds in hands is imbued with that divine emotional energy.”

I looked at my hands.

“Those are what give me strength.”

Leonardo didn’t speak for a while, and I eventually found myself switching my Sight on and off again. I saw the white tendrils dance around Leonardo’s blue light… pure light, devoid of any scars on his soul.

It made it harder for me to hate him for not loving me back. He didn’t deserve to be hated. He just wanted to find his place in Ezio’s world, preferably by his side… for better or for worse.

A place that I knew would be occupied by someone else… someone that wasn’t him.

But though Leonardo was… well, Leonardo… he was only human, and I wasn’t surprised to see black tendrils weaving beneath the white cascade that was Leonardo’s heart.

But what surprised me, however, was what I saw when I reached out towards it:

I saw Ezio leaving… leaving without him.

I didn’t have the heart to tell him that he would be right.

“You came here to tell me that Ezio found Cesare again, correct?” I asked, fighting past the heartache blooming within my chest. But it wasn’t for me; it was for the man beside me who had already fallen too hard… with no guarantee of someone catching him.

Leonardo nodded, no longer surprised that I knew. “He is waiting for you with a steed ready below.”

I nodded and, awkwardly patting Leonardo’s shoulder, I made my way down to join Ezio.

“Templar loyalists from the church will converge in the countryside tonight.” The assassin said as I mounted my steed. “We must not allow Cesare’s petition for aid to be successful.”

“They will be within the Coliseum,” I said by way of answering, urging my horse to a trot behind Ezio, who led on. He raised an eyebrow, but didn’t question me any further, only nodding wordlessly. We rode in silence, letting the words unsaid stew in the air between us.

But I didn’t care. I had stopped caring long ago.

I knew that Ezio knew that something was wrong with me. But I knew that he wasn’t the type of person to ask me what was wrong head-on; he would wait for me to sort it out on my own first… only stepping in if my problems would endanger me in combat.

But it wouldn’t. And Ezio won’t say a word… until it would be too late.

And somehow, I was okay with that.

* * * *

Cesare: Join me and I will take back Roma.

Georges: We have decided to elect Della Rovere to the papacy. We are sorry.

The man Ezio had tailed, Georges d’Amboise, spoke calmly, though his eyes darted to the shadows of the Coliseum. I smirked at his fear. And even from within the shadows, Cesare’s disbelief and anger was as plain as day.

I crossed my arms as I waited for Ezio’s cue from below. I leaned against the shadow of a crumbling pillar on the topmost tier of the Coliseum, settling myself into a more comfortable position.

Cesare: I paid for your appointment.

Georges: Roma is not the same as it once was. Borgia money has become tainted.

Georges was quiet as he spoke, and Cesare’s eyes widened at his words before narrowing into slits. He raised his hand threateningly at the cardinals, though the other hand clutching at his pained stomach ruined the image.

Cesare: You will regret this decision.

Ezio took that moment to step out of the shadows, and I saw exactly when the cardinals saw him.

Georges: Assassino! Run!

I rolled my eyes before stepping out from the shadows and descending gracefully, my third Eye opening. In the grey world, I had summoned a platform of energy to lower me from the stone, and I saw the fear of the guards and Cesare intensify.

“Hired men promise you their blood, but as soon as you need help, they turn against you.” Ezio spoke, the truth undeniable in his words. I nodded once before spreading my arms. I was still a few feet above them, my body still hovering, unaided (to the mortal eye, at least).

“To those of you who wish to leave now, do so, and you will be spared. Flee and never return, or you shall all perish.”

My words held no emotion, no threat. They were nothing more than cold facts. Several of Cesare’s soldiers squirmed under my gaze, but a glare from the Captain-General made them stiffen, straightening their stances and readying their weapons. I sighed internally.

It was worth a try.

“Guards!” Cesare yelled.

Ezio drew his sword, and I spread my palms in an open gesture, as if saying: come and get me.

I charged my voice with power as I spoke, letting it echo bounce off the stones as my eyes glowed with power.

“Stand and perish.”

O~O~O~O~O~O

“We’re just a mess of broken people, but we love the game.”

O~O~O~O~O~O

November 02, 1503

“You are my sweetest downfall.”

I knew that my time was coming, could feel it in my bones. I didn’t know when I would be taken away exactly, but I knew that it wouldn’t be long now. Ezio and Machiavelli were closing in. The endgame was almost upon us.

And I still hadn’t told anyone.

Carmen. I would’ve told Carmen.

But she wasn’t here anymore.

What was the point of telling them when they wouldn’t even remember me… wouldn’t even remember my face? The sound of my voice?

But that was the price I paid for being granted these… godly powers.

(For they were godly now: the ability to bend the hearts of others to my will… to make the very earth tremble and to darken the skies with fury and lightning, to make the very stars fall from their perch in the heavens).

I was a goddess whom the history books forgot—would never mention because I never even existed. I would be nothing but the first rays of the dawn chasing away the darkness, the cool caress of the breeze in the middle of turmoil, the rainbow at the end of every storm.

I never existed, and yet here was where I found love and family, where I experienced tragedy and heartache at its finest.

“I loved you first. I loved you first.”

I didn’t make a difference; I just set right what had become wrong.

I was in the painting gallery, my eyes tracing the lines and curves, taking in the colors and shadow… but I knew that I wasn’t really appreciating the masterpieces that hung on the walls, only letting myself get lost in them as an old song played in my mind.

“Beneath the sheets of paper lies my truth. I have to go. I have to go.”

I forgot the name. I forgot the woman who sang it. I forgot her face. But I remembered her voice: light and ethereal. Unforgettable.

Unlike me…

“Your hair was long when we first met.”

“You have a lovely voice.”

It was Stefano, the Assassin whose wings resembled that of a dragon’s. I turned my back on the painting of Lucrezia Borgia to send the stocky man a kind smile.

“Grazie, Stefano.”

The man shifted his weight from one foot to another as I stared at him. He seemed to squirm under my inquisitive gaze, and I tilted my head in a silent question.

“Would you… sing for us later?”

Internally, my brain made the sad puppy emoji because I remembered that these people had all gone through pain and death and loss. Most of them probably couldn’t even remember the last time their mother had sung lullabies to them.

(And I had glimpsed their hearts, so I had it on good authority to say that all of the recruits had beautiful hearts: young and fiery and filled with hope, fueled by passion and loss.)

“I would be honored to, Stefano. Walk with me?”

We ended up in the main hall, where I saw Felisa and Adelina talking by the map. But when they saw me walking out of the gallery with Stefano, they paused their conversation to smile and wave at me. I grinned back and sent a small wave back. The hearth blazed merrily, chasing away the dampness of the underground, and I sat myself down on the chair. Stefano leaned against the doorway leading to the armory and bowed his head—an effort to help maintain his gruff façade.

I smiled into the flames, and I continued where I left off:

“Samson went back to bed, not much hair left on his head.”

The fires danced, and I saw an eagle taking flight. I saw a man weeping as the eagle vanished, fading into embers.

“He ate a slice of wonder bread, and went right back to bed.”

I saw Leonardo’s face: his kind blue eyes, his bright smile, and his warm hands…

“And the history books forgot about us. And the Bible didn’t mention us.”

I saw Ezio’s face: his piercing brown-gold orbs, his scar, his hands, and his strong heart…

“And the Bible didn’t even mention us, not even once.”

Of course their love was never mentioned, it was never really real to begin with.

“You are my sweetest downfall. I loved you first. I loved you first.”

But where does that leave me?

“Beneath the stars came falling on our heads.”

I flashed back to that moment as a goddess, that moment when everything opened up to me, and everything was answered. The world was brighter and clearer…

And my future had never looked so bleak.

“But they’re just old light. They’re just old light.”

I was never meant to be here. I was never meant to fall for Leonardo. I was never meant to fall for Ezio. I was never meant to befriend Carmen. I was never meant to find family with the Auditores and the Assassins.

“Your hair was long when we first met.”

Leonardo never touched his hair, and it would still be some odd years before Ezio would think of cutting his and letting his beard grow out.

“Samson came to my bed, told me that my hair was red.”

Love and desire: the ghost of empires.

“Told me I was beautiful and came into my bed.”

He had called me beautiful once. But I wasn’t beautiful. I was broken… like how Arianna was broken.

But Arianna had been luckier: she found someone who would love her despite her brokenness. She found someone who didn’t have to piece her back together to find something to love. He loved the shards, and sometimes he would hug her tight enough that Arianna believed that he was actually putting her back together.

“Oh, I cut his hair myself one night. A pair of dull scissors in the yellow light.”

It wasn’t going to be me who would be standing next to Ezio in his final days. It wasn’t going to be Leonardo either.

“And he told me that I’d done alright, and he kissed me `till the morning light, the morning light.”

My hands traced my lips. There will be no one to hold me tonight, no one to kiss me until the morning light.

I knew that I would hurt… and I had no clue how to make it myself better.

“And he kissed me `till the morning light.”

I looked away from the fire. Stefano’s head was still bowed, his arms still crossed… but I saw the man’s grip on his robes, saw the way his shoulders trembled.

“Samson went back to bed, not much hair left on his head. Ate a slice of wonder bread, and went right back to bed.”

I tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear, and I closed my eyes.

“Oh, we couldn’t bring the columns down. Yeah, we couldn’t destroy a single one.”

No. We couldn’t. I couldn’t. Despite my infinite power, I couldn’t even make them tremble.

“And the history books forgot about us, and the Bible didn’t mention us.”

History wouldn’t remember Ezio, wouldn’t remember his face, his hands. History wouldn’t remember his voice, wouldn’t remember his heart.

“And the Bible didn’t mention us, not even once.”

But everyone he had ever touched… they would remember him.

“You are my sweetest downfall.”

But I was nothing. I would be nothing. Because in the end, I could only do so much, try so hard… before reality would come rushing in to remind me that I didn’t matter anymore. My role was done. I was useless now.

All I could do now was watch.

“I loved you first.”

But I didn’t. And that was enough to let a tear slide down my cheek.

* * * *

November 11, 1503

Singing for the recruits had become a habit, a habit that I didn’t mind indulging them in.

“I still remember the look on your face.”

We were at the main hall again, the hearth blazing warmly: the comfort of a home.

“Lit through the darkness of 1:58.”

Vincenzo sat beside me, his back to the side of my chair. Felisa’s head lay on his lap, a nameless book in her hands. On the other side of the room, I could hear Ignacio reporting to Ezio, his voice lowering into a murmur as if afraid to disrupt my singing.

“Words that you whispered for just us to know…”

This was my second song today, the first one requested by Emiliana who was now asleep on her own chair, her head leaning awkwardly on my shoulder. It looked uncomfortable, but I didn’t have the heart to move her.

“You told me you loved me, so why did you go away?”

Ezio’s gaze shifted from Ignacio’s report to me from time to time, his golden eyes narrowing from time to time as I sang.

“Oh, away…”

I hummed the instrumental, and no one seemed to mind when I summoned tendrils of white to dance in front of me, a miniature light show.

“I do recall now the smell of the rain, fresh on the pavement. I ran off the plane.”

The energy danced to my words, turning into globules of light that spun and twirled in the air, leaving behind trails of glimmering white.

“That July 9^th, the beat of your heart, it jumps through your shirt. I can still feel your arms.”

Here the energy scattered, flattening and softening as they danced in around in a gentle circle.

“And now I’ll go sit on the floor, wearing your clothes.”

They continued to dance in a circle, and I realized that it was turning into a large dandelion-like blossom. The gentle strands shifting and writhing away from the center as if about to take flight, only to recoil and return to their graceful dance.

“All that I know is I don’t know how to be something you miss.”

Ignacio settled himself at my feet, his back to my legs. His hood was down, his soft black hair tied back into a small ponytail, not unlike Ezio all those years ago. Wordlessly, he untied his black locks, and I carded my fingers through them.

“I never thought we’d have our last kiss.”

The warmth of the bodies around me, the comfort of the hearth, and the light show made me feel… at home. I had found my place in this world, and though I knew that it wouldn’t last, I was willing to take whatever ephemeral comfort life could offer me at the moment.

“I never imagined we’d end like this.”

I wished I could stay. I wished this… home I had would never make me go.

“Your name, forever the name on my lips.”

But I knew that I had no choice.

~O~O~O~

The image that Arnie and his recruits made—seated around the fire, with Arnie singing ballads from the future to them, with the lights dancing above them—made Ezio’s heart swell with pride… and ache with sorrow.

“I do remember the swing in your step.”

The lights dancing reminded Ezio of flowers blossoming in the spring, how their petals unfurled at the first taste of warmth.

“The life of the party, you’re showing off again.”

Ezio heard the sorrow in Arnie’s voice, and he was surprised to see her smiling despite the obvious pain in her eyes.

“And I roll my eyes, and then you pull me in.”

Ezio took her in; took in the white dress that glittered with an otherworldly light in the glow of her powers and of the fire, took in the cascade of midnight that was her ebony locks…

“I’m not much for dancing. But for you, I did.”

Took in the way her hands ran through Ignacio’s hair, the way they reverently carded through the locks…

“Because I love your handshake, meeting my father.”

Ezio felt a twinge of jealousy when he realized that he wanted to be the one beside her.

“I love you how you walk with your hands in your pockets.”

And Ezio felt loss when he realized that his chance with her had already come and gone.

“How you kiss me when I was in the middle of saying something.”

Staring at her from where he stood, surrounded by warmth and home, Ezio wondered why he didn’t just allow himself to love her.

“There’s not a day I don’t miss those rude interruptions.”

But deep inside, the Assassin knew why: he wanted a home, and he wanted a family…

“And I’ll go sit on the floor, wearing your clothes.”

But he knew that he just wasn’t ready for that yet.

“All that I know is I don’t know how to be something you miss.”

Not yet.

“I never thought we’d have a last kiss.”

“She has a beautiful voice, no?”

Ezio sighed when he felt someone sidle up next to him, the Assassin smelling the familiar oils and paints that seemed to forever cling to one Leonardo da Vinci.

“Indeed.”

I never imagined we’d end like this.

“Ezio, I—”

“Leonardo—”

They both stopped and grinned at each other, and though Ezio knew that the years had not been kind to them, he could have sworn that, smiling, they were once again just two men—acquaintances, meeting for the first time under the Florentine sun.

Your name, forever the name on my lips.

“Yes?” Ezio asked, wordlessly acquiescing for Leonardo to go first.

“Why did you not pursue her?”

Ezio’s smile faded, and he stared at Arnie, whose eyes had drifted over to them with a knowing look. She sent them that same sad smile that she had been wearing ever since she started singing, and looked back up to the light show.

“She wants something from me that I cannot give her.”

Oh…

“And what is that?” Leonardo asked, his all-knowing eyes warm. And in them, Ezio saw the words unsaid, the feelings tucked away behind the façade of brotherhood and camaraderie. He saw the lingering touches… saw the warm smiles and the fiery dedication…

Saw the intensity of what they could have had.

“The rest of my life, unburdened with the desire to fight.”

So I’ll watch your life in pictures like I used to watch you sleep.

“Our life is made by the death of others, mio amico.” Leonardo placing a comforting hand on Ezio’s shoulder, and the Assassin found himself sighing at the familiar warmth. “I do not know if you believe this, but there will always be evil. One person alone cannot vanquish all of the evil in this world.”

And I feel you forget me like I used to feel you breathe.

“But one can try.” Ezio insisted, and he felt himself slipping away from this moment—their moment. He was losing Leonardo… the same way he had lost Arnie.

Ezio expected Leonardo to draw away with a resigned sigh, expected the artist to walk away because he had lost the battle. And what else was there to do except to walk away? Leonardo didn’t need Ezio, didn’t need his pain… what reason should he have to stay?

So I keep up with our old friends just to ask them how you are.

But Ezio was surprised when he saw Leonardo nod, albeit resignedly. The artist had a sad smile on his face, his hands squeezing Ezio’s shoulder a little too tightly, as if drawing strength from that last grip.

“Just promise me something, Ezio.”

I hope it’s nice where you are.

“Anything, mio amico.”

And I hope the sun shines.

Leonardo’s smile turned into something more of a grimace at Ezio’s words, but eventually faded into something softer, more muted. Ezio pretended not to notice.

And it’s a beautiful day.

“Do not lose yourself.”

And something reminds you you wish you had stayed.

“For evil is nothing more than the shadow of an angel’s wing.”

You can plan for a change in weather and time.

“And man, at his best, is the noblest of all animals; separated from law and justice, however, is he the worst of all.”

But I never planned on you changing your mind.